“I told them I don’t drink, so they gave me a fruit cocktail.”
“Uh-huh, and how is that drink making you feel right about now?”
“What?” Her eyes popped open. “You think—”
“Lauren, a fruit cocktail is still a cocktail. If there hadn’t been alcohol in it, you wouldn’t feel the way you do.”
“Oh no.” She covered her mouth. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to arrest them. I’m supposed to improve relations with them. I can’t be the cause of this kind of trouble.”
Lauren was far too concerned with pleasing people. Then again, she always had been. She wanted to keep the peace. He wanted justice. You couldn’t always have both.
“Prohibition is a funny thing,” he told her. “It’s not illegal to drink in private. It’s only illegal to produce alcohol, sell it, distribute it, or drink from a flask in public. So as long as you didn’t pay for that little dose, I’ve no cause for legal action.”
Still wearing her coat, she kicked off her shoes and folded her legs beneath her, leaning into the side of the sofa. “Good.”
But it wasn’t good. None of this was. Joe paced to the window that looked over Central Park. It was dark, with nothing to see but lampposts, traffic, and his own dour reflection. He looked older than thirty-five. He felt older, too. By a lot.
She’d surprised him tonight. He was sick to death of surprises.They felt like deception, and deception felt like betrayal. Betrayal meant he’d been hoodwinked, and that felt a lot like shame.
“Don’t drink anything if you don’t know where it comes from,” he said. “It’s dangerous. You clearly have no idea how people are making liquor these days. The stuff they put in there isn’t fit for rats.”
“Okay, Joe. I won’t do it again.”
“And for the love of all that is holy, I don’t want you going off on your own to people’s homes, no matter how well you think you know them or how trustworthy they seem. Especially when you don’t have your own transportation out of there.”
“You’re yelling at me. Stop it.” She curled into the corner of the sofa, hugging a decorative pillow.
He hadn’t really been yelling.
Joe looked around the apartment and realized it had no kitchen. It did, however, have a type of wet bar. He filled a glass with water from the sink and brought it to her. “Drink. The water will dilute the alcohol in your stomach. When was the last time you ate?”
“Lunch. Or—no, I skipped lunch.”
Given her build and intolerance to alcohol, it was a wonder she hadn’t passed out yet.
“Do you have food in the apartment?”
“Maybe?” She sat up straighter and drank. “I try to keep chocolate in case of emergencies, but I’ve exhausted that supply.”
“Pitiful,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. “What you need is protein to soak up the sugars. I’ll be back.”
Having a badge had its perks. Figuring the kitchen was active since the dinner hour wasn’t over, he located it, entered without hesitation, flashed his ID, and requisitioned two steaks with sides of mashed potatoes and green beans topped with almond and bacon. Then he returned to Lauren’s apartment with the tray.
“Room service.” He set the plates and cutlery on the table and told her to join him.
“I don’t remember you being this bossy,” she said as he pulled out the chair and seated her.
“I don’t remember you being this reckless. You have no concept of the danger you courted.”
Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against her cheeks. At first, he thought she was studiously ignoring him, but then he realized she was saying grace. “And thank you, dear Lord, for keeping me safe, despite my walking into the lion’s den, if what Joe believes is true. Thank you for bringing him here to take care of me while he scolds me into oblivion. Amen.” She smiled up at him, apparently unintimidated. “Let’s eat.”
Joe cut into his steak with more gusto than the task required. His middle clenched, but only because of what could have happened. He wasn’t speaking in hypotheticals. Women disappeared in this town. They were preyed upon, sometimes by men they knew and trusted. They were assaulted. Worse.
Lauren closed her eyes and swallowed, clearly enjoying her meal. Then she turned those blue eyes on him. “I can see you’ve had a long day.”
His hand went to the scruff shadowing his jaw. He had shaved, but that had been before four o’clock this morning. “I’m worried about you.” There, he’d said it. “I pray to the same God you do, and I do thank Him that you’re safe. That doesn’t mean you get to throw caution to the wind.”
If he wanted to put a finer point on it, he could talk about all the other victims he’d seen who most likely had cried out for divine assistance in the hour of their ultimate need. He’d never pretend to know the mind of God—why He answered some prayers and not others. But Joe did know the minds of criminals.
