35

Jason froze. The parole officer in his Hawaiian shirt with his feet propped up on Jason’s desk would have been enough. And here was another guy clearly in league with the PO. This other henchman turned his frame to show Jason a face with a white patch taped to his forehead. But what boiled Jason’s blood was seeing tears rolling down Brenda’s cheeks.

He slammed the door. A box of tissues was on the table next to the sofa, and he handed the box to Brenda. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Dry those tears and get back to your desk.”

Hathaway hadn’t stirred since Jason walked in, except for the movement of his mouth. “We’re not done with her yet.”

Brenda offered Jason a weak smile as she dabbed at her face. “Some people need to learn manners,” she said.

Jason led her to the door. “We’ll catch up after I get rid of these . . .” He held back the words he wanted to use.

She closed the door behind her.

Jason turned. “I told you not to come here.”

“Yeah, I was never very good at following direction. My teachers used to put that on my report cards.”

Jason wanted to tear the grin off Hathaway’s face.

The patched-up henchman spoke. “Give us your brother, and we’ll be happy to get out of your hair.”

Jason looked at him. Underneath that patch, the forehead was knotted. Otherwise, the PO looked like he could have been USC’s defensive line coach. “Who are you?”’

“Where’s Flip?” the PO said.

Jason turned to Hathaway. “You want to talk to me, get your feet off my desk and your rear end out of my chair.”

Hathaway’s grin didn’t waver except with the warp from his chewing. He brought his hands up behind his head, getting comfortable.

Coach moved in. His breath smelled like coffee spilled in dirt. “I want Flip Dunn. You’re going to give us something or you’ll never get rid of us.”

“Get out of my face.”

Coach didn’t move. Jason turned and shed his jacket. He took his time draping it on the hanger and placing it over the hook on the back of his door. When he turned again, Coach was inches away from him again.

“What happened to your head, Coach?” Jason lifted a finger and had it a quarter-inch away from the lump before it was slapped away.

“Your convict brother assaulting a peace officer is what happened. He needs to turn himself in.”

Jason didn’t try to step away. “Sure. He’ll do that. The system’s always been fair to him.”

From across the office, Hathaway chimed in. “Yeah. Poor little felon. Never catches a break.”

Coach let Jason by. Jason sat on the arm of the sofa. “Like I told you last time, I haven’t seen him.”

Hathaway brought a hand around from behind his head and with the thumb and fingers made a talking puppet. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Is this normal procedure for you guys? I mean, don’t you have anything better to do than strong-arm secretaries? That make you feel like you’re accomplishing something?”

“You want to talk about her instead of Flip?” Coach said. “’Cause we can talk about her if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything. I want you out of here.”

“And I want to surf Cloudbreak, but you can’t have everything.” The PO had both hands behind his head again.

“Cloud—? You’re wasting my time.”

Coach waded in again. He couldn’t keep himself out of Jason’s face. “Which one do you want to cover first? The convict brother or the lying secretary?”

Jason looked from Coach to the surfer. “Isn’t one of you supposed to be the good cop? You’ve got some work to do on your shtick.”

“We visited your daddy the other night.” Coach, trying to get a rise out of him.

Jason stared at him. “I guess you didn’t find Flip there, either. You’re doing great work, guys. I’m glad my tax dollars are going to such good use.”

“I think we forgot to thank him, Tom. Paying our salaries and all.”

Coach glared like Jason had just missed a block.

“Well . . .” The surfer dropped his feet onto the floor and stood. “This isn’t going anywhere. We’ll just have to come back later. Give it another try.”

“You do that.”

Coach moved in. “I’m going to find him.”

“I hope you do. Be better than seeing your ugly face around here.”

The surfer stepped between them. “Cloudbreak. It’s in Fiji. Two miles off Tavarua. Look it up.” He went to the door. “Come on, Tom.”

Tom didn’t seem to want to do anything but try to crumble Jason with a harsh stare. Jason lifted a hand. “Bye-bye, Officer. Try to keep your head away from convicts.”

The PO’s jaw clenched. Jason thought he might have gone too far. But Coach did nothing but graze against him on his way to the door.

Jason watched them swagger to the escalator and descend. He was turning to check on Brenda when his eye caught Vince across the lobby standing in his doorway, waving him over.

Jason raised his index finger to hold him off a second and went to Brenda’s desk. “You okay?”

She gave him a brave smile, nodded. “Vince was calling for you.”

“Yeah, I see him. How’d I get so lucky?”

For only a moment, her eyes lingered on him. “You just are.” She turned to her computer before anything more could pass between them.

Her fragrance drifted up to him, and he let himself take in the texture and the sunshine color of her hair. The feel of it was in his fingertips, from last night. He wanted to glide his hands through it here, no matter what everyone would think. He couldn’t pull himself away.

She looked up. The slightest sideways tilt of her head alerted him to others nearby. Angie Barrett sat ten feet away, and her presence was like surveillance. Brenda turned back to her computer.

Her ear, the curve of it, its softness, drew his eyes. Two piercings in the lobe were decorated with studs. He’d whispered in that ear last night, held his lips close to it. The memory of the sensation of burying his face in her hair threatened to drive him mad.

She lifted her phone from its cradle, and her ear disappeared behind the earpiece. It left him taking in the flesh underneath, where her jaw line swept from her neck behind the veil of her blonde hair. He wanted to hide himself in it.

Brenda turned her eyes to him. A secret smile crowned by a brief frown warned him away.

“I don’t care,” he said.

She held her hand over the mouthpiece. “Go,” she whispered.

But he wanted the touch of that hand again. Wanted again for every pore of his body to be stirred by her, wanted to tear the desk away from between them.

She hung up the phone and stood. Without another glance at him, she turned her back and strode to the restroom. When the door closed her off, Jason shifted his feet and found Angie’s scrutiny. She lifted her brows a fraction, then went back to her e-mail.