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?”