She didn’t mince words, as he’d expected, but her dislike of the space surprised him. “Why not? It’s one of the better rooms in the building.”
She sat a little straighter. “No windows. Too much like a closet. I like natural light.”
“Yeah, I’m not a fan of being inside. I’ll take any task that gets me moving outside.”
Jenna allowed her gaze to travel over the length of his body. “So what happened to your leg?”
He folded his arms, not sure why he’d shifted to defense. “You’ve been talking to Georgia.”
A half smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Sure. But not about you. I noticed the way you shift your weight. And I noticed your expression when you tackled the stairs yesterday.”
An artist who re-created human figures would notice inconsistencies, anomalies. However, he didn’t like being the subject of her scrutiny, especially when it zeroed in on his weakness. “I thought I did a good job of covering it up. Worked pretty damned hard with my physical therapist to make sure that I have an even gait.”
A shrug of her shoulders softened some of the intensity in her eyes. “There’s no limp when you walk but there’s a subtle stiffness. I draw people. And, I’m a cop. Part of what makes someone who they are is how they move.”
“You were just summing me up.”
“You. Bishop. Georgia.”
“Bishop? What did you figure about him?”
“He has a keen eye for Georgia.”
Morgan laughed. “The two fight all the time.”
“I think, for those two, arguing might be flirting.”
“He’s not fond of the Morgans.”
“Don’t be so sure.” This was not the conversation he’d intended. He shifted to offense. “I was comparing your space here to your home.”
A brow arched as hesitancy flashed in her gaze. “And what do you see?”
Good, they were now both uncomfortable. “Can you say control issues?”
That made her laugh. “Did you miss the part where I said I’m a cop?”
“The trait comes with the job. The question is where did it come from? We all had it before the first day on the job.”
“Where did it come from in you?”
Nice deflection. “Genetics, I guess. A legendary homicide detective raised the Morgan kids. We all have our share of issues.”
“Ah.”
“Now, your turn. What’s your excuse?”
A slight tension tugged at the edges of her lips. “Who knows?”
“No, I’m not letting you dodge this so easily.”
“Really.”
“Want my theory?”
She turned back to her sketchpad and opened it. She began to draw. “Sounds like I’m going to get it.”
“It was definitely from your past. Something that instilled a need to control.”
Her pencil stilled for a beat before moving again. “Maybe it was genetics in my case as well.”
“I don’t think so.” He dropped the line in the water wondering if she’d take the bait.
She swam right past it as if it would take more to get her to open up. Fine. He’d drop it for now. “Sorry, Detective, I didn’t sign on for analysis.”
And with that, the door slammed shut. However, he wasn’t worried. He’d find a way to open that door again soon. “So the picture will be ready tomorrow?”
“Likely. The day after at the latest. Like I said, the final details always take more time than I figured.”
“What kind of details?”
“Subtleties. The quirk of a mouth, the spark in the eyes. There’s always something I miss until the very end.”
What was he missing about her? A lot. In time he’d figure her out. He figured everyone out eventually. The only worry with her was time. Would she be around long enough to decipher. That shouldn’t matter, but it did. “You’ll call me when you’re finished.”
“You’ll be the first.”
“Great.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Tracker.”
“So Tracker’s a retired canine. Belgian shepherd?”
“Yeah. Good eye.”
She rose, like yesterday, but made no move to pet the dog. She knew, though Tracker was retired, he considered himself a working dog. She seemed to understand that not petting Tracker was a sign of respect. “How old is he?”
“Five.”
“You two were shot at the same time.”
Her certainty made him wonder again if she’d talked to Georgia. “Yeah.”
“It’s a hell of a business, being a cop.”
“I’ve often questioned my sanity.” But I didn’t quit.
She glanced back at her drawing as if reading his thoughts. “So it’s just you and Georgia?”
“No. Older brother, Deke Morgan, heads up homicide. He’s just back from vacation with his girlfriend and is digging out. And there’s another Morgan, Alex. He works for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.” No need to mention he and Alex hadn’t spoken in months or that nothing had been right between them since Melissa.
Nodding, she kept her gaze on the drawing. “A regular family dynasty.”
A fact he took pride in, even when someone like Bishop mumbled complaints about connections and good ol’ boy networks. “That we are.”
“Nice.”
Curiosity jabbed him in the back. “What brought you to Nashville? We’re off the beaten track for folks hailing from the East Coast.”
Her gaze darkened a fraction and he’d have missed it if he hadn’t been watching closely. “I was born here. Lived there a few years before my aunt and I moved east. Tapping into my family roots, I guess.”
“The Morgans know a lot of folks. Your family name is Thompson?”
“It is. Though there’re none of us left in Nashville. Both my parents were only children.” As if suddenly uncomfortable, she retreated back to her chair. “I’ve a good bit of work to do here so if you don’t mind?”
He read her discomfort as if he’d opened the pages of a book. “Tossing me out?”
Her grin was broad and bright. “Throwing you both out.”
The turn in conversation to her family had made her nervous. She tried to cover but failed. So what had happened to her family? “Call me when you have the sketch.”
“Consider it done.”