Primal Force (9 page)

His lips twitched, a quick uptick of amusement. He was tempted to tell her more. But that would just be pretending they were now going to get to know each other. He needed to get the hell out. And he knew, too easily, how to shut her down.

“How long were you inside?”

Jori flinched. Of course. He was curious about that.

She folded her arms across her chest and jutted out a hip. She had her own way of erecting walls. “Three years, six months, three days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes. More or less.”

Law frowned as she gave him the math. She couldn't be more than twenty-five or -six? That meant she'd spent the first years of her adulthood behind bars. He hurt for her just thinking about it. But he didn't want her pain.

He'd seen her in action with the other vets and the service dogs. She had a natural kindness and sympathy for living things. No doubt some bastard had taken advantage of her generous nature and it had gotten her into a world of trouble.

In his experience in law enforcement, misguided loyalty to a douchebag boyfriend accounted for why most women ended up in jail. Didn't matter if the women were soldiers or civilians. None of his business, of course. The fact that he'd like to pummel the hypothetical bastard who'd ruined Jori's life made no difference.

Jori finished braiding her hair before she said, “You haven't asked why.”

He stood and zipped his pants. She sounded defensive, like his opinion mattered.

“A sentence that allowed you out in three and a half years means you probably didn't kill anyone. Did you try?”

“No.” She sounded horrified by the idea while he'd sounded matter-of-fact.

“Then I don't need to know.”
Don't want to know.

Law bent to lace up his boot. They'd already said too much. Shared too much. She was in search of bonds, promises, and a future. But he didn't have any of those things to offer. He should have left her the hell alone.

He glanced in her direction but his gaze snagged on her feet. She wore socks, one blue and one orange. He felt his gut twist. Those damn socks! He'd noticed them when she wrapped her legs around his waist, the first time.

He felt even worse. He should have left it to some upright Dudley-Do-Right type to bring back her sexual nature. Someone with more to offer than
Slam, bam, thank you, ma'am.
Someone who might want to make those plans she needed.

He looked up, hoping like hell she wouldn't see in his expression all that was roiling inside him. “Look, I'm not sure—”

A scratch at the door interrupted.

Looking like she needed an escape, Jori hurried to open it.

Sam walked in, her head moving slowly from one to the other, studying the emotional climate of the humans in the room. First, she moved toward Jori and rubbed her curly head against her thigh. Jori reached out to pet her but, after only a few strokes, Sam hurried over and lightly pawed Law's good foot, a sign she needed to go out.

A moment later, Argyle appeared. Moving like a furry dart, the kitten skipped across the room, bounded up on the bed and onto Law's chest. Claws out, she raked at his face with both paws several times before leaping off and zigzagged her way back out the door.

Horrified by her pet's actions, Jori rushed over to Law. “Oh no. Are you hurt?”

Law felt his face. “No. Lucky my beard's so long and thick.”

“I can't think why she'd act like that. She's usually…” Jori's voice trailed away as she went in search of her cat.

Law knew the answer as he felt his stinging nose. He didn't need a pocket-sized ninja kitty with an overly developed protective instinct to let him know he was a good-for-nothing rat bastard. The damning evidence was there in Jori's sexual glow.

He walked into the living area where Jori was petting Argyle. “I'm heading out. You want me to drop you back at work first?”

Jori glanced at her kitchen clock. How was she going to explain a three-and-a-half-hour lunch?

She shook her head. “No, I'm good. It's only a three-mile walk. I need the exercise.”

Law watched her a moment longer, liking her display of independence, even if it was pitifully obvious she was doing it because she was trying to take him on his own terms.

She followed him to the door, Sam trailing Law.

At the door, Law turned back. His shoulders were hunched as if in anticipation of a blow. How many women had he run out on? No, better not think about that now.

Jori had folded her arms before her chest, her green eyes looking a bit large for her face. A half smile jerked her lips to one side. “It's okay.”

He only meant to say good-bye but he found himself moving back toward her and reaching for her.

He felt her stiffen slightly as his hands settled possessively on her waist. How was it that he wanted to both reassure her that she was safe from him, and yet tell her to run like hell.

“I made a mistake with you.”

God, the stricken look on her face cut deep. He never apologized. But he couldn't stop himself. “You're worth more than a good time, Jori. You deserve someone who can give everything you need to make you smile all the time. I'm just not that guy.”

He astonished himself by kissing her forehead quickly before releasing her. “I hope you find what you need real soon.”

Jori waited until the door closed behind him and Sam before she said softly, “You, too, Law.”

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I don't give a good goddamn about excuses. Next time you screw up I'm going to come down there and give you a proctology exam with my right foot. You're a lily-livered, sorry excuse for a whore. But you're my whore, bought and paid for with my money. You got that? That's what I thought. Now take care of it.” Harold Tice stabbed the
OFF
button on his phone.

“Easy, Dad. You're going to bust a gut over nothing.”

Luke Tice had been listening to his father's end of the phone conversation with a divided mind. His father certainly knew how to light a fire under a body. And how to get his way. But now that Luke was running for office, he needed his dad to pull in his horns a bit. “You want me to follow up on that for you?”

“No.” Tice swung his desk chair toward his son. “I don't want you bothering with business, son. You've got other fields to plow. How's the campaign coming along?”

“Well enough. We've got a fund-raiser over in Bentonville this weekend.”

His father nodded in approval. “Anything you need, you tell me. I got ways of funding the campaign that won't show up as Tice money on your books.”

“While I appreciate the offer, Dad, what I need right now is for grassroots people to buy into my campaign. In a special election like this, small donors count more with public perception.”

“Public perception. Exactly. Which reminds me. You need to pull Erin out of Kaitlyn Ferguson's wedding. You can't afford the association.”

