His dented-hood, headlight-smashed car.
“I’ll be right back.” James gave her knee a quick squeeze and slid out, pulling his Mike’s Place ID out of his wallet.
“Sorry, Doc.” Damon abandoned the police officer to meet him with a hard handshake. “We just came out for a couple of burgers and beers. It was going fine and then it just wasn’t.”
“What happened, exactly?”
“You’re the doctor?” The officer followed a pace behind Damon, the nameplate pinned to his blue uniform reading Atkins.
“Psychologist.” James held out his credentials. “Mr. McCall is one of my patients. What is he being charged with?”
“At the moment, nothing. It’s his own car that he damaged and no one is hurt. He settled down some when we got here, but we weren’t comfortable letting him drive.” The officer looked over the identification briefly before handing it back. He palmed a standard issue flashlight and shone it at the car.
“A brawl started inside, he wasn’t a part of it, but apparently they plowed into him. He put both men down, but they’re fine outside of some bruises. The bartender and several patrons described the incident and it’s a case of self-defense. He could have done a hell of a lot more damage, but he didn’t.” Respect tinged the officer’s words. “Then he came out here and trashed his car. We were already responding to the incident inside when we found him.”
James nodded once, flicking a brief look to Damon. “And you don’t know why he came out here?”
“No. Like Officer Atkins said, these two guys were arguing, started fighting and they bumped a waitress before they slammed into Matt. I had to hit the latrine or I’d have been right there. As it was, he had one guy down in a chokehold and the other cold cocked on the pool table when I came out. The bartender rounded them up, and the manager rousted them when Matt just walked out of the bar. By the time I got out here, he was kicking the shit out of it.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. Creepiest damn thing I’d ever seen, Doc. It was all surgical strikes, headlights, windshield, side mirrors, tail lights, and then he just beat his fists bloody on the hood. I tried to talk to him when the cops got here. They ordered him to stand down and he did. He’s been sitting on that curb ever since….” Damon’s words trailed off as he pointed and James followed his gaze.
Lauren was out of the SUV and sitting on the dirty cement curb in her filmy, silk dress, hands clasped in her lap, legs extended with one glittery ankle crossed over the other. Her head tilted toward Matt. Matt looked as poleaxed as James felt when he’d first seen her sitting in the restaurant.
“Thanks, Damon.” Worry choked his gut and he headed over. If Matt was unstable, Lauren sat right next to a live powder keg.
Chapter Four
Despite his easy manner, James’ palpable tension filled the vehicle all the way to Plano. A professional demeanor, focused concern, and watchful wariness replaced his charming smile and flirty honesty. The desire quivering in her insides sobered in the Fillmore Pub’s empty parking lot under the harsh reality of red and blue strobes. He spoke to an officer and a second man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, presumably the man who’d called him at the club.
She glanced over the others, settling on the young man sitting on the curb. His wide shoulders were framed by a too tight T-shirt that did little to disguise the muscled physique beneath, jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. The close shave haircut coupled with the empty expression on his face and the way he stared sightlessly at the damaged car to his right told her that was who they had been called to help.
Her chest constricted at the loneliness shimmering in the air around him. Dropping her purse on the floorboard, she opened the passenger door and slipped out. The pavement tilted unevenly, littered with cement cracks and blacktop repairs, but she crossed the open space to the young man before she’d fully thought through the decision.
“Do you mind if I join you?” The night air was warm, cooler than the day, but still comfortable. She wrapped her shawl around her more for comfort than heat, holding it firm with the fold of her arms.
The man glanced up, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “No ma’am, but I don’t really think a dirty curb is going to be kind to your dress.”
She chuckled, teetering down carefully to sit and stretch her legs. “That’s why I use dry cleaners, they’re miracle workers.”
The young man continued to stare at her, his confusion giving way to an open bewilderment. “I’m sorry, ma’am, do I know you?”