wonderful publicity that had only added numbers to their client base and to those who wished to help fund the operation. The more she thought about it, the more Nikki realized that those three contracts really were Orion’s most successful.
“Maybe for normal people it is,” Jackson countered. “But for Andrew Miller, I don’t think it’s reaching.”
Nikki moved her beer to the side. She used her hands to try to illustrate her aversion to believing what Jackson thought was happening.
“Recreating old cases, even in some small part, to get at me,” she said. “That seems like a lot of trouble to go through to kill me, don’t you think?”
“That’s just it. I think he just wants to hurt you with them and then, whenever he’s done, it’s him who wants to finish the job.”
Nikki raised her eyebrow at the blunt way he phrased a potential plan that included her being murdered. He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic look.
“Not that any of that is going to happen,” Jackson assured her. “But you have to admit, Ronald Dabney saying he wasn’t supposed to kill you but hurt you in a tub is oddly specific. And really, it doesn’t make much sense. I mean, if you hadn’t been in the bath already and were, I don’t know, eating in your kitchen, would he have hurt you and then dragged you into the tub?”
Even though the topic of conversation hadn’t changed, Nikki couldn’t help consenting to his line of thinking.
“I admit, that doesn’t add up,” she said. “But why pay us the visit at the coffee shop? And why would his men shoot at us if he’s the one who wants to finish the job?”
Jackson sucked on his beer for a moment. The oven timer went off before he could find an answer he liked.
“It could be a coincidence,” Nikki tried.
“That’s always a possibility.”
She watched as Jackson put on a red oven mitt and started to pull out the pizza pan. Such a simple task seemed so domestic. It caught her off guard in a way. For the first time since she’d stepped inside the apartment, she looked around. Decorating in shades of gray and black, Jackson had cultivated what she believed was a quintessential bachelor pad. No feminine touches of any kind graced the space as far as Nikki could see. Also, she realized with a startling amount of sadness, there were no pictures, either. It prompted a question before she could even police the thought.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “To Reardon. I mean when he asked you to help him unload a truck out back and then poof, there’s no truck, you had to know he wasn’t going to leave you alone until he was satisfied with making trouble.”
Jackson took off the oven mitt but didn’t face her. He went about grabbing plates and searching, she guessed, for the pizza cutter.
“Men like Reardon are never satisfied,” he said. “Not when they think they are somehow defending someone’s honor or righting a wrong. Even if it’s an old one.” He located the cutter but paused next to the stove. “There’s nothing I could have said that would have made him stop, but I’m sure anything I said would have made things worse.”
Nikki’s eyes traveled to the red against his jaw. Thankfully, it wasn’t bruising, but the mark was still there. As if he knew she was looking, he pointed to it. “Case in point.”
Nikki wanted to ask if he’d spoken up before—rallied against his aggressors—when she remembered his rap sheet. He had, she was sure, and what he was saying now was a lesson he’d probably learned several times over.
“Plus,” he continued. “Reardon’s a cop. People typically don’t go around punching those if they can help it.”
Nikki took a long drink of her beer. Jackson smiled as he cut into the pizza.
* * *
C ALVIN SHOWED UP as it started to get dark. Since their lunch, Nikki had resumed work mode via her phone. Apparently Oliver, Mark and Jonathan were all headed back to Dallas while Nikki was trying to
“Maybe for normal people it is,” Jackson countered. “But for Andrew Miller, I don’t think it’s reaching.”
Nikki moved her beer to the side. She used her hands to try to illustrate her aversion to believing what Jackson thought was happening.
“Recreating old cases, even in some small part, to get at me,” she said. “That seems like a lot of trouble to go through to kill me, don’t you think?”
“That’s just it. I think he just wants to hurt you with them and then, whenever he’s done, it’s him who wants to finish the job.”
Nikki raised her eyebrow at the blunt way he phrased a potential plan that included her being murdered. He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic look.
“Not that any of that is going to happen,” Jackson assured her. “But you have to admit, Ronald Dabney saying he wasn’t supposed to kill you but hurt you in a tub is oddly specific. And really, it doesn’t make much sense. I mean, if you hadn’t been in the bath already and were, I don’t know, eating in your kitchen, would he have hurt you and then dragged you into the tub?”
Even though the topic of conversation hadn’t changed, Nikki couldn’t help consenting to his line of thinking.
“I admit, that doesn’t add up,” she said. “But why pay us the visit at the coffee shop? And why would his men shoot at us if he’s the one who wants to finish the job?”
Jackson sucked on his beer for a moment. The oven timer went off before he could find an answer he liked.
“It could be a coincidence,” Nikki tried.
“That’s always a possibility.”
She watched as Jackson put on a red oven mitt and started to pull out the pizza pan. Such a simple task seemed so domestic. It caught her off guard in a way. For the first time since she’d stepped inside the apartment, she looked around. Decorating in shades of gray and black, Jackson had cultivated what she believed was a quintessential bachelor pad. No feminine touches of any kind graced the space as far as Nikki could see. Also, she realized with a startling amount of sadness, there were no pictures, either. It prompted a question before she could even police the thought.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “To Reardon. I mean when he asked you to help him unload a truck out back and then poof, there’s no truck, you had to know he wasn’t going to leave you alone until he was satisfied with making trouble.”
Jackson took off the oven mitt but didn’t face her. He went about grabbing plates and searching, she guessed, for the pizza cutter.
“Men like Reardon are never satisfied,” he said. “Not when they think they are somehow defending someone’s honor or righting a wrong. Even if it’s an old one.” He located the cutter but paused next to the stove. “There’s nothing I could have said that would have made him stop, but I’m sure anything I said would have made things worse.”
Nikki’s eyes traveled to the red against his jaw. Thankfully, it wasn’t bruising, but the mark was still there. As if he knew she was looking, he pointed to it. “Case in point.”
Nikki wanted to ask if he’d spoken up before—rallied against his aggressors—when she remembered his rap sheet. He had, she was sure, and what he was saying now was a lesson he’d probably learned several times over.
“Plus,” he continued. “Reardon’s a cop. People typically don’t go around punching those if they can help it.”
Nikki took a long drink of her beer. Jackson smiled as he cut into the pizza.
* * *
C ALVIN SHOWED UP as it started to get dark. Since their lunch, Nikki had resumed work mode via her phone. Apparently Oliver, Mark and Jonathan were all headed back to Dallas while Nikki was trying to
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