And she was sick of waiting for him to open up. It wasn’t happening.

“So,” she said, pushing her plate aside and wiping her fingers on the lemon wedge and napkin provided. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t do this, Rick.” She met his gaze. “You and I both know that things are strained. I suppose it’s partly due to the accident. Heaven knows you’ve been through a lot, but there’s more to it.”

“Using your ESP on me?” he asked, taking a slug from his zero-alcohol beer.

“I wish I could.” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she knew him well enough to sense when he was being evasive on purpose. “You’ve been shutting me out.”

One of his bushy eyebrows quirked. “You think?”

“I know.”

“See…it’s those extra powers of perception you’ve got.”

“You and I both know that whatever ‘powers’ I had quit working years ago.” She didn’t want to think about that time, when she’d first met Bentz and she could see the horror of a series of grisly murders through the killer’s eyes. At first he’d openly scoffed at her visions, but eventually he’d learned differently. And he never let her forget it. “Don’t try to change the subject. It’s not gonna work.” She shoved her plate to one side and set her elbows on the table. “It’s more than you suffering from your injuries after the accident. Something’s eating at you. Something big.”

“You’re right. I can’t stand not working.”

“Really?” She didn’t buy it. His attachment to work didn’t explain the distance she felt between them. Besides, he was too quick with his answer. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. Stonewalling her.

“You’d tell me if there was?”

“Of course.” He offered her that lazy grin she found so charming, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand. “Be patient with me, okay?”

“Haven’t I been?”

His gaze slid away.