There were only three cars in the parking lot: two parked by the bar-side door, and Boyd’s Jeep Cherokee right up beside the other door.The restaurant side, distinguished from the bar side by white tablecloths and chairs with padded seats, was practically empty. Boyd, seated at a table halfway along the far wall, looked up when she came in and smiled, quick and fleeting. He was still out of uniform, though he’d changed into a dark red shirt with a button-down collar and faded blue jeans. His face looked tight and thin, as if he hadn’t had much sleep lately. Perversely, it made Hallie want to dump everything on him—ghosts and Martin and blood and lightning. She wanted to hit him with impossible things, one right after the other, wanted to see him when he wasn’t so controlled, to watch how he reacted. Wanted him to be one thing or the other—on the side of rational and logical or on the side of Hallie.She could hear faint strains from the jukebox in the bar as she crossed the room.
