Page 76 of 4th Silence
Matt gives me that knock-out smile of his. “Thought you were getting rid of me, didn’t you?”
A weight lifts off my chest. “Congratulations, Taylor.”
She shrugs immodestly. “Garrett Hastings reached out. He’s forming a new task force, and my skills fit.”
My former boss. I didn’t call in his favor to help resolve Tiffany’s case, but he’s on the mayor’s new federal review team. Now, SAC Hastings has helped me in a whole other way. I’d better order him a gift basket. “He’s tough but a stand-up guy. You’ll like him.”
“I’ll be in tomorrow,” Matt says. “Try to stay out of the news until then, okay?”
I give him a half-hearted smile. “No promises.”
* * *
My half of the duplex greets me with blessed silence, a stark contrast to the symphony of voices and clattering dishes I left behind. I slip off my heels at the door, my feet sinking into the plush area rug as I flick on the entryway light.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming home.”
My heart catapults. JJ lounges in the dimness of my living room, illuminated only by the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He’s in a charcoal Tom Ford suit that fits his expression, his eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“Breaking and entering is a federal offense, Counselor,” I manage, though my voice betrays me.
He rises, all six-foot-four of him unfolding with his usual effortless grace, but under it is a level of sheer exhaustion. “I still have a key.”
He does. Damn. “Abuse of power. Add it to the list.”
A ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “I brought wine.” He gestures toward my kitchen counter, where an open bottle of cabernet breathes beside two glasses. “And an apology.”
I don’t move, trying to reconcile the rush of conflicting emotions—the anger that’s been simmering for days, the relief at seeing him, the apprehension about what comes next. “You could have called.”
“You wouldn’t have answered.”
His certainty stings only because it’s true. Maybe. I’m not sure at this point. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
Smartass. He does know me. I move to the kitchen, needing distance, needing something to do with my hands. JJ remains where he is, giving me space. “Family dinner?” he asks.
“Where else would I be?” I pour myself a glass of the wine, not offering him one. “Although it was more Mom’s celebration of her media triumph. She got seven minutes on the morning news to discuss how she cracked the case.”
“And how many of those minutes acknowledged your contribution?”
I take a long sip. “It doesn’t matter.”
He grins, loosening his tie with one hand. The familiar gesture sends an unwelcome ripple through me. “For what it’s worth, I gave you and Meg all the credit at my press conference.”
He watches my reaction to see if I already know. If I watched it.
I did. “I don’t need credit.” I stare into the wine glass. “I just need—” I stop myself. What do I need? Respect? Understanding?
“How are your feet?” he asks, changing topics.
I curl my toes when he glances at them. “No permanent damage, but still super sensitive to cold.” Even now, I’m dying to ditch the stockings and pull on my warm, fuzzy socks. In previous days, I would let him warm my feet. His foot massages are legendary.
“Another battle wound for Charlize Schock’s collection.” His attempt at lightheartedness falls flat.
Silence stretches.
“Charlie.” My name comes out soft on his lips. “I should have done things differently with this case. I made a mistake. You and Meg?—”
