Page 15 of Hush
Mike’s door was open. He was early.
Well, go figure, after yesterday. Mike had been mortified. His ex sounded like a nightmare.Good riddance.
He couldn’t think like that.
Tom closed his eyes, hovering in front of his own office door. He could still ditch the coffee.
“Hey, Judge Brewer!”
Uh-oh.Mike’s cheery voice slammed into him, and footsteps paraded down the hall. “Good morning,” Mike called. “Happy Friday.”
“Morning.” Tom opened his eyes and turned to Mike.
Mike was a devastatingly handsome man. He hit all of Tom’s buttons, poked at every one of his deeply buried yearnings. He wanted to rake his fingers through Mike’s hair, lying like waves of perfect, sunbaked sand that ran for miles. He’d look gorgeous in a tiny bathing suit, stretched out on a towel on some empty beach, laughing and smiling as the sun brought little drops of sweat to his skin, beading into rivulets he’d lick off. Mike would taste like the sea, like happiness and sunshine and freedom. Like the joy the perfect blue of his eyes promised.
Mike had a folder in his hands, and he flipped through the pages, reading off names and sentences for minor drug charges and weapons possessions. Tom’s brain caught up seconds too late. “…looks like Lincoln’s gang, for the most part, isn’t knocking on the doors of the big leagues. Lincoln must be a connector between his people and the bigger fish. His guys are just the leg breakers.”
Tom blinked. “Too bad we couldn’t get him to flip.”
“You tried your best.” Mike reached for Tom’s keys, dangling off his pinkie as he clutched his sugary coffee. “Let me get your door, Your Honor.”
“Thanks.” He could stare while Mike’s back was turned. No one would know. He could stare at Mike’s shoulders, his back, the muscles moving beneath his white button-down. Mike had ditched his suit jacket in his office and he wore his shoulder holster, his weapon clipped beneath his armpit. His shoulder blades rolled beneath the straps, his back muscles flexed—
Mike stepped back and held open the door. “Here you go.”
Tom’s gaze snapped up. He fixed a smile to his face, a stretch of his lips he hoped wasn’t too ridiculous, and headed into his office.
“Double coffee today?” Mike hung back in the doorway.
“Actually…”Here goes nothing.“This is for you.”
Mike’s jaw dropped.
“Just in case. I need my inspector fully caffeinated.”
Slowly, Mike smiled and took the offered cup. He shook his head, chuckling to himself, and a flush darkened his neck. “You’re too kind about what happened, Judge Brewer.”
“I’ve got a reputation as the oddball of the court to uphold.”
“Chief Judge Fink would have brought me up on contempt of court charges.”
“He probably would.” Tom grinned. “But I have always been more lenient with first-time offenders.”
Mike was quiet. He stared at his coffee, spinning the paper cup in his hand. “I’m beginning to understand why that ends up working so well for you.” His eyes lifted, met Tom’s gaze.
Tom’s grin grew, turning into a smile. “‘I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.’”
Mike’s head tipped, cocked to one side. He frowned, as if searching his memories. “Abraham Lincoln?”
Tom nodded.
“Thank you for the coffee, Judge Brewer.” Mike spoke softly and saluted him with the cup before he backed out of the office. He kept smiling the whole time, and Tom’s stomach fluttered as he watched him go.
There wasn’t a chance in hell that he and Mike could ever be together, no matter how attracted he was to the man. Mike’s tastes didn’t run to boring mid-forty-year-olds, as evidenced by exhibit number one, the photo of his ex. But, maybe there was a chance at a friendship. God knew he could use a friend. His life was empty, purposely empty, achingly empty.
He wasn’t a greedy man. He’d take whatever he could get, whatever friendship might one day be offered or extended.
Baby steps. He had to unbarricade his closet door, crawl his way out of solitude. Twenty-five years was a long time. His forged persona fit him like a tailored suit, a mask he’d hand-made to perfection.
