The Last Straw (The Jigsaw Files #4) - Sharon Sala Page 0,12
to two months and a fine.
He still couldn’t believe it. He’d witnessed the man assault a waitress, who wound up with a broken nose and jaw, her front teeth getting knocked out in the process, and this was her justice? He found out later the man was her ex-husband, and that she’d had a protective order against him. If Charlie hadn’t taken him down, he might have killed her.
The longer he stayed in this business, the more disenchanted he was becoming with the justice system. Sometimes it wasn’t about the crime, as much as how much power and money you had to buy your way out of trouble. All he wanted now was just to get home.
Living with Wyrick was often aggravating as hell, but she was also the anchor to his world. Knowing she needed him had changed his focus from the overwhelming grief of losing Annie. Wyrick was the weight that kept everything level in his life, and gave him purpose for still being in this world.
When he finally reached the drive leading up to the mansion, he hit the remote and drove through the iron gates as they opened, then hit the remote again, closing them behind him as he passed.
The weather looked iffy today, so he parked in the covered garage behind the mansion, just in case there was any threat of hail later on tonight, and headed toward the house. The wind was sharp and getting chilly as he glanced up at the sky. Fall was upon them and winter wouldn’t be far behind. Time was moving too fast. He was passing the greenhouse when he saw movement inside and smiled.
Wyrick was in there, and likely picking some of her old landlord’s tomatoes. Technically, they were her tomatoes now, since she’d inherited his property, but she still called them Merlin’s tomatoes.
He opened the door to the greenhouse and looked in. She was all the way at the back, and as he’d guessed, was filling a small bowl with patio tomatoes.
“Hey!” he called out. “I’m home. Need any help?”
She turned, a rare smile on her face. “No. I’ve got it. I’ll be in soon.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, shut the door and then jogged up the steps to the veranda, and into the house through the kitchen.
The room was warm and welcoming, and there was something heating in the oven, because he could smell it. Wyrick wasn’t much for cooking, but neither was he. She could heat food up without burning it, and microwave like a beast.
It was enough skill to sustain them, and when the occasion demanded, they went out to eat, or ordered in. Their routine was far smoother than their relationship, but it was what it was.
Anxious now to get out of the clothes he’d worn to court, he headed upstairs on a run.
By the time he came back down in old jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, Wyrick was back in the kitchen washing tomatoes.
A timer went off just as Charlie walked in.
“Is that timer for what’s in the oven?” he asked.
She nodded.
He waited for further instructions, but when she stayed silent, he sighed.
“Want me to take it out?”
“You’ll have to if you want to eat it,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, grabbed a couple of pot holders and opened the oven door, pulled out some kind of casserole in a foil container and set it on a burner to cool.
“Smells good. You outdid yourself tonight,” he drawled.
“It’s supposed to be beef Stroganoff...or something like that, but it’s basically beef tips and noodles in sauce. There’s stuff for salad in the refrigerator—if you can handle a pair of scissors to open the bag of salad greens, then follow the directions.”
He frowned. “You’re exceptionally pissy tonight. What’s wrong?”
He heard her sigh, then watched her shoulders slump.
“You’re going to be mad, so I thought I’d just be mad first and save you the trouble.”
His frown deepened.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you while we eat. You do better with food in your belly.”
“I am not a savage beast to be tamed with a thick piece of steak,” he muttered.
“It’s beef tips and noodles, and yes, you are.”
“Fine. I’ll make the salad,” he said.
She added a handful of the little tomatoes to the bowl of greens, then carried the casserole to the table while he stirred the dressing into the salad.
They sat, then looked up at each other over empty plates.
“What happened?” Charlie asked.
“You haven’t take a bite of—”
“Dammit, Wyrick. I am not your priest. I’m your friend, and