Dirty Law

“I was wondering when we were going to talk about that,” he said after another long, slow draught.

I quirked a brow. “So you knew that I knew?”

“Nothing much gets past you, Nami DeGrace,” Law said with a smile. The slow, easy grin punctuated his sculpted jaw, as if it wasn’t chiseled enough. Law was past handsome. He was the type of raw masculinity that could only be portrayed in carved marble. Paintings were too soft a medium; photography dulled its power. Still, I wasn’t so easily swayed.

“Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me you were friends?”

“At the time it was the simplest option.” Law took another long drag of his bourbon. “I was never supposed to fall in love with you, Nami.” He pinned me with his cognac gaze and I reached for my bottle of water. I felt itchy and dehydrated from just his look. As the water slipped down my throat, I felt little comfort. Nothing could ease me and nothing would distract me from the intense, carnal gaze Law ripped into me.

“You know he didn’t take my story,” I rasped, setting my nearly empty water down.

“I know.” Law kept his gaze locked on mine. I felt strangled by it.

Still trying to control my voice, I said the thing that had been bugging me for days. “You know he’s Mormon.” Jameson was the enemy, so why did Law think he could be ally?

Law took another slow sip of his drink and faced me. “Are you upset that I knew Jameson, or are you upset that Jameson is Mormon?”

“Are you accusing me of being xenophobic?” Before Morris, I had been painfully open-minded. I was champion to every marginalized group in the world. The fact that I was wary of Mormons didn’t make me xenophobic, it made me smart. Once you’re burned by something, it’s stupid to continue to trust it won’t do it again.

At least, that’s what I thought. I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone try and use 9/11 to justify their misgivings about Muslims, or even dark-skinned people…well, I’d be pretty well off. Was that who I’d become?

The cabin was quiet; only the faint sound of air blowing and magazine pages rustling could be heard. I felt queasy as I thought about Law’s question. I looked to him, but he only raised an eyebrow.

“I overheard you both talking,” I said, shaking off the gnawing in my gut. “It has nothing to do with his religion.” Law shot me a look and I folded my arms. “Fine, it has a little bit to do with his religion. But can you blame me? He said I was a stalker and that Morris was a ‘good guy’.” I huffed just thinking about it. “How can you be friends with someone like that?”

“What you heard was only a snapshot of the man I know. He never used to sit in an office. He never used to have a desk job. He was out in the shit. He was digging up what others buried. Now he’s…”

“He’s what?” I demanded.

“He’s lost himself.” Law set down his drink, empty save for the ice cubes wet with brown liquid. “I met Matthew years ago when I was just out of Quantico. It was my first sex trafficking case and he just happened to be reporting on it. He nearly got himself arrested trying to break into the company.”

“I still don’t see how…” Law gripped my arm, forcing the words on my tongue to die. Reluctantly I quieted, instead listening to what he had to say. As Law continued, the grip on my forearm lessened, but only a little.

“When you’re a man of law, you’re tied by it. So tied that sometimes it feels like a noose around your neck. You learn to rely on others to pick up what you can’t. Matthew was that man. He called out the shitbags that hid behind bureaucracy and red tape and lawyers. He got the truth out. He might have saved more lives than me.”

Law released me and I quickly turned my glare back to the window. I didn’t want to combat the fury in his golden gaze, so instead I stared at the clouds below. The Jameson Law described was a far cry from the man I’d met.

“I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.” I felt the ghost of a touch on my back, but just as quickly as I sensed it was it gone. “Your beauty, but beyond that, your mettle. You unearthed me, and I guess I was hoping you would…” Law trailed off.

“You were hoping I would what?” I snapped my head back to his, unsure if the emotion tearing through me was one of anger or yearning.

“I was hoping you would help him find his story again.”

If I thought Utah winters were bad, it was nothing compared to the bitter Massachusetts chill. I gripped my coat, wrapping it tighter around me, as another gust of glacial winter wind whipped my cheek. Despite attempts to keep my stony demeanor, I shivered.

“I told you to bring a coat,” Law said, giving me a look.

“This is my coat,” I responded, glaring at Law. It wasn’t like he’d given me much notice. He hadn’t told me where we were going until after we’d gotten in the car. Law sighed and unzipped his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Law put his jacket over my shoulders and placed his hands in his dark jeans. Even though I was instantly warmer, I protested. “I’m not going to take your jacket. You’ll freeze out here!”

“I’ll be fine,” Law said dismissively. “We won’t be out here for long, anyway. I only wanted to show you one thing.”

I shrugged out of the jacket, handing it back to Law. “I’m not going to be the reason for your frostbite.” Law eyed me and the outstretched jacket with slight amusement before turning away. My outstretched hand shivered as the wind twirled around us, whipping bits of snow into small tornados.

“Fine,” I grumbled. I couldn’t take the cold any more and if he didn’t want his coat, then I was going to wear it. Plus, he did look fine. Standing with his hands in his pockets, it looked as if he were standing by a fire, not outside a house on a cold Boston street.

“What are we looking at?” I said through shivering teeth. Even Law’s jacket couldn’t keep my face warm.