After turning on the alarm and locking up, I followed Declan to his truck. When I opened the door, I was surprised when the metallic smell of blood didn’t hit my nose. Instead, it was the cloying scent of one of the cleaning products we used in the clinic.
Declan met my gaze across the front seat. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed some cleaning stuff. I was about to lose my mind pacing around, so I decided I needed something to do.”
“Of course, I don’t mind.”
I climbed up into the truck as Declan cranked up. Hayesville’s Waffle House was just outside of town near the interstate ramp. We drove along the empty streets in silence. In my mind, I went back to the countless times I’d ridden shotgun in Declan’s truck. My thoughts went straight for the gutter when I thought of the many tim
