Code of Justice. Liz Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ “Let’s just say I conceded the point. What can we do about it?”

      “You need someone with you twenty-four seven.”

      “Like a bodyguard?” She shook her head.

      His head rocked side to side, lips pursed to the left. “More like a deputy protector.”

      “Nope. No way.” She shook her head violently, lowering her hands to look into his brown eyes. “You’re out of your mind. We already agreed that you’d take me along to investigate the crash, so I’ll already be with you most of the time.”

      “Yes. But this way, I’ll tag along wherever you’re going outside of the investigation, too.”

      Was he serious? “What on earth do you think you can do that I can’t?”

      “This very moment? Run. Walk normally. Drive a car.”

      She harrumphed and tried to seriously injure him with her eyes, but his annoying smirk stayed in place. Why did he have to make so much sense? She wanted to do this on her own. As much as she could while recovering from major surgery and without the aide of her Bureau connections. Having to count on him to help figure out why the chopper went down was bad enough. Letting him tag along on every errand? Unacceptable.

      “If I say no?”

      “I’ll take care of the investigation on my own.”

      “But we had a deal.”

      “The rules changed.” He rubbed his palms over his knees. “I’m not saying that watching you try to maneuver those crutches isn’t painful even for me, but I don’t want to see you killed, either. What if your sister had more info than we know now? I might need some help getting ahold of that. I need you around.” His mouth quirked into half a smile, and she knew he was teasing her.

      She punched the pillow supporting her back. “Can’t we just agree that I won’t leave my home without telling you?”

      Jeremy lifted his hands in what she quickly realized was a faux surrender. “Sure. We’ll just leave a note for the perp that you’ll be home alone from eleven to eight every night.” He rested his hands on his knees and leaned toward her. “He knew where to find you at the hospital. I’m not willing to bet that he doesn’t know where you live.”

      A chill ran across her shoulders, and despite the scowl she gave Jeremy, she knew he was right. She might need more protection than she could give herself at the moment. And no matter what, she couldn’t risk Jeremy backing out of their agreement to let her help with the investigation.

      Resigning herself to the inevitable, she grumbled, “All right.”

      He smiled. “Great. When should I move my stuff in?”

      She nearly choked on a simple inhaled breath, coughing making her double over in pain. Jeremy leaned in and patted her back. She sucked air into her lungs between gasps, never taking her eyes off his impish grin.

      When she could finally speak, she muttered, “What do you mean move your stuff in? You can’t stay here.”

      “Of course I can.” His tone turned firm, less jovial. “You need someone with you all day every day. I happen to be available.”

      “Don’t you have anything better to do with your evenings other than babysitting me? Friends you want to spend time with? Family? Girlfriend?”

      Pain flashed across his expression for a moment, instantly making her feel guilty. Clearly she’d hit a raw nerve. “I…I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was kind enough to ignore the half-hearted apology.

      “Listen, Heather,” he said, all humor gone from his face. “I know this is tough for you, but I’m not going to let you stay alone.”

      “But I barely know you!”

      “Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. So you pretty much have two options. Me…” He pointed his thumb at his chest and quirked one eyebrow. “Or someone from the Bureau. Your call. But I’m not about to leave you on your own to face who knows what’s out there.”

      “Ugh.” She turned, crossed her arms and looked away from Jeremy as he leaned back into the chair, already too much at home. He knew she couldn’t go to her office for help without revealing what she was up to.

      His grin returned full-force. “Good. I’ll pick up my stuff tonight.” Pulling out a little notebook from his pocket, he asked, “So where do you think we should start?”

      Without even a thought about what he was asking, she said, “Kit’s office.”

      His forehead wrinkled, and his dark eyebrows pulled together. “What about the wreckage from the crash? There isn’t someone responsible if it was an accident. Shouldn’t we start there, to confirm that the cyclic controls were actually tampered with?”

      “If it was an accident, then why is someone trying to take me out of the picture?”

      He pursed his lips. “Valid point. But are we certain that it’s not related to a past case of yours?”

      “It’s not. I just know it. Kit said to follow the drugs.” Heather swallowed loudly.

      “But if we wait to investigate the wreckage, evidence may disappear.”

      She hated that he made sense. Why did he have to be good at his job and so frustrating at the same time?

      “What if we have to know what Kit knew to make any sense of the crash or the rest of the investigation? Shouldn’t we start there?”

      He stared straight at her injured leg for several long seconds, pressing his fingers together, making a triangle with his thumbs. “Fine. We’ll start with Kit’s office in the morning. But then we’re immediately going to check out the chopper.”

      She nodded. “Good.”

      Suddenly her front door vibrated under the force of three solid thumps.

      “Are you expecting anyone?”

      She shook her head, her heart already in her throat.

      Jeremy jumped, reaching under his jacket and adjusting his shoulder holster. Just as he reached the door, Heather chuckled.

      “I just realized that assassins don’t usually knock.”

      He laughed, too, as he peered through the peephole. She had a good point. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. A man with dark hair stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of black slacks. “Can I help you?” Jeremy asked after cracking the door open.

      “Who are you?” the other man demanded, leaning in toward the door and trying to push past Jeremy’s firm stance.

      He couldn’t help the scowl that followed the man’s rudeness. “I could ask you the same question.”

      “I’m Clay Kramer.” The man’s eyes turned to slits, his gaze never wavering. “Where is Heather? If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

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