Walker’s smile is not quite hidden by his facial hair. “I mean, there are not many folks who’d be comfortable having a man like Cain McLeod spending the night, whether or not he was concussed.” I assume he’s trying to goad me, so I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Walker continues. “I mean, you’ve only known him a month, and the man did serve seven years.” “Serve?” I’m confused now. Dwyer glances sideways at her partner. I know they are noting my reaction. “Cain McLeod served seven years for murder.”
Bum bum bummmmmm
