by D. D. Ayres
It was not fun or amorous but a carnal grappling of dark emotions and hard-edged regrets working themselves out in a quick rough coupling that left Jori sore and unsatisfied.
Afterward, she wanted to curl into a ball at the far edge of the mattress, as far away from him as she could, to try to figure out what had just happened.
But its aftermath dropped Law into an exhausted sleep so quickly and so deep that she couldn’t move him an inch off her. He had clamped his body down over hers, as if shielding her from an exploding world. And he never let her go, all night long.
He might not have offered her tenderness but he knew how to protect, even in his sleep.
Now, watching him put on one shoe, swearing under his breath from the pain his ill-fitting prosthesis caused, Jori couldn’t order her feelings, or her hopes.
She had known from the beginning that easy wasn’t part of his vocabulary. Law was a complicated angry man no longer certain of his place in the world. That lone-wolf image was a good one. But she had thought she could make things better for him.
Last night had shown her, for better and for worse, that being with Lauray Battise was not, maybe never, going to be easy. Maybe not even possible.
“Had enough?”
He stopped and watched her. She just stared right back. There was so much she wanted to say.
I can’t begin to understand what losing a leg and Scud cost you. But I’m proud as hell of you for clawing your way back. Making your body work again. Enduring everything. I want to weep for you but I won’t. Because you don’t need that. But don’t think you’re the only one who’s screwed up and confused. You came into my private space and shattered my peace. I know I said I could handle it. You, here and gone. I’m not sure anymore that I can handle it. Or you. Or even want to. No. I want to. I’m not at all certain I should try.
She didn’t say any of that.
She came up on her knees on the bed. “Listening to people talk last night about financial investments and charity balls and tailgate parties. Who’s on the fast track and who’s peaking too soon. Half the time I didn’t know what they were talking about. I’m no longer of their world. I don’t belong anywhere, either.”
He shook his head like a bull annoyed by a biting fly. “You have a way back. You have your family. I saw you with them. I saw how they look at you. They love you. They’ll do anything to help you.”
As I would you.
But she couldn’t say that, either. Much too exposure for her. She wasn’t sure what love was. But this—whatever it was—felt like something precious, something to hold on to.
Law wouldn’t hear it if she said that last night hadn’t made him appear lesser in in her eyes. It had made her feel that, at the very least, he trusted her.
She didn’t have to hear him say he didn’t trust easily. She’d heard it in his explanation of the events in Afghanistan that led to his wounding. His anger at his unit. At what he perceived as a military cover-up after the fact. Even in his grudging respect for his sister and what she’d done for him that was tinged with a resentfulness she didn’t understand. Who didn’t want help?
She wasn’t going to walk away. She just needed to come at him in a way he would understand. And that would give them a chance to move past last night.
She knew this much was true. He was about honor, and duty. And persistence.
She slid off the bed, leaving the protection of the covers behind as she walked naked across the floor and reached for her undies.
When she had that much armor on, she turned to him. “You promised you’d help me clear my name. I want you to keep that promise.”
He stared at her, the pain in his expression so raw it made her stomach clench. He watched her for what seemed like forever, his breath coming and going harshly through his teeth.
Finally, he straightened up from the chair on which he sat. “I can’t be what you want, Jori. You’re starting to dream. I can see it in your beautiful face. I won’t do that to you.”
“Is this about your dad?” Somewhere in the jumble of misery that poured out of him during the night he’d even told her about his father’s philosophy about women.
Law shook his head. “This is about how I don’t know how to be with you. With anyone. I’m messed up.”
“Is that what he told you? Then fuck him.” She saw his eyes buck wide. “Yes, I said it. Screw your dad for trying to keep you from needing love. That’s cruel. Everybody needs somebody.”
He looked at her. The hunger for her was so plain on his face, it made her ache unbearably.
She came to stand before him. “You’re not like him, Lauray. You’re your own man.” She reached out and touched his face very gently. “And I like that man.”
He gripped her about the waist hard. No lover’s touch. He clutched her like a man going under for the final time. “You need to stop being nice to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to start wanting to believe you. And I can’t risk that. I’m not ready.”
The moment was almost too much. Watching the torment in the eyes of this supremely self-sufficient man made her feel as if the world were about to spin off its axis. But she stood her emotional ground, because she knew he needed her courage more than she needed her fears.
His wanting to believe her was a good thing. Maybe enough to start him on the road back to life. But she needed to put a little distance between them for her courage to survive.
She slipped out of his grasp. “Excuse me.”
Jori hurried into the bathroom to wash her face and hide the tears she didn’t want him to know about. As she scooped handfuls of water over her flush face, she raced around in her head, trying to think of a change of subject, a safe topic.
“Can we get breakfast before we head back to Springdale?”
“Sure.”
Law came to the bathroom door and held out her dress, his expression remote as he focused for the first time on her lacy nothings. Her bra was black and her cheeky panties blush. For a second his eyes darkened and she knew he was remembering her promise to show him her mismatched items of the day. The heat in his gaze nearly caught the fragile strips of lace on fire.
