Chapter 3

“Maybe, sort of. Or not.” John reached for the menu to defuse Mick’s interest.

Mick didn’t bother with a menu; he knew it by heart. But he did look at the chalkboard with the daily specials, just in case there actually was one—which there wasn’t. At the same time, he saw someone he didn’t know sitting in the back booth. “I wonder if that’s our Mr. Murphy,” he murmured, almost to himself.

John overheard him and glanced around. “The guy with the long, white hair? Could be, I suppose.”

Mick studied the man, who seemed to be concentrating on whatever was going on outside of the diner. “Ifit is, he wasn’t as badly hurt as the blood on the windshield of the car might indicate. I don’t see any damage to his face.”

The man turned, almost as if he’d heard them talking about him, a frown marring his handsome face for a second before vanishing as he smiled at Carly when she set his meal down in front of him.