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Lester’s question with a rueful shake of her head. “The courtroom was in chaos. People who’d heard the shots were rushing in through the rear door. Mrs. Gilroy was crying hysterically, as was the court reporter. Mr. Hunt bent over Chet. He took his gun and shouted to another bailiff to summon officers. Then he ran out the side door.”
    Lester asked, “How much time had transpired between when the gunman ran off and Crawford charged after him?”
    “A minute, maybe a little more. Not long.”
    “What happened next?”
    “I can only speak to what was going on inside the courtroom.” Glancing up at Crawford Hunt, she added, “I don’t know what happened beyond that side exit.”
    The senior detective said, “We don’t, either. Not everything. We were just getting to that when we decided to take a break.”
    A taut silence followed. Matt Nugent was the first to move. He dug into his pants pocket for change and started walking toward the row of vending machines at the far end of the hall. “Anyone else want a Coke? Judge Spencer?”
    “No thank you.”
    “Mr. Hunt?”
    “No.”
    “Nothing for me.” Neal Lester’s reply coincided with the chirping of his cell phone. He pulled it from his belt and checked the readout. “Excuse me.” He moved a few yards away and turned his back, seeking privacy to take his phone call, and leaving Holly essentially alone with Crawford Hunt.
    Besides that being inherently awkward, his physicality was intimidating. His boots added at least an inch and a half to his height, which was well over six feet. He had appeared in court wearing well-pressed blue jeans, a plain white shirt, black necktie, and a sport jacket.
    At some point since then, he’d discarded the sport jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows. His hair was defying the slick-back treatment he’d given it only minutes ago. Straw-colored and thick, it seemed to have a will of its own.
    He went to stand on the other side of the hallway where he leaned with his back against the wall and glared at her. In her view, his animosity was unwarranted.
    Trying to break the ice, she said, “Are the Gilroys all right? Your mother-in-law was terribly upset when she was finally allowed to leave the courtroom after being questioned.”
    “She was shaken up pretty bad. Last I talked to Joe about an hour ago, she still hadn’t stopped crying.”
    “How traumatic it must have been for them.”
    He gave a grim nod.
    “And how is your daughter?”
    Visibly he tensed. “She’s on a sleepover with a neighbor lady and her granddaughter. I thought it would be best if she spent the night there. She wouldn’t understand why Grace and Joe are so upset, and I was tied up here.”
    Holly didn’t miss the deliberate implication that the sleepover had been approved by him, as though he was the decision maker where his daughter was concerned. The angle of his chin challenged her to dispute that.
    But at least she had gotten a few words out of him, even if they had been cursory. Believing their conversation was over, she turned her head aside.
    “What about you?”
    Surprised by the question, she looked back at him.
    He said, “You okay?”
    She was about to respond with the polite lie she’d been giving her colleagues and friends. I’m fine, thank you for asking . That’s probably what he expected her to say. But, surprising herself, she gave an uncharacteristic burble of nervous laughter. “Not really, no.” Perhaps because they’d shared the experience, she felt she could be honest with him.
    His eyes were the only animate part of him as he took her in from head to toe. Meeting her gaze again, he said, “I landed on you hard. Did I hurt you?”
    “No.” She accompanied her quick answer with a shake of her head.
    “What about that?” He hitched his chin.
    “What?”
    “The bruise.”
    “Oh.” Tentatively she reached up and ran her fingertips over the tender spot