But he didn’t want her to stop touching him. Her fingers were soothing and cool and efficient as she cleaned and bandaged him. She wasn’t feeling what he was feeling. But he could so easily change that. A quick flip of his hips and her fingers would slide off his hip and into his groin where she might caress every throbbing inch of him.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He needed to think about something, anything else. “Tell me about the night Brody Rogers died.”
Jori stilled. Her gaze shifted from her work to meet his. Her guard was up. “Why?”
“I read your trial records.” Law shifted back so that he could sit up. Talking to her with his bare ass in her face didn’t seem right. “It was a lot harder to gain access to the grand jury records. I’ve learned what I can. But I want to hear your side.”
“Why?”
She straightened away from him, arms folding defensively across her chest. “Last time we talked you said you didn’t care what I’d done or why. What’s changed?”
He pushed a hand through his hair, searching for simple honesty in his reply. “I don’t know, Jori. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”
She gave him a look. He tried to look as innocent as a man with ulterior intentions could. It must have been pretty damn convincing since she finally shrugged. “Finish what you need to do. We’ll talk over dinner.”
*
“This is good.” Law scooped up another forkful. “What do you call it, friggin’ what?”
“Frittata.” Jori sat at the table beside him, cradling a cup of coffee like it was the only warmth in the whole world. “I didn’t have much to work with, some eggs, milk, a hunk of cheddar, and an onion.”
“And peas.” He stared at the green spheres dotting the puffy omelet. “I hate peas.” But he shoved the forkful in his mouth and sighed in satisfaction.
“You had four bags of peas in the freezer.”
“I use them as ice packs.”
“Oh.” Jori almost smiled. But she couldn’t forget the conversation they needed to have.
Argyle had made herself at home in Jori’s lap, but kept creeping up to peer over the rim of the table at Jori’s regrettably unserved plate.
Jori couldn’t even think about swallowing food. Not when she knew Law was waiting for her to tell him her story. If he had done research on her, he must know everything. Why did she need to say it out loud? What did he need to hear?
She watched him eat. He was dressed again in a waffle-weave Henley and sweat shorts with one empty leg. He looked good, as if the pain and bruising hidden beneath his clothing didn’t exist.
She’d been startled to see him on crutches but she didn’t say anything. What he had done today he had done for strangers, for law and order. It had cost him. But he seemed at peace with that. She was impressed, and wary. She couldn’t afford to care so much about him, or his good opinion. Not when she was becoming emotionally involved. He’d warned her away from that. He was law enforcement tough, unsentimental, and probably jaded from years of perp lies. She couldn’t expect him to believe a thing she said. Talking about Brody should put up walls for both of them.
She took a gulp of her coffee. “What do you want to know about Brody?”
“I need to know the facts, as you remember them.” Law put down his fork, though he looked at the remaining frittata with longing. “Humor me. What happened the night Brody died? Had you seen him earlier?”
“Yes. He came by the apartment but said he was going to a frat party up on Beaver Lake. One of his alumni chapter members has a weekend place up there.”
“You get a name?” She shook her head but leaned back, braced for trouble.
Law was choosing his way carefully, in full interrogation mode, planning when to reveal what he’d learned independently as he went along. He was leading her somewhere but he needed to know some things first. So he needed to mix it up, put her at ease. “How did you two meet?”
She didn’t say anything for several seconds. “We met at a frat party on campus. Brody was an alum of the fraternity but he said he liked the vibe of campus frat life so he went back to the campus house as often as he could. He’d worked for Tice Industries so he was a bit older. Handsome, funny, definitely more sophisticated than the average frat boy.”
“So you fell for him.” Law tried to keep his tone light. He’d known and both envied and disapproved of the type while he worked his way through college.
“I did, for a while.” She shook her head. “He had dreams, and even bigger ambition. But no patience. He was always looking for shortcuts. He knew how to bend rules and make people like it. Everything with Brody was a calculation. In the end, I realized that I was one of his shortcuts. It changed things.”