Mount Comfort Cemetery in Alexandria had been the interment place for Tibor Rothman’s family for at least three generations. As Dom piloted his Chevy around the circle, he glanced at his passenger, assessing emotional stability, Jonathan supposed.
“Is that your priestly concern or your psychologist’s concern?” Jonathan asked, staring straight ahead.
“Let’s call it a friend’s concern,” Dom replied.
Touché. “Then thank you. But relax. I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” Dom said. Though his jaw was mostly healed, there was still a certain tightness to his words. “If you don’t mind, we’ll let your psychologist make that call.”
Fair enough, Jonathan thought. After all, the priestHe’s the one the news folks were here to pay tribute to.”
“Or just to make sure that the son of a bitch was really dead,” Jonathan quipped.
“I won’t let you get away with that, Dig. For ninety-nine percent of his life, maybe he was a complete ass, but he checked out in service to others. You above all people should-”
“I know, Dom. It’s just such a hard notion to wrap my head around.”
“You’re stalling,” Dom said.
Jonathan gave a wry chuckle. When he looked at Dom, he hoped that his eyes were nowhere near as red as they felt. “Would you believe I’m scared?”
“It’s tough to say good-bye. I’m not sure there’s any harder thing in the world.” Dom reached out and rested a hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “Want me to come with you?”
Jonathan didn’t answerenjoyed the confirmation that his assumptions about those legs were correct. “I’ve always considered myself to be a good investigator. You know, finding people who don’t want to be found.”
Jonathan’s smirk became a smile. “God knows I’m the last one to argue.”
She uncrossed her legs and leaned closer. “Do you know anyone who might be looking for someone with those skills?”
“I just might,” he said. “What do you say we discuss it over dinner tonight?”
A stunning smile bloomed. “I’ve already made the reservations,” she said.