Luke smiled and rubbed his chin. “I couldn't if I wanted to. Erin's got her heart set on making her former sorority sister's wedding the northwest Arkansas social event of the year.”

“That's exactly what you can't afford. Everybody remembers that your office prosecuted the groom's sister. One thing if they had gotten married before the sister was released. But now, how's it going to look, you sitting up in the wedding next to a felon you helped convict?”

“It's going to look like I'm a big-tent politician. Jordan Garrison served her time for her crimes. She got a new start. Working with that canine service organization, Warriors Wolf Pack, that trains dogs for wounded vets. I'm big enough to wish her well for accepting responsibility and trying to steer a new path. This is a win–win. I'm courting votes from veterans, their families and friends, and dog lovers.”

His father gave him a sour look. “What I'm seeing is pictures of you and your wife smiling and drinking above a headline that reads:
SENATE HOPEFUL HOBNOBS WITH FELON HE PUT BEHIND BARS
.”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “That's not going to happen. I've already prepared a statement for the press the day of the event. Get my message out there on my terms.”

“You're thinking like a schoolboy. Have you forgotten that the young Garrison woman was nearly married to your cousin Brody? You don't need to do anything that will remind voters of that association.”

“No.” Luke grew serious for a moment. Harold knew his son was thinking about his cousin Brody. They'd once been very close. He'd want to mend fences with Brody's intended. His next words confirmed it.

“Backing out now would have the same effect since Erin's volunteered to step in at the last minute with the wedding preparations. She's hosting a bridal shower. Besides, it might not even be an issue.”

“Why's that?”

“Erin heard from Kaitlyn that Kieran's sister won't be attending the wedding.”

Harold's ears pricked up. “Why would she do that?”

“Doesn't want to embarrass the family, I suppose. Erin says Jori hasn't been in contact with any of her former friends since she was released. So if you want to do good for me, Dad, then think about tossing the Warriors Wolf Pack a few dollars.”

“How few?”

Luke smiled. He could always count on his dad. “I did a little research. It costs them twenty-five to thirty thousand to train a dog.”

“You don't say? And they use female inmates to train them? I have to wonder about our correctional institutions' intentions when they reward dope peddlers with participation in such a program.”

“Oh no. Dad, don't even think about it.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking.”

“I know you. You're thinking about how to leverage a donation to make trouble for Jori Garrison.”

Luke stood up, a frown on his handsome face. “I'm not asking, I'm telling you. Leave her out of any plans you have to help me. I've got this covered.” He looked at his watch. “I got to go. Erin's meeting me for lunch at Bordino's over in Fayetteville.”

“You should take her by a jewelry shop afterward, offer her the bauble of her choice if she'll come down with the flu just before the wedding. Always soothed troubled waters with your mother.”

“Subject closed, Dad. You'll see. It'll be a goodwill opportunity.”

Harold stood by the window of his office after his son had gone. Even the hand-tailoring of his suits couldn't completely disguise the silhouette of the raw-boned Arkie fieldworker he'd begun his working life as.

The Tices had what Arkansans referred to as “plenty of money.” But Grandpa Tice, the founder of Tice Industries, believed that money, while a good thing to accumulate in a bank, was the root of all evil if a man didn't earn it himself. So, like his father and grandfather before him, Harold had begun his working life as a wildcatter in the oil fields of west Texas and Oklahoma before coming to work for the family business.

And in the process, Harold had begun his side business by delivering nickel and dime bags of pleasure to rigs and oil platforms. It wasn't legal but, hell, every man worth his salt got his hands dirty while making a fortune, be it digging for gold, diamonds, or crude, or mining men's darkest impulses.

Once in charge of Tice Industries, he'd kept that secret side of the business going by using Tice Trucking Company to act as deliverymen. He didn't buy or sell, he delivered drugs from point A to point B, for cash. No questions asked. Business had never been better.

Harold reached for his e-cigar, a recent gift from his wife. The weight, balance, and paper gave it the feel of reality. It even tasted, after a few puffs, like a real cigar. But it didn't have the tactile smoky appeal of a real Cohiba.

He took a puff, exhaling a long but not-quite-satisfied breath. Some things changed. But not all for the good.

He hadn't insisted that Luke work in the backbreaking industry that had forged his ancestors. Instead, he had sent him directly to college and then law school. Most times that seemed like a good decision. But today, when his son admitted he couldn't completely control his wife, he was having second thoughts. A man who hadn't dealt with the hard realities of life was more likely to make careless mistakes.

Harold pulled at his top lip with his fingers. He'd made a few errors of judgment in his life. Point of fact, Brody Rogers.

He'd been grooming his wife's sister's son to take part in the family business, freeing Luke to concentrate on building his way into political office. But the damn fool Brody started enjoying his insider position too much. Thought he didn't have to answer to anyone. Got reckless. Selling drugs to college frat boys!

If Brody hadn't died in the auto accident that brought that fact to life, he might have throttled his nephew himself.

Harold squashed a twinge of conscience over Brody. His sister-in-law still couldn't mention her son without crying. Luke and Brody had once been as close as brothers, until the natural rivalry that often develops between male relatives came between them. Still, he could feel his blood pressure rise each time Brody's name was mentioned. The damn fool had exposed them to some very unwelcome scrutiny.

Now the ghost of Brody was rearing its head in the form of Jori Garrison.

Harold dropped his e-cigar back in its useless silver ashtray. A man couldn't cover every eventuality, but he could move like lightning once a possibility presented itself.

This wedding was a media disaster in the making. His top priority was putting his son in a state senator's seat. That meant he'd have to pave the way. And paving couldn't be done without removing obstacles in the path. If Luke couldn't see that, then he had no alternative but to act for him.

Smiling, Harold reached for his phone. Jori Garrison was thinking about not attending the wedding. A possibility had presented itself.