Read Online Last Breath by Michael Prescott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Prescott
Ads: Link
about it. These SWAT guys—you haven’t seen them. They get all dressed up in their paramilitary duds, and they go in with their machine guns and their flash grenades, and civilian casualties become acceptable losses....”
She realized she was babbling and shut up.
“Is the kid okay?” Adam asked after a short silence.
“He’s fine.”
“And you?”
“Didn’t lose any fingers”—she waved her hands at him to demonstrate—“or toes, or any other vital parts.”
“You shouldn’t take risks like that, C.J.”
Someone has to, she almost snapped at him, but she knew her anger was inappropriate, an aftereffect of stress. “Well,” she said lightly, “it turned out all right, anyhow. You know, I hate talking shop. Let’s change the subject.”
“Fair enough.” Adam finished his latte and set down the mug. “How about Emmylou Harris?”
“Emmylou Harris?”
“You still like her?”
“Sure,” she answered warily.
“Well, she’s playing at a club in the Valley. Some honky-tonk cowboy saloon, the kind we used to go to. How about it?”
She was grateful to have an excuse. “Sorry, I can’t. Tonight’s my volunteer work, remember? Every Wednesday night, at the junior high, the at-risk kids program—”
“I’m not talking about tonight. I meant this Friday.”
“Oh.” Her excuse evaporated.
“Come on, let’s do it. You and me, sipping some brewskis, listening to some C ’n’ W from the pre-Shania era.”
Her heart sped up a little, and she realized that what she felt was fear. “That sounds almost like a date.”
He sensed her alarm and tried to wave it away. “No, not a date. A little reunion, that’s all. You know, for old times’ sake. Frankly, I wouldn’t have brought it up, except there’s nobody at the firm who goes in for country-western, and I hate going to a show alone.”
Is that it? C.J. wondered. Or is it that you hate being alone, period?
“Maybe she’ll play our song,” she said quietly, watching Adam closely to gauge his reaction.
“As I recall”—his expression was bland—“our song was ‘She’s Always a Woman.’ That’s in Billy Joel’s repertoire, not Emmylou’s.”
“I didn’t mean our, uh, official song. I meant the other one. The one that was playing when—never mind.”
Had he really forgotten? Or was his studied blankness only a mask to hide what he was feeling? There was a time when she had thought he couldn’t deceive her, but events had proven her wrong.
“So it’s not a date?” she asked, returning to the main issue.
Adam lifted his shoulders a little too casually. “Just two pals out on the town.”
“Two pals,” she echoed.
“Right.”
“Who used to be married to each other.”
“There’s no law that says you can’t be friends with your ex. I’m an attorney, I ought to know.” That smile again. What was Tanner’s word? Rakish . “Anyway, I want to catch up on what’s been happening in your life. And I, well, basically I want to brag some more about my career. So you want to do it?”
Some part of her wanted to say no, but she couldn’t decide if it was her more sensible self or merely the dull, cruel side of her that nursed a grudge.
“Well,” she said finally, “as long as you understand—”
He held up both hands in mock surrender. “I understand. Just friends.”
“Okay, then.”
He flashed another smile, his teeth very white against the tanned planes of his face. “I’ll call you with the details later this week. It’ll be fun, C.J.”
“Fun,” she repeated. She hoped so.
Adam insisted on paying for the lattes. Outside the coffee shop, she said good-bye to him.
There was no hug when they parted. He sketched a salute, a habit he’d picked up the first time he saw her wearing a uniform, and she returned it with a smile. Then he disappeared down the street, and she stared after him and wondered if she should have listened to the inner voice that had wanted to turn him down.
But he
She realized she was babbling and shut up.
“Is the kid okay?” Adam asked after a short silence.
“He’s fine.”
“And you?”
“Didn’t lose any fingers”—she waved her hands at him to demonstrate—“or toes, or any other vital parts.”
“You shouldn’t take risks like that, C.J.”
Someone has to, she almost snapped at him, but she knew her anger was inappropriate, an aftereffect of stress. “Well,” she said lightly, “it turned out all right, anyhow. You know, I hate talking shop. Let’s change the subject.”
“Fair enough.” Adam finished his latte and set down the mug. “How about Emmylou Harris?”
“Emmylou Harris?”
“You still like her?”
“Sure,” she answered warily.
“Well, she’s playing at a club in the Valley. Some honky-tonk cowboy saloon, the kind we used to go to. How about it?”
She was grateful to have an excuse. “Sorry, I can’t. Tonight’s my volunteer work, remember? Every Wednesday night, at the junior high, the at-risk kids program—”
“I’m not talking about tonight. I meant this Friday.”
“Oh.” Her excuse evaporated.
“Come on, let’s do it. You and me, sipping some brewskis, listening to some C ’n’ W from the pre-Shania era.”
Her heart sped up a little, and she realized that what she felt was fear. “That sounds almost like a date.”
He sensed her alarm and tried to wave it away. “No, not a date. A little reunion, that’s all. You know, for old times’ sake. Frankly, I wouldn’t have brought it up, except there’s nobody at the firm who goes in for country-western, and I hate going to a show alone.”
Is that it? C.J. wondered. Or is it that you hate being alone, period?
“Maybe she’ll play our song,” she said quietly, watching Adam closely to gauge his reaction.
“As I recall”—his expression was bland—“our song was ‘She’s Always a Woman.’ That’s in Billy Joel’s repertoire, not Emmylou’s.”
“I didn’t mean our, uh, official song. I meant the other one. The one that was playing when—never mind.”
Had he really forgotten? Or was his studied blankness only a mask to hide what he was feeling? There was a time when she had thought he couldn’t deceive her, but events had proven her wrong.
“So it’s not a date?” she asked, returning to the main issue.
Adam lifted his shoulders a little too casually. “Just two pals out on the town.”
“Two pals,” she echoed.
“Right.”
“Who used to be married to each other.”
“There’s no law that says you can’t be friends with your ex. I’m an attorney, I ought to know.” That smile again. What was Tanner’s word? Rakish . “Anyway, I want to catch up on what’s been happening in your life. And I, well, basically I want to brag some more about my career. So you want to do it?”
Some part of her wanted to say no, but she couldn’t decide if it was her more sensible self or merely the dull, cruel side of her that nursed a grudge.
“Well,” she said finally, “as long as you understand—”
He held up both hands in mock surrender. “I understand. Just friends.”
“Okay, then.”
He flashed another smile, his teeth very white against the tanned planes of his face. “I’ll call you with the details later this week. It’ll be fun, C.J.”
“Fun,” she repeated. She hoped so.
Adam insisted on paying for the lattes. Outside the coffee shop, she said good-bye to him.
There was no hug when they parted. He sketched a salute, a habit he’d picked up the first time he saw her wearing a uniform, and she returned it with a smile. Then he disappeared down the street, and she stared after him and wondered if she should have listened to the inner voice that had wanted to turn him down.
But he
Similar Books
