Page 91 of Luck of the Devil
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. Come on.” He opened the car door and got out.
I was too tired to figure out what he meant by that, so I got out too and waited by the passenger door as he opened the trunk and pulled out my bag.
I followed him as he climbed the two steps to the porch and then punched a series of numbers into the digital keypad under his handle. There was an audible click, and he pushed the door open, motioning for me to enter.
I gave him a last look. If he still seemed hesitant, I’d insist on leaving, but the indecision had been wiped off his face. He still didn’t look happy about it, though.
“We can go somewhere else,” I offered again.
“Don’t be stupid,” he grunted. “I’ve been to your place multiple times. It’s no big deal.”
It wasn’t the same and we both knew it. James was private, even more so than I was. I couldn’t help wondering how many other people he’d invited here.
I walked inside. The décor was a mix of modern and rustic, with a stone fireplace, leather sofa, and wrought iron and glass coffee and end tables. It was open to his kitchen, a modern looking space with maple cabinets and dark stone countertops.
“Wow,” I said, “This is nice … really nice.”
He walked in behind me and shut the door. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not sure why I am,” I said. “Your office in the tavern sort of has the same feel. I had no idea something like this existed in Lone County.”
He headed into the kitchen. “It didn’t start out this way. It was a dump when Carter found it, but he got to work redoing it so it was ready when I could move in.”
My brow shot up. “You never saw it before you moved in?”
He opened a cabinet and pulled out two glasses, then headed to the fridge, casting a glance at a pill bottle on the counter. “I was a bit detained.”
Oh. “Carter bought it while you were in prison.”
He didn’t answer, instead focused on filling both glasses with ice.
I wanted to ask why he’d moved to Lone County, but I’d asked before and he hadn’t given me a straight answer. There was a better chance he’d tell me now, but I didn’t want to push. Especially since I hadn’t told him about the situation with Devereaux yet.
“So Carter was in charge of all the renovations? How did he know you’d like it?”
“He knows my taste,” he said over the clink of the ice cubes. “He showed me some plans though, and I gave my approval.”
The renovations must have taken months, all while James was in prison waiting a trial for charges that could have kept him in prison for life. It seemed risky that he’d have Carter renovate a house he wasn’t sure he’d ever move into. Unless he’d spent part of his time in prison working out a new deal with the Feds.
“I renovated my house in Little Rock,” I said, walking over to him as he filled one of the glasses with water. “It was a hundred-plus-year-old craftsman. I hired out a lot of the work, but I also did some of it myself.”
He looked at me as he handed me the glass he’d finished filling. “You sold it, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “My legal bills were exorbitant.”
“The police union didn’t pay for any of it?”
“In the beginning, but then I didn’t do what they wanted.” I took a sip of water to soothe my parched mouth. “It became apparent they weren’t going to put their best efforts into my case. So I got my own attorney.” I’d told him this before, but it didn’t feel redundant. The first time had been contentious. This time it felt … right.
He picked up the pill bottle, read the label, then unscrewed the cap. “This’ll help with the detox. No more tapering off alcohol. You’ll taper off these instead.” He shook two tablets into his palm and held them out to me.
I eyed them cautiously, not taking them. “What is it?”
“Lorazepam.”
My eyes flew wide. “What … where did you get those?”
He gave me a look that said, really?
