Page 26 of Torched Spades
“Thanks for the recap,” I mutter. “For a moment, I’d almost convinced myself I was just a dock worker trying to start a new life. Thank God, you were here to remind me of all my mistakes.”
Ledger’s jaw tightens seconds before he slams the folder shut. “If you don’t think I have my eye on you, you’re mistaken,” he warns, hurling his finger across the table. “I’m watching every move you make, you son of a bitch. I’m counting every step, listening to every breath, hearing every word… You may think you’re smarter than everyone else now, but even the smartest men fuck up,Johnny… And when you do, I’ll be there waiting.”
I match his searing glare, neither of us blinking as I meet him scowl for scowl and dare for dare. Still, there’s something in the way he says my name that wraps a cold hand around my spine and twists it sideways.
Suddenly, the room I just had so much command over feels like a straitjacket. The walls inch closer, and the air crackles with static.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
“I’ll ask again, am I being charged with anything, detective?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we’re done here.” Ledger sits quietly, his gaze never straying from mine as I push my chair away from the table, stand, then kick it back toward the wall. “No need to get up, I’ll see myself out.” Resisting the urge to flip off the two-way mirror again, I cross the office and am reaching for the doorknob when he calls out behind me.
“Are you ‘banging her’, Mr. Malone?”
I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
“Alice Iverson,” he clarifies, cocking his chin. “Henry Starling made a comment on his way out that he hoped you were banging Alice, or you were fucked.” He smiles, the arrogant tax accountant façade making a comeback. “Because that would pose quite a conflict of interest.”
I shrug. “I don’t think your mom will mind.”
His smirk is swallowed by the hellfire red stain on his pasty cheeks.
My plan walking in the door was to say little and confess nothing. However, plans change. Situations evolve. People adapt. A man shouldn’t throw his hat into a ring unless he’s prepared to fight and willing to take a punch.
Detective Jack Ledger is neither.
“Give my best to the Chief,” I quip, slamming the door behind me.
Chapter Eight
BECCA
“Dr. Brennan, your two-thirty is here.”
The lipstick in my hand tumbles onto my lap as my receptionist’s voice filters through the intercom. I stare at my desk phone and do my best to ignore the jolt of electricity pinging down my spine.
My two-thirty is here.
Words I’ve anticipated and dreaded for the past seven days.
Scooping the lipstick from my lap, I toss it onto my desk, smirking at the shade written on the bottom.
Fire Queen.
How appropriate.
Then my smirk fades, along with my impetuous burst of confidence. Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t make a habit of playing games with my patients.
No, you just make unethical bets with them.
Groaning, I pull a compact mirror from my purse and tissues from a box on my desk.Pull it together, Becca.I scrub at my mouth, but all I do is smear an angry red stain above my lip.
Great.
Throwing the tissues, the compact, and apparently, my dignity onto the desk, I drop my head into my hands and let out a muffled scream. I don’t know what compelled me to act so out of character.
