Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

By the time Georgia processed the skirt, it was around midnight. Her back ached and, though she had had a solid eight hours of sleep last night, she was exhausted. Time to leave. She shrugged on her jacket and reached for her purse. Quickly she dug out her cell and checked the display. Two missed calls. From Jake.

Georgia squeezed the bridge of her nose. She did not need to deal with Jake now. She did not need to maintain her guard or remain sharp. “Leave me alone.”

The sound of determined footsteps had her looking up as she stretched the strained muscles of her neck.

Jake Bishop entered the lab.

Just great.

From that first night he had stood front and center while she sang, she noticed him more than she should. The cut of his beard on his square jaw. The slight tilt of his head and the swagger that mirrored an all-star athlete ready to play the game of his life. She noticed.

She stood up straighter, pushing a stray curl from her eyes. “So what brings you to the dungeon?”

He moved into the room, vibrant, hurricane force energy swirling. “Came to see how the forensic testing is going on the Spence case.”

“Micromanaging, detective?”

A slight, pirate’s smile. “Always. You getting ready to leave?”

No matter how hard or cutting, she never told a white lie to soften the truth. “I just finished processing Elisa’s clothes.”

“Find anything?”

Soft scents of a spicy cologne swirled. “More hair strands. It’s dark and could be hers. DNA testing will tell me if any of it matters.”

“That’s gonna be a few weeks if we’re lucky. More likely, months.”

“Yeah.” She did her best not to stare into eyes that noticed and cataloged every detail. “I hear you made a couple of death notices today.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s five years or one week. Never gets easier.”

The light table glowed, deepening the lines around his mouth. “Any idea who texted Amber?”

His jaw tensed. “I had the number traced. It was a burner. Untraceable.”

Jake slid his hand into his pocket, rattling his keys. “You look rough.”

She glanced toward a stainless-steel refrigerator and caught a glimpse of a pale face spotted with freckles and haloed in wisps of red curls. She wondered if she should laugh or cry at her reflection. “It’s my natural state. Fatigue and I are good friends.”

“I’m getting a burger. Come with me.”

No hint of a request at the end of each sentence. Just an order. A little less tired and she’d have called him on it. He wasn’t the boss of her. But right now she liked not having a choice. Leave. Go. Eat. Simple. “Sure. Why not? Let me just close up the lab.”

He straightened his shoulders a fraction as if her answer surprised him.

She grinned. “You were expecting an argument?”

A smile quirked the edge of his lips. “I had a list of comebacks for your no.”

“That would be a long list. I say no a lot.”

“Why is that?” he asked with genuine interest.

“I’ve always been a tough case. Just ask any of my brothers.”

“That I know. Why?” He opened the door as she moved through it.

“I’ve always felt a little out of control so I compensate by trying to control the world around me.”

“That your therapist talking?”

She stiffened a fraction. “You know about that?”

“Heard Rick talking to you once on the phone. No one else knows.”

“Good, because I’ve been paying out of pocket in cash. I hate the idea of going, let alone anyone knowing.”

“Secret’s safe.” He punched the elevator button.

She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, knowing he was absorbing every little detail. “Thanks.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the empty cab. When the doors closed, he stood silently for a moment.

“Georgia, why are you not sleeping lately?”

Deep concern vibrated in the shadows of his voice and for the first time in a couple of years, she said, “It’s the way I’m wired. When I have a case on my desk that’s complicated, I don’t sleep so well until it’s untangled.”

“Ever thought about quitting the job?”

“Hell, no. I’m not finished catching bad guys.”

“You’re not gonna catch many more bad guys if you drop from exhaustion. At the rate you’re going, I see you gray haired and meaner than ever.”

“Thanks.”

“Calling it like it is.”

“I’m not dropping. And I’m not ready for the trash heap just yet.”

He punched the lobby button hard, as if he were trying to drive it into the wall. “No, not yet.”

The door opened to the bustle of people. No matter the time of day, this place never really was quiet. Their conversation tabled for now, they crossed the lobby and walked through the front door. Down Third Street they both gravitated to an all-night diner that catered to cops and their around-the-clock schedules. Soon, the two were seated at a booth in the back of the dining room. Jake took the seat facing the door and Georgia slid in across from him.

A waitress came up to their table with menus and a couple cups of coffee. She served enough cops to know coffee was a mainstay and when both declined menus and placed their order without looking, she didn’t bat an eye. Like many cops, they’d been here enough to know the offerings backward and forward. Late nights like this, Georgia always went for pancakes. Jake ordered the burger and fries.

“They do coffee well. I can forgive a lot but not bad coffee.”

She smiled as she mixed two sugars and cream into hers. “Amen.”

“So why pancakes this late at night?”

“I love breakfast, and I never have time for a good breakfast until late at night. And last I checked, there’s no hard and fast rules about when it can be eaten.”

He raised the cup to his lips. “I make killer pancakes.”

She let the subtle invitation pass. “I didn’t realize you cooked.”

“I’m very good at it.”

She traced the rim of her stoneware cup with her finger. “My cooking sends my brothers into a panic. They pretend it’s good, but I know they hate it.”

“I’ve heard.”

She glanced up, half smiling, half frowning. “Hey now!”

“I’ve tasted some of your cooking, Georgia. Your brothers are saints.”

She laughed, not sure why his cutting honesty amused her. Aware that others in the diner had noticed them, and that cops gossiped, she leaned forward. “It’s edible.”

“No, it sucks.”

Truth was she didn’t like to cook. “I only started after my mother died because Mom’s cooking was a unifying force in our family. Dinnertime was always special in the Morgan house. I guess I want to hang on to that.”

“The Morgans are a really tight clan. I don’t think you have to worry about holding them together.”

“I suppose.” She circled the rim of her cup with her finger. “You and Rick seem to be getting along better,” she said.

Rick never complained when Jake first joined homicide, but she saw the tension between the two. Jake had made no secret that he believed Rick’s promotion to detective was directly linked to his relationship to Deke. Morgans might look out for Morgans, but Rick proved to all he was a hell of a detective.

He offered only a hint of surprise. “He’s my partner. Why wouldn’t we?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to see you two didn’t click right away.”

“Call it a rough start. Like I said, you Morgans are tight. And not the easiest people to get to know.”

She shrugged. “I’m tough, but my brothers are okay.”

“Don’t kid yourself. You four run like a pack.”

She smiled, liking the idea of being a part of the pack. “So Rick has finally proven himself?”

Jake laughed, but it was a ha

rd-edged sound. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

She shrugged. “The pot calling the kettle black?”

He sipped his coffee. “Rick’s one hell of a cop. Saved my life.”

“Really?” She studied him, waiting for a punchline or quip. When none came, she said, “He never said anything to me.”

He shrugged. “It was year before last. We were on a call. I’d have taken a bullet in the back if Tracker hadn’t started barking and your brother reacted.”

“He never mentioned it.” The work Rick and Jake did was so dangerous. They all accepted the risks, but whenever she thought about losing one of her brothers, or even Jake for that matter, it was a punch in the gut.

“What, no dig or comment? Come on, Georgia, you’re losing your touch.”

“Am I that mean?”

“As a snake, baby. As a snake.”

That startled another laugh. God bless Jake Bishop. He never coddled her or treated her like fragile china as her brothers had since she was a baby. “I never pretend to be something that I’m not.”

He paused, his cup inches from his lips. “You’re correct.”

She sat back in the booth, laying both palms on the table. “Let’s talk about something fun. Who’re you dating these days?”

He set his cup down with a deliberate slowness. “Who says I am?”