Page 94 of Playing With Fire

“Sod off,” she muttered. “I gave at the office.”

The next sound was muffled, like a palm slapped against the smooth wood. Something seemed to crack inside Jodi’s chest. She swore again.

A pushover, that’s what she was.

She trudged to the door.

Ricky looked like a seedy mugger through the fisheye lens. His too-long hair was mussed, and a six o’clock shadow blurred his clean-cut features. His eyes looked like bruises in his pale face.

Jodi glanced in the hall mirror. Her damp hair hung lankly on her shoulders. Every trace of makeup was gone, and she had wiped off her nail polish so quickly that her cuticles were stained blue.

Fine, she thought grimly, opening the door.

Say hi to the real Jodi Ruskin.

Cold air swooped inside, racing up her bare ankles and under the baggy top and setting off an instant rash of goosebumps. Her skin tightened. Jodi’s heart, that unreliable and perfidious organ which had clearly not received the updated memo, raced with excitement.

Not happening. The only thrill tonight is herbal tea and maybe honey on buttered toast. Plus all the chocolate, if I ever find the damned stuff. And I don’t plan to share.

Ricky walked inside.

Jodi went back to the kitchen. Ricky slipped onto a stool while she silently laid out another mug and poured water on another tea bag. (Lavender and lemon, a foul combination which she had bought on a whim and immediately regretted.)

“I thought you might want to know about the twins.”

“Yep.” Jodi thought about moving to the matching stool but decided that keeping the barrier of the kitchen bench between them was a safer option.

She and Dougie had been working on the story for the last hour. Waiting for a final update from Sally Lett and some no-doubt carefully phrased comments from the Chief.

Looked like Jodi was about to get an in-person exclusive from the local hero.

Ricky’s gaze locked onto hers.

“Bottom line, the Chief is withdrawing the charges against Joshua and Judah. Any further investigations into the firebug will be handled by him directly, but he does not, quote unquote, ‘expect that the matter will proceed, given the dearth of solid evidence and the conflicting circumstantial accounts of what happened’.”

Jodi muttered a bad word under her breath. She reached for the laptop and tapped in a few more lines.

Ricky sipped his tea. He winced. “What’s that smell? And why is the tea purple?”

Jodi held up a hand. She flicked her eyes over the draft and made some lightning changes. Took a breath, and hit Send.

Done. And in fact, Acting Editor Jodi Ruskin was done with everything.

She exhaled, the long breath releasing some of the load she’d been carrying since whenever. Dear God, but it felt good, she thought. Scary. Lonely. But good.

Ricky’s gaze was unwavering. Jodi cleared her throat. Some endings were easier than others.

“It’s herbal,” she said crisply, turning to Ricky with an expression meant to convey that she was completely unmoved by his scruffy appearance. “Guaranteed to calm the mind and soothe the spirit. You ought to try it.”

His eyes narrowed. She continued remorselessly, “But I can have a look in the box, see if there is something for unlocking the truth.”

“Ouch.” His voice was mild. His eyes drifted over her face, down to where a stray drop of water was rolling towards her breasts. A flood of warmth spread through her body.

“Looks like I interrupted your...er...bath time.”

Something invisible, supercharged, arced between them. A sudden, painfully acute awareness of the other. Of skin, hair, muscle, hardness, and softness.

Jodi looked away, cheeks burning.

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