She turned and faced him, waiting for his decision. But after a moment the fire died in his liquid black-gold gaze and he turned, moving quickly away. “McDonald’s. Drive-through.”
An hour later Law pulled up his truck beside Jori’s SUV at her motel. He didn’t take his hands off the wheel, or even glance at her.
Too proud to beg him to speak, Jori reached for the door handle.
“Jori.” He waited until she looked back. “You know the expression, kicked a hornet’s nest? I shoved my foot pretty far up Tice’s ass at the wedding. So from now on, I work alone. If I get something, I’ll be in touch. If not, this is good-bye.”
Jori swallowed words of affection and hope. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard she expected it to crack any second under the pressure. He might be sitting next to her, but his expression was as cold and distant as the moon. He’d been through a lot the night before. He needed time. “Oh. What about Argyle?”
“Fuck.” He blinked. “Swing by and pick her up on your way home. I’ll make sure I’m out of the way. Drive safe.”
And just like that, Jori knew it was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Law felt like a string of live wires stripped of their protective coating. It had been a week. Nothing. No phone calls. No response to his attempts to set up a meeting with Luke Tice. He doubted Tice’s campaign office was so dysfunctional that Tice didn’t get messages. That meant he was being ignored.
He cut a wedge of his egg-white omelet and put it on a paper napkin before setting it on the floor in front of Sam. She sniffed it and looked up at him, ears spreading.
“Yeah. I know. Tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No cheese. No meat. But I’ve got a physical to pass in a few days. I need to eat healthy.”
Sam sighed so deeply h
er cheeks fluttered. Law had begun to recognize that as her whatever-you-say-boss-but-I-don’t-have-to-like-it response to things she disapproved of. That didn’t keep her from swallowing the wedge of omelet whole.
Law gulped the last of his coffee and reached for the check. It was his first day off in five, but he couldn’t just sit in his cabin all day. Not when too many things in it reminded him of Jori. The upstairs bedroom reminded him of how tenderly and efficiently she’d taken care of his abrasions. The downstairs bedroom was worse. They’d made love in that bed. He’d settled for sleeping on the sofa. He’d slept in much worse places.
He’d looked at her number on his cell a dozen times a day. But he knew he shouldn’t do that to her. He wasn’t a fool. When a woman looked at a man as she had that last morning, he knew what she was feeling. What was new was that he felt an answering hum in his own chest. But he’d screwed it up.
Shamed himself.
Cried.
She might try to forget. But he wouldn’t. He’d broken down in front of her.
He shuddered in remembrance of his weakness. Even he knew a woman wanted a man she could rely on to be strong when all else failed. How her eyes had shone in admiration after he’d taken down that robbery suspect. He’d been Superman and Captain America in her eyes. For a moment.
The goddamn PTSD! If he wasn’t one fucked-up bastard before Afghanistan, he’d shown himself to be one now. In front of the only person he had ever wanted to be a better man for.
“Tears. Jesus.”
Law wiped his mouth to erase the spasm of self-disgust twisting his features. Sad fuck. He had to deal with himself. But he wasn’t going to inflict himself on anyone else.
He’d gone to the gym to do some cross-training, doing as many reps as he could until his muscles trembled so badly he could hardly walk. It felt good to be that tired. He’d do it again tonight. Then lighter tomorrow and feather back on weights over the next few days to give his body a chance to heal and build muscle. His physical was in three days. The Arkansas State Police physical required successive completion of five tasks in order: standing vertical jump of a minimum of thirteen inches, twenty-four sit-ups within a minute, seventeen push-ups within a minute, a three-hundred-meter run within seventy-eight point nine seconds. And finally a mile-and-a-half run within eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Compared with his military training, it was a cakewalk. But that was before he was minus a significant muscle in one leg to propel him along.
The jump and the mile-and-a-half run were going to be the difference between making it and failing.
Law rose casually, shifting his weight onto his good leg. His fancy prosthesis was due back today. He had called three times to make certain it would be delivered.
He reached for Sam’s leash and out of habit—and training—did a sweep of the local coffee shop customers. He had taken the table at the back, near the restrooms, facing the door. He’d noticed everyone who entered while he ate. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Even so, as he approached the cash register to pay, his gaze shifted back to the lunch counter where a man in a suit sat drinking coffee. The guy made eye contact and nodded.
Law went through a split second of scenarios that allowed him to keep control of the situation that might or might not unfold. BE PREPARED was tattooed on his DNA.
The man was a stranger but his gaze had been too direct for casual. Something about those faded blue eyes said he wasn’t a businessman. The suit screamed on the job. Investigator? Had someone turned him in to IA for his illegal online searches?
He paid, left a tip, and with Sam turned for the exit.
He walked down the block to a hardware store and entered. He made a line for the back of the store, putting some barriers between himself and whoever came through the door next. Ten minutes later, with a bag containing, nails, brads, and a roll of screening to repair a porch door, he stepped out into the December cool air. His hot breath made a cloud before his face. Before it cleared he’d made the man in the suit leaning on the passenger-side door of his truck.
