Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Me too,” she confesses quietly. “I was afraid you’d forget about me with a whole week apart. Or decide I was too much work.”
That’s enough for me to pull her up to straddle my hips. I cup her face, pinning her with my gaze. “You and me, Zo. I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay. I promise.”
It’s a bit self-help-ish as far as speeches go, but Zoey’s eyes drift closed and she takes a big breath, as though she can inhale my calm reassurance and use it to soothe her own worries.
“You wanna take my coaster—a little reminder of my wood—to court in your purse?” I ask with a teasing smile even though I’m dead serious. “Nobody will even know.”
Zoey looks at the circle of wood and marble that’s sitting on her nightstand where I dropped it with my phone. Her cheeks blush slightly, but her lips tilt up the slightest bit. “Can I?”
“It’s yours, Zo.”
She bends forward, planting a kiss on my lips that I feel to my toes and everywhere in between.
“What was that for?”
“For being you and for not making me feel like I’m weird.”
“You’re not weird. You’re perfect. Gross body exploration aside.” I stick my tongue out in disgust, and she laughs, breaking the somber mood.
“Did you know . . . stomach acid can dissolve razor blades?”
I chuckle, enjoying the pleasurable way she bounces on my hips. “I actually did know that. Stomach acid has a pH of 1.5-3.5, plenty acidic to dissolve steel.”
“Ugh, why is it so sexy that you know that?” Zoey groans, but she’s looking at me with fire and desire in her eyes again.
I grin, reaching around to cup her ass and giving it a squeeze. We’ve got time for one more quickie before I have to go.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
Chapter 21
Zoey
“This is freaking me out,” I tell Jeff the next morning.
The courtroom is only two floors up from my basement office, but it feels like a world away even though it’s not fancy. Stackable chairs lined out in three rows, linoleum floors from the 70s, and a trio of wood desks up front for the attorneys and judge shouldn’t be intimidating.
But I have never had to testify and certainly haven’t had to do it in a professional capacity in my short career. I don’t even know if Grandpa ever testified. I wish I could ask him.
But there’s a first time for everything, and like too many firsts, I’ll do it alone.
“It’s no big deal,” Jeff says while sipping his coffee. He’s the picture of morning chill, seemingly not caring at all that he’s in court instead of working at his desk downstairs.
“How many times have you done this? Testify,” I clarify.
“Dozens, I guess. Usually drunks who wanna proclaim their sobriety. These made that happen a lot less frequently, though,” he says, tapping the body cam on his vest with an evil smirk.
“Why are you geared up?” I tug at the blouse I found at the back of my closet and wiggle in my chair, slicking my damp palms down my black pants-covered thighs.
I’m second-guessing my attire.
Okay, more like sixth guessing, but I didn’t have a lot of options. Either way, I’m definitely not as comfortable as I would’ve been in scrubs and clogs. Maybe I should’ve worn those so I’d look the part of a coroner like Jeff looks like a sheriff?
Do scrubs or business casual better portray that I’m someone you can trust about autopsies?
“Figure this’ll be quick, and I’m working a speed trap out on highway 14 later. Shh.” He holds a finger to his lips.
“Who would I tell?” I ask with a small laugh. “No one talks to me anyway, and I’m only going downstairs after court, but I hope you get the bad guys.” Speeders aren’t really all that bad in the big scheme of things, but I appreciate Jeff keeping our county roads safe. “What about the other investigation?”
He is doing something, right? He said he would, but he could’ve been giving me lip service so I’d leave well enough alone.
Jeff frowns, going quiet for a moment. His eyes scan the room, and I wonder what he sees. Does he plan exit strategies or store away details in case he needs accurate recall later?
I only see a place where I’m going to be the center of attention for the minutes I have to testify. I reach in my purse, under the guise of checking that my phone is on silent, but I actually touch the coaster from Blake that I stashed there.
I’m not sure what luck I’m hoping for . . . me testifying or Jeff investigating, or both . . . but a tiny bit of luck seals over the fissure in my nerves. Finally, Jeff leans toward me, his voice deep and low to say, “Remember, you’re here for your expert opinion. Keep it short and sweet, just the facts.”