“Seeing as we’re going to be partners, want to grab dinner?” Vaughan asked. “I’m starving, and we could talk about the case.” It was a ritual Zoe had shared with her late husband. Dinner had always involved a cold beer, maybe a steak, and discussion of a case. They had both loved the intellectual challenge, the sparring, and the lovemaking afterward. “I know a place.” “Lead the way.” He drove them to a small diner surrounded by a cluster of fast-food restaurants near the interstate. When she shot him a questioning look, he held up a hand. “Trust me.” “I’m holding you to a good meal, Detective Vaughan.” He opened the door, held it, and waited for her to pass. The hostess called out his name; he waved and headed toward what had to be a favorite booth. Men, she noted, were creatures of habit and liked routine. She slid across the red vinyl seat of the corner booth. From this vantage, they both had a clear view of the front and back exits. Like all cops, he probably wanted to know who was coming and going while he ate. She reached for a laminated menu and opened it. “So,…