“So it’s like that.” Law glanced down at Sam. “You keep watch on his flank. I’ll do the talking.”
Almost immediately Law glanced away from the animal. He must be losing it, talking to a curly-top mutt who couldn’t chew her way through anything more dangerous than a cardboard box. As proof, he’d started his morning by picking up wadded-up dog-spit-covered pieces of a shoe box.
“Can we talk?” The man with the faded blue eyes held up a badge as Law neared.
Law halted, legs braced apart, his gaze searching for backup. “Am I under arrest?”
The man watched him steadily but didn’t look particularly hostile. “Conversation, Mr. Battise. My vehicle or yours?”
Law reached past him and stuck his key in the passenger-side door.
* * *
“Task force?”
“The Central Arkansas Drug Task Force.” Faded blue eyes had introduced himself as Detective Wentworth. “We’re conducting an investigation in which your name has come up.”
“I doubt that.” Law stretched out his legs behind the wheel, ignoring the twinge in his stump. “I’m a state trooper stuck behind a desk. The only drugs I deal with are those given to me by my doctor for this.” Law thumped his prosthesis.
Wentworth nodded. “Heard about that. Honor to know you.”
“Right.”
Wentworth sobered. “You’ve been doing some unauthorized investigation of Tice Industries.”
“Who says?” Law didn’t as much as blink but his guard was up again, and not just because he’d spied Wentworth’s partner loitering in the middle of the block. It was twenty-five degrees outside. No one chose the out-of-doors to check his cell phone for messages. Two detectives gave better odds to this conversation being legit. But then all dirty cops were on the job. Was Becker part of this task force, too? Tice’s man inside? He needed to watch his step. He’d give nothing away until he got more intel.
“Are you accusing me of anything, Detective? Or are you just fondling my balls?”
“I’ve been asked to order you to back off.”
“On whose authority?”
“What do you know about Trooper Ron Becker?”
“Not much. I know I don’t like him.”
“He sure is interested in you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you know he broke into your home ten days ago?”
“Yeah. My dog told me.”
The agent eyed Sam, who was sprawled between them, with skepticism. “What kind of dog is that?”
“Cheez Doodle. Why are you really talking to me?”
“CADTF has been working a wide-scope investigation that includes northwest AR and parts of three other states for more than two years. We’re about to move. But we have to know our quarry hasn’t been tipped off.”
“You think I’m involved.” Law didn’t make it a question.
“No, sir. If I thought that, you’d be talking to me after I read you your rights.”
Law held that clear-water gaze. “So why are you talking to me?”
“You have a pretty high government clearance. CID gets respect with us. So I’m doing you the courtesy of asking you to back off.”
“What does that look like?”
“Don’t call or try in any fashion to get in touch with Luke Tice, any member of his campaign, or family. And keep off the state and federal criminal online databases.”
Law’s interest pricked up. “What do I get in return?”
“The privilege of knowing that once again you’ve served your country in the capacity of law enforcement.”
“I do that every day.”
Wentworth stared at Law so long he felt the urge to scratch. Finally, he shrugged. “What do you want?”
“You ever come across the name of Jordan Garrison in your investigation?”
Wentworth subjected him to a second, longer stare. “She’s an ex-con.”
“
She’s a classic case of the letter of the law being carried out in an unjust way.”
Wentworth’s mouth turned down. “I see.”
“No. You don’t. But that’s not important here.” Law knew instantly that Wentworth knew Jori was—had been involved with Law. For the first time he was glad he’d broken it off with her. He’d expected trouble. But federal trouble was the last thing she needed to become involved with. He was saving her that much.
Law shifted his shoulders, feeling that live-wire edginess that had been with him for a week throw off a few bright sparks. “What’s important is that if you come across any information that would appear to have to any bearing on the reopening of her case, I would like to have it.”
Wentworth shook his head. “I can’t promise anything. This is an ongoing investigation that may take months or longer to process.”
“In other words, I scratch your back and you say thank you and walk away.”
The man grunted. “Sounds about right.”
“Are you after Tice Industries?”
“You know I can’t reveal details of an ongoing investigation.”
“Yeah, yeah. So then I’ll just pretend I’m talking to myself and you can nod if you feel moved to. Is the investigation bigger than a bread box?”
Wentworth shrugged. Law smiled.
“I’m guessing a case that’s taken years to put together involves suppliers as well as dealers, and probably the dirtbags on the job who run interference for these good citizens.”
This time Wentworth just stared.
“That would include Trooper Becker in law enforcement corruption. Very bad news.”
Not even a flicker of an eyelid.
“Our friends at Tice are on the transport and supply side. Get them to talk and a large-scale drug trafficking ring gets mapped, top-to-bottom.”
Wentworth rubbed his eyes. “That’s a nice story, Mr. Battise. You should write a book.”
He reached for the door handle and then turned back. “Saw that video footage of you running down a perp.” He cracked a smile, and it brought life to his pallid complexion. “That’s the best takedown I’ve heard about all year. Proud to know you.”
