The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,33

half-empty bottle of scotch and a short glass filled with ice cubes and dark liquid on the counter in front of him, he glanced up as Nikki approached. “Figured I’d have a drink in her honor.” He held up his glass. “Or two.”

“Sure.” The digital readout on the stove glowed a soft blue. 4:17. The dog had settled into a bed near the back door. “Sounds like a good idea to me.” Leaning a hip against the island, she added, “I think Morrisette would’ve appreciated it.”

“Damned straight, she would.” He took a long swallow, then slammed his glass down with a hard smack against the counter. Ice cubes rattled and danced. A bit of scotch sloshed over the rim.

“I would join you, but . . . well, the baby.”

“Yeah.” He nodded as if lost in thought. “Right,” he finally said. “The baby.”

“Our baby.”

“I know.”

But that was the end of the conversation; he was somewhere else.

A silence ensued, stretching long between them. Awkward. Almost intimidating. The clock counting off the minutes.

For once, Nikki was at a loss for words. To fill the void, she opened the refrigerator, the light from its interior illuminating a swath of the room. “Maybe you’d like a couple of eggs and a slice or two of toast? Or something?” She glanced over her shoulder. “It is morning, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Another swallow, another noisy drop of his glass onto the counter top. “And it’s too late to be drinking. But . . . what the fucking hell? Right?” He drained the glass as she retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge, let the door close, then switched on the light over the stove.

“You’re serious about making breakfast?” He let out a snort. “Unreal.”

“I just thought it might help.”

“Well, you were wrong.” His eyes were like lasers as he looked at her. “Nothing’s gonna help. It’ll all just take time.”

“Then come to bed.”

“Won’t be able to sleep.”

“There are other things we could do,” she said with a flirty lift of her eyebrow, giving him the look he usually found irresistible.

“You’re injured,” he reminded her, nose in his glass, and polished off his drink.

“Oh, I think I can manage.” She managed a bit of a smile, a little come-on.

He eyed her in disbelief. Uncapped the bottle. “Not now.”

Never could she remember him turning down a sexy invitation. “So you’re going to drink away the rest of the night?” she asked, deflated, an edge in her voice.

“Don’t know.” He poured another stiff shot. Studied the glass. Gave a quick nod. “This is only drink number two. But . . . Yeah.” He nodded. “Maybe.”

“Reed—”

“Let it go, Nikki.” Again he pinned her with his gaze. “I’m dealing, okay? I don’t need judgments. I don’t need lectures. And most of all I don’t need you trying to coddle me or make me feel better.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, thank you,” he said sarcastically. “But right now, I don’t want your help. I think you’ve done enough.”

Her temper ignited. “Wow. As if I don’t feel bad enough.”

“Do you?” He eyed her in disbelief. “ ‘Feel bad?’ ”

“Of course I do. You’re not the only one hurting tonight.”

“You? You’re hurting?” he threw back at her. “Seriously? Geez . . . But then you didn’t see her kids, though, did you? Priscilla and Toby. They’re the ones hurting. They’re the ones who have to live with what you . . . with what happened.”

Stung, she stared at her husband with new eyes. “You were going to say, ‘They have to live with what I’ve done.’ ” She couldn’t believe it. “Admit it. That’s what you were going to say!”

“If the stiletto fits—”

“Oh, my God! Enough! Pierce, just stop! If . . . If you wanted to make me feel guilty, then you’ve done it. Okay? Mission accomplished!” Furious and hurting, she snapped off the range light, leaving him in darkness. “You made your point. Loud and clear.” With that she stormed out of the room. He could drown himself in his sorrows for all she cared, she thought, her housecoat sliding off her shoulder. Angrily she yanked it into place as she started up the stairs, the dog at her heels.

“Well, since you’re listening,” he yelled after her. “Stay the hell away from my case. Leave it alone. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

That stung. Damage—as in causing his partner’s death.

As if she didn’t feel bad enough! She stopped on the fifth step, deciding whether or not to stalk down and give