Leigh climbed into the squad car. Her heel slipped on his lunch bag. She hadn’t bothered with a mask. The Valium had made her loose, but her judgment wasn’t completely shot. Frontline workers had been eligible for the vaccine back in February. Leigh figured she was more likely to get syphilis from Nick Wexler than Covid.
He said, “I hope you’re here to badger my witness.”
Leigh stared out the dirty windshield. The line to the deli was inching forward. The grin tightened the muscles in her face. Her anxiety was simmering in an unreachable part of her brain. Andrew receded into the darkness along with it.
“Hey.” Nick snapped his fingers. “You wanna share some of that shit you’re on?”
“Valium.”
“Rain check,” he said. “I’d settle for a handjob.”
“Rain check,” she said. “Since when do you settle?”
He chuckled with appreciation. “What brings you to my ride after all this time, Counselor? You up to something?”
Conspiracy to commit murder. Improper disposal of a body. Lying to a law enforcement officer. Signing a false statement. Fleeing prosecution across state lines.
She told him, “I need a favor.”
He raised his eyebrows. They didn’t do favors. They were occasional fuckbuddies who would both be drummed out of their respective occupations if their dalliances got out. Cops and defense attorneys got along about as well as Churchill and Hitler.
She said, “It’s not about a case.”
He was clearly skeptical. “Oh-kay.”
“Deadbeat client. I need to track her down so I can get paid.”
“Are the Shylocks getting antsy at Buttfuck, Cunt & Motherfucker?”
The silly grin picked at her mouth. “Something like that.”
He was still dubious. “They make you chase down your own receivables?”
“I’ll try somebody else.” Leigh reached for the door.
“Hey-hey. Hold up, Counselor. Stay with me.” He was talking to her like a cop, but his hand gently rested on her shoulder. His thumb stroked her neck. “What’s the matter?”
She shook off his hand. They didn’t soothe each other. Only Walter got that version of Leigh.
Nick tried again, asking, “What’s wrong?”
She hated his let me fix this tone, which was one of the reasons she hadn’t seen him in a while. “Do I look like something’s wrong with me?”
He laughed. “Counselor, ninety-nine percent of the time I got no idea what the hell is going on in that gorgeous head of yours.”
“You make up for it with the one percent.” She hadn’t meant to put the suggestive lilt in her tone. Or maybe she had. There was a certain amount of self-harm that came with what they were doing. Leigh fully appreciated that the risk was what kept bringing her back.
Nick had never cared about her motivations. He let his eyes travel down her body to her legs. He was a man who knew how to look at a woman. Not the sleazy way that Buddy had sized up a thirteen-year-old. Not the casually sexist fuckable/not fuckable appraisal Reggie Paltz had given her in his office. The kind of look that said I know exactly where to touch you and for how long.
Leigh bit her bottom lip.
“Shit,” Nick said. “All right, what’s the client’s name?”
She knew better than to show her eagerness. “Left bra strap.”
His eyebrow shot back up. He checked to make sure no one was watching. His finger slipped inside her blouse. Her skin was sweaty from the heat. His finger traced along her collarbone, down to her breast. She could feel her breathing change as he found the piece of paper. He slowly slid it out between two fingers.
He said, “It’s wet.”
She smiled again .
“Jesus Christ.” He pushed down his laptop. He peeled open the paper and laid it flat on his leg. He laughed when he read the name. “Let’s see what kind of trouble homegirl got herself into.”
“Racial profile much?”
He side-eyed her. “If I want someone to break my balls and not fuck me, I can go home to my wife.”
“If I want to fuck somebody whose balls are breakable, I would go home to my husband.”
He chuckled, typing into the keyboard with one finger.
Leigh took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She shouldn’t have said that about Walter. This was the nasty side that Nick brought out in her. Or maybe Walter was the only man on earth who could bring out that tiny little bit of Leigh that was good.
“Oh, damn.” Nick squinted at the screen. “Theft. Possession of a controlled substance. Trespassing. Vandalism. Controlled substance. Controlled substance. Jesus Christ, how is this bitch not in jail?”