Something hit him, and it didn't feel particularly good. He picked up the picture and looked at the man's face. So, you're the guy, he thought. He didn't look like a bad guy--but clearly he had done something to Mel. Something she was having trouble getting beyond. Maybe he'd left her for another woman--but that seemed impossible to imagine. Maybe he left her for a man. Oh, please let it be so--I can make that better--just give me five minutes. Or maybe he looked harmless but had been an impossible asshole and she'd broken off with him, but still loved him helplessly. And here she had his picture right there, to be the last face she saw before falling asleep at night. At some point she was going to give Jack a chance to make that picture go away, but it wasn't going to be tonight. Probably just as well. If she woke to find him there, either in her bed or ready to be, she would put the blame on Crown Royal. He wanted it to come from desire--and he wanted it to be real. He scribbled a note. I'll be back for you at 8:00 a.m. Jack. He left it by the coffeepot. Then he went to his truck to get something he'd purchased earlier in the day. He brought the leather case holding the dismantled fly fishing rod and reel and the waders into the house and left them by the front door. And went home. *