Page 57 of Lust
“Why is that my fault?”
She pursed her lips. “Boy, I’ve been around since the day you two walked in with your academy shirts and matching green faces. You think I don’t know the reason our girl’s taking her first sick day, so soon after you arrive in town, isn’t because of you?” She made an incredulous sound through her teeth. “Puh-lease. It’s always the man.”
She went to leave, but Joe stood suddenly. “Wait. Liza’s sick?”
A raised brow and a gesture at the flyer. “You going to join?”
“I’ll think about it. What do you mean about Liza?”
Liza told Joe last night that she needed to be in contact with her mate, or her internal balance was volatile, or something like that. Whatever she’d done to maintain her equilibrium before might not be enough now. If she’d called in sick, maybe it was his fault. Maybe she was actually sick, and he’d walked away from her.
Letisha shrugged. “All I know is that her brother said she was unwell and won’t be in for a few days. He also said to remove her from all extracurricular activities, hence the need for a replacement player on our softball team.”
“Her brother said that?”
She tipped her chin affirmatively.
He sat in his chair and fumed. When Letisha left, he pulled out two Manila files from his locked drawer. He’d spent most of the night compiling his report on the Deadly Seven, but the moment he’d finished, he immediately started another report. Both of them were so sensitive, that he hadn’t been ready to enter the data into the computer. The second report had been about the white-robed terrorists Liza called the Faithful, and their Syndicate boss. By the time he’d crossed the last t and dotted the last i, he knew he needed more information before making a final decision about which report to hand in. One file was thick. The other was thin. He needed more evidence.
The previous night had left him exhausted, both spiritually and bodily. Old bitterness rose to the surface at how Parker had treated him on the way out. Parker thought he was so much better than everyone, and maybe he was. Maybe that was the reason Joe wanted to see his downfall. If Parker didn’t think he was so perfect, then Joe didn’t have as high to climb.
A knock came at the door. A glance up and his heart stopped.
“Liza.” Joe surged to his feet, almost knocking the case files wide open. Scrambling to order them, he quickly locked them back in his drawer before meeting Liza’s eyes.
“I thought you were...”
“Sick?” she finished for him, and then slouched into the guest chair at his desk, making herself comfortable by kicking up her boots and stretching back in a way that affected him in dark and deep places.
The passage of night and the murky thoughts of apprehending her family had not dulled the ache in his body for want of her touch. She looked picture perfect. Brown glossy hair. Tanned face, sharp and stubborn jaw, wide lips. Curious eyes laced with awareness too clever to miss anything. She knew he studied her longer than appropriate, and she welcomed it by stretching her arms behind the chair to expose the swell of her breasts beneath her white blouse. Her bra was black today. A rosette pattern of lace. Had she made a mistake or was she deliberately trying to heat his blood?
The answer would come when she either buttoned her jacket to hide the lace or left it open before leaving the room. He supposed he could always just ask her.
He cleared his throat. “Letisha said your brother had called in sick for you.”
Two brows squished together. “I know. Can you believe that ass-wipe? He thinks I need more training, but I said I have you now, so not to worry.”
Her blind faith in him pinged a spark between his ribs. Hearing her blow off Parker’s orders sent another spark kindling. He liked that she came to him for support, but... she was wrong.
He planted palms on the desk and splayed his fingers before leaning toward her, returning her glib contemplation for something more unwavering. “What makes you think you don’t have to worry around me?”
She paused. Her brow flinched as if she was trying to assess his veracity, but then shrugged it off. “Because you’ve always had my back, and I’ve had yours. I may have lost my way a little. As you said, I got a little jaded, but now we’re partners again. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
Her gaze lingered a beat longer than normal, and then she pulled out her cell. “I think we should head to the shelter today. I’m not sure if that runaway will be there long. Most of them bail after the first night.”
“No,” he said.
“What?”
He went to his door, shut it, and then turned to her. “We’re not going anywhere until we talk. We’re not going to sweep last night under the rug.”
She gaped, scoffed as though she would rebuff but then softened and said, “Yeah, well, maybe I was afraid that if I talked, you’d run away again, just like you always do.”
“I don’t run away.”
“Yes, you do.” She held up leather-clad fingers and pointed them out. “Exhibit A, last night. Exhibit B, in my garage when I told you to get the ball from my pocket. You said you liked me and then bolted. Exhibit C, in seventh grade, you were supposed to meet me behind the blue trash can in the cafeteria on Valentine’s Day and we were going to swap puddings. You failed to turn up. I rest my case.”
He arched a brow. “Seventh grade? Really?”
