“Terrified.”
He’d felt it, too, terror for her, standing in the line of fire of a meth head. “By the way, he didn’t have a gun. Only a knife.” And knives killed, too.
“Did you know he didn’t have a gun when you chased him?”
“I didn’t. But there wasn’t much of a bulge in that pocket when he came out of the store. And he ran. I didn’t shoot him, because the parking lot was full of bystanders. If I’d fired someone else might have caught a bullet.”
“So you ran him down. That takes a lot of quick thinking and calculation.”
“Like I told you, it’s the job. If I’d had a real dog with me, I’ve have set him on the suspect and saved myself the aggravation.” His expression must have revealed his feelings as he glanced back at Sam, because Jori’s smile was on the fritz again.
Jori reached up to pet Sam, who’d thrust her head forward to once again check out her Alpha. “Sam has other virtues.” Her gaze was reproachful. “You haven’t given her a chance.”
Damn. He’d done it. Put out the light he’d never thought he’d see in Jori’s face. He felt suddenly cold and alone, and very sad. He wanted that warming grateful gaze back.
He reached across the console and his computer and touched her cheek. It was too pale and chilled. “I’m sorry about … everything. My fault, not yours.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the apology.”
“I didn’t—” Too late. He had. He grinned and pinched her cheek lightly. “How about breakfast now? I could use some decent coffee and some eggs.”
“Are you okay?” She touched his mouth and blood came away on her hand.
He grabbed her hand and wiped the blood on his uniform shirt. It was just an excuse to touch her. “I’ll clean up in the restroom. Okay?”
She nodded. “Whatever you want.”
This time he grinned. “Don’t offer me open-ended invitations. I’m still the same bastard you thought I was an hour ago.”
“Yes and no.” She met his gaze with a steady look. “You’re that, but more. We need to talk.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we do.” And she might be revising her opinion of him again after she heard what he wanted to talk about.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What do you mean, Sam’s a thief?”
Jori’s voice wafted up the staircase to the loft bedroom where Law had retreated to examine his stump. He had felt it swelling inside his prosthesis during the day. The torque and strain of the tumble he had taken had damaged the socket, making a good fit impossible. But he had been determined to finish his shift. Even if his limp was so pronounced by the end of the day, his colleagues were commenting. Now he was paying the price. The prosthesis hurt like a sumbitch.
But he’d made a collar this morning. First in more than four years. He still had what it took. That was worth the pain.
His cell phone chimed. He glanced at the number. Another news channel. He punched END and put it back in his pocket. Local radio and TV outlets had been calling all day, wanting to interview him. One of the customers in the parking lot had taken a phone video of his takedown and sent it in to the media. It was playing on all the local channels. A fellow officer said it had gone viral on YouTube. He didn’t want anything to do with that. No publicity for doing his job. Certainly not just because he was missing a leg.
“Battise?”
He looked up and smiled. He’d offered to buy dinner, but Jori was downstairs, promising to cook for him if she could find anything in his kitchen. Good luck with that. Best answer her before she came looking for him.
“I taught Sam to bring me a beer while I’m working.” He released his prosthesis and pulled it off. “A few days after she mastered the trick I noticed some franks were missing from the fridge. A few days later some sliced turkey had disappeared. Since she’d been with me all day, I figure she raids my refrigerator in the middle of the night.” He gingerly peeled off his liner. “Your dog’s a Snack Hound.”
“You mean your dog.” She sounded closer. She must have come to the bottom of the stairs to hear him better. “WWP didn’t teach her to help herself. You did.”
Law hissed in a breath as the stump sock came off. “All the same. If she keeps doing midnight raids, I won’t be able to afford to keep her in the style to which she’s becoming accustomed.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do about that.”
He could hear her climbing the stairs as she talked. Not good. “Can you give me a minute? I’m busy here.”
“I’m just bringing that beer you asked for. Sam’s good but she can’t climb a spiral staircase.”
“Jori, you don’t need to—” Stripped to his skivvies, Law looked around for something to cover himself but he was in a chair, far from bedding or closet. His hand would have to do.