She nodded, her glance sliding to his cane, but she said nothing about that or his awkwardness. Another point in her favor.

She said, “You know about the original Slade?”

He shrugged. “Happens when your name is close to an infamous—or famous—guy. You’ve been studying Jack Slade?” He angled his head toward the book. It looked well worn.

“I’m reading about him. This is from the library; I’ll be obtaining my own copy. The man was a very interesting character.” She set a bookmark into the pages, closed the book, and put it in the outer pocket of a leather computer bag. The middle compartment showed four other books.

She tucked her cell into her bag, pulled out a portfolio and slipped her notes inside, returned it to the tote, and moved her coffee cup from his side of the table and sipped. Her eyes studied him over the rim.

The waitress sauntered up and Zach ordered a Tivoli beer.

Zach’s telephone sounded the sheriff’s classical notes. Had he spoken already with Rickman about Zach? Had Rickman double-checked Zach’s references? The taste in his mouth went sour.

He glanced at Clare, who’d placed her cup in her saucer and watched him with a gaze that he suddenly noticed had shadows. She wasn’t as simple as he’d thought. Again, interesting.

She nodded at his cell. “Go ahead.”

Grimacing, he said, “Former boss.”

She flinched; a smile formed on her pretty lips and vanished. “I have one of those, too.”

The lady presented more puzzles.

Zach picked up his phone and thumbed it on, “Slade.”

Clare’s gaze flicked to her bag with all the books on the other Slade.

“Zach, did you talk with my deputies Lauren Aguirre and Larry Pickman lately?” the sheriff asked.

Warning bells went off in Zach’s head, but he kept his voice easy. “Yeah. Lauren and Larry caught up with me the day before yesterday at the diner.”

The sheriff grunted. “After I spoke with you?”

“That’s right.”

“They were both off duty then and yesterday.” Zach’s former boss cleared his throat. “Exactly when and where did you last see them?”

“On the twenty-third, approximately thirteen hundred hours at the Daisy Diner near the southern border of the county. Lauren wanted to say she was sorry for my trouble. They left first.”

After the damn crows had cawed. Four crows. Death. Dread tightened the back of Zach’s neck. A high-pitched whine came to his ears and he jerked his head to get rid of it.

Sighing heavily, the sheriff let silence hang. Didn’t bother Zach. Finally his ex-boss said, “Looks like they had a single-car accident on the way back to Plainsview City. Ran off the road and down a bank. Rolled the vehicle. We had some nasty weather that afternoon.”

Zach’s gut tightened. “How bad is it?”

“The worst. They’re dead.”

“Christ. You don’t need me to come back?” He shouldn’t have to, but you never knew. So far the sheriff had treated him better than anyone else in the department.

“No. Just wanted to clear the timeline up. You spoke with Tony Rickman?”

“Yeah.”

“So did I. He was impressed.”

Zach snorted.

“Take the job, Zach,” the sheriff said.

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, and good luck.”

Zach pushed away his half-empty glass of beer. The light clouds had drifted away and the day had begun to heat up in earnest. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine, sticking one of his good white shirts to his back and making him wish he’d taken off his jacket. He hated when he saw the crows. Hated even more when the stupid rhyme seemed to be right.

Otherwise, just emptiness at the thought of those deaths filtered through him. Not even anger, his usual response to senseless loss of life. Should he feel anything for them? The woman who’d made a mistake just as he had, one that screwed up his life? The man who’d liked to make jokes at his expense? He didn’t know.

But they were colleagues, people he’d worked with, and now they were dead. An area of emptiness, of emotions more layered than the single, primal ones he still experienced, grew. He’d think about that later.

No one would expect him to come back for the funerals, and that was damn good. He didn’t want to see anyone from that particular job again. The job he’d thought had been a career.

“Problems?” a soft voice across from him asked.

He blinked Clare Cermak’s pretty face into focus. Not model-perfect, and with a gold-dust tan that seemed to be natural.

Clare’s lips pursed, something he didn’t care to see, and she leaned a bit toward her bag as if she were ready to pick it up and go . . . and Zach realized he didn’t want her to leave. “Yeah, a couple of problems,” he said.

Her brows lowered, then she said, “But not your problems, because you aren’t at that job anymore?”

“You’re right.” He studied her, made a good guess. “You were an accountant.”

Now her brown-red eyebrows lifted. “How did you know?”

He found a smile curving his own lips. She was easy to be around. “Your phone has a tax app and fancy calculator on the home screen.”

“Oh.”

“You’re very neat and tidy,” he said.

Her tongue came out and moistened her lips, and a flicker of lust flared in his groin. Very welcome, since nothing much had stirred down there for a while. He’d been told his wound had been severe enough, and he’d lost enough blood, that it might take him a while before his dick functioned. Now it seemed it was functioning just fine.

The truth was, no woman had attracted him in a while.

He stared at Clare Cermak and her steady hazel eyes, and couldn’t help comparing her to Lauren. Yeah, he’d have bet his Corvette that Clare would always do her job. There’d be no slipups. Another fine trait.

She still frowned at him, vertical lines over her nose, bit her full lower lip. “You’re a police officer?”

His smile faded. “How’d you guess?”

“You said ‘perpetrator.’ And your reaction to the idea of post-traumatic stress syndrome.” Her eyes flickered at his cane, at him. “You seem in good shape.”

He ignored the implied question about how he might have come to be crippled, leaned back, and crossed his good ankle over his knee. “Checking out my build, Clare?”

She laughed and her serious-mode expression faded, making her appear younger and more carefree. Pity she had those shadows in her eyes; she was beautiful when she laughed. Her long lashes swept down and up, flirting with him, and he relaxed even more. Maybe being here in Denver might turn out to be a good move.

“Absolutely I checked you out, Zach.”

“Good to know.” Zach smiled, then continued the conversation. “So you’re an ex-accountant?”

She tilted up her chin. “There’s no such thing as an ex-accountant. I am a CPA.” She paused and the shadows darkened her eyes to brown. She sighed. “I just don’t have a job anymore.”

“Why’d you quit?”

That got her staring back into his eyes instead of looking at the suited men and women passing by.

“You think I quit?”

“Yep.”

“You’re good.”

“I know, and more than just my observational skills.”

Now her gaze was penetrating, intense. He knew that look, too. The lady was deciding whether to trust him. He didn’t bother giving her a sincere smile; he wanted no prompts from him on her decision.

Because it mattered that she’d trust him and he didn’t know why. Maybe just because he really liked the looks of her. He thought he heard a dog yip but didn’t break the gaze.

Clare leaned forward, and his stare did slip a little to her newly revealed cleavage. The collar of her white blouse wasn’t open that far, just enough to see the rise of nice breasts.

“I received an inheritance,” she murmured.

His ear caught doubt in her voice. “Strings attached?”

“You might say that.”

Something—someone—snuffled near them; Zach didn’t turn to see but met her gaze again. “You don’t have to work anymore?”