It wasn’t the Gray Gull. It wasn’t the Lobster Claw. It wasn’t Daisy’s, nor was it any one of thirty other restaurants in the area. Instead, Jesse took Tamara to a chain restaurant out near the highway. It was one of those places with laminated menus, table tents, and annoyingly bubbly servers who told you their names in breathless voices and went on about their all-day two-fers. When she saw the place in the distance, Tamara leaned over and hugged Jesse, hard.
“I love you, Jesse Stone. You are one of a kind.”
Two years earlier this had been the place in which they’d shared their first meal out together. It hadn’t been a date, but it was where they’d first shared dark truths with each other about their pasts and established the trust that bound them together as friends. They hadn’t been back since.
“My treat,” he said, pulling into a yellow-lined parking spot. “You can even have the shrimp-and-steak fajita combo if you’d like.”
“A big spender, my goodness.”
When the hostess saw Jesse’s PPD hat, she winked at him.
“Your table is ready, Chief Stone,” she said, walking them to the booth they’d sat in two years earlier.
Tamara stopped in her tracks about five feet short of the booth when she noticed the bouquet of yellow roses and the bottle of champagne on the table. She punched Jesse’s left biceps.
“You son of a—” She stopped herself as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “Damn you, Jesse.”
“I didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t miss you or that I wasn’t proud of you.”
“I’m not leaving yet,” she said, choking slightly on her words.
“I know that. C’mon, let’s eat.”
“Yellow roses,” Tamara said, sliding into the booth, clutching her bouquet.
“Only appropriate, given that you’re moving back down to Texas.”
“What’s the champagne for?”
“For us to drink on a mutually agreed-upon date,” he said.
“We’ll see about that.”
They both ordered Black Labels.
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to drink scotch together?” Jesse asked. “You’ve been on the warpath about that lately.”
“One drink and this one time, it’s okay.”
The server was dismayed. “I’m sorry, folks, but that’s not part of the two-fers.”
Jesse assured her that it was fine and to just bring the drinks. When the server left, Jesse and Tamara laughed, if a bit sadly, remembering that they’d gotten the same speech about the scotch the first time they’d been here.
“So how’d it go with Mayor Walker and Nita Thompson?”
The server brought their drinks and took their order: an omelet for Jesse and the fajita combo for Tamara.
Jesse raised his glass. “To your success.”
“To the best friend I’ve ever had... and, dare I say it, the sexiest one, too.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
After they drank, Tamara repeated the question. “How’d they react?”
“They were resigned to it coming out eventually and they were glad to have had some warning about it. We discussed how we’d handle the press conference, what we would confirm or deny, stuff like that. They were pretty calm about it.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet they were. I’ll also bet you offered to give the mayor political cover.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, Doc.”
“And why would you do that, let her hide behind you?”
“Let’s just say it was more of a trade than me being benevolent.”
“Still, Jesse, why?”
“If I’m going to find out what’s really going on here, I need her to back me up. If that means keeping her head off the chopping block by putting mine on it, so be it.”
“But—”
“No buts. It’s the right thing to do. There’ve been two murders in my town, an old woman’s house was destroyed, and a man was nearly beaten to death. I can’t let that stand. The mayor can afford to worry about covering her ass. I can’t.”
Tamara was about to say something when the food came. As the server was squeezing lime on Tamara’s fajitas and creating a choking cloud of smoke, Jesse’s phone buzzed. When he saw who the caller was, he stood up from the table and picked up.
“Stone?”
“Vinnie. What’s up?”
“That Bolton guy you’re looking for, he’s at a back booth at Dennis’s, waiting for my guy, Mickey Coyle.”
“Thanks, Vinnie. I owe you.”
“I know you do. You better get down here pronto, Stone.”
“Why’s that?”
“The bartender says Bolton looks like he’s in pretty bad shape.”
When Jesse got back to the booth, he threw three twenties on the table and said, “Hey, Doc, how would you like to take a drive down to Boston with me? If not, I’ll get someone to drive you home.”
She slid out of the booth, grabbing her flowers and the champagne. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”