Ginna Gray - A Man Apart

John shrugged and spread his hands wide. “Hey. It’s up to you, Dolan. All you have to do is recuperate and get back in shape up at Lake Livingston.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Maybe,” John agreed with a shrug. “But I don’t see it that way. I’m just trying to help one of my men get back on his feet.”

“Listen to him, Matt,” Hank urged. “You gotta recuperate somewhere, and shoot, any way you look at it, that’s not bad duty. A carefree summer at a lake in a comfortable fishing lodge. If I thought Patty would allow it, I’d almost be tempted to go out and get myself shot if it meant a summer at the lake.” He paused and gave his partner a lopsided grin. “So whaddaya say?”

A muscle worked in Matt’s jaw as his gaze slid back and forth between his two friends. Hank’s expression was coaxing. John’s, though pleasant, was adamant, and unyielding as granite.

“Excuse me. Am I interrupting something?”

The heads of the other two men snapped around, but Matt merely gritted his teeth. He know that drawling voice with its underlay of laughter only too well. Turning his head slowly on the pillow, he stabbed the new arrival with a hard stare.

The man stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, an amused smile on his roguishly handsome face. Everything about him—his loose stance, the careless panache of his attire, the smooth nonchalance—made him appear friendly and harmless, but Matt knew that beneath that laid-back charm was a sharp mind and a pitbull determination when he smelled a story.

Their gazes locked, one pair of vivid blue eyes narrowed and hard, with no trace of welcome, the other pair twinkling with curiosity and mischief and humor. Neither wavered.

“Who let you in here?” John snarled, putting an end to the silent battle. “I specifically told the staff that Matt’s room was off-limits to reporters.”

“C’mon, Lieutenant. Can’t a guy drop by to see an old friend?”

“Just because we’ve known each other for a few years doesn’t make us friends, Conway,” Matt growled.

“All right, then, a close acquaintance. And it’s been more than a few years. More like ten or eleven.”

“Whatever. I still don’t want you here. I have nothing to say to the press.”

“You heard the man.”

J. T. Conway straightened away from the doorjamb and stepped into the room, ignoring Hank’s warning. “Look, I just want to do a small piece on your recovery. The public want to know how their local hero is doing.”

“Yeah, right. We both know that if that was all you wanted, your paper would’ve sent a cub reporter, not their ace.”

A rueful grin hiked up one corner of J.T.’s mouth. “Okay, maybe I was hoping to get a quote or two about the raid. Word is, the dealer was tipped off. That someone in the department is on the take. How does it feel to know that you nearly bought the farm because one of your own is dirty?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Get out.”

“Look, Matt, I know—”

“All right, that’s it. You’re outta here,” Hank growled. Both he and John took a menacing step toward the reporter.

“Whoa now. Look, guys, I’m just doing my job. The readers have a right to know—”

“How about I show you how it feels to eat teeth? How about that for a story? Your readers ought to love that.”

J.T. looked from one determined face to the other, weighing his chances. He was a big man, matching Matt’s six foot one and broad-shouldered build, but he knew when to back off. Raising both hands, palms out, he retreated. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” His blue eyes darted to Matt and he winked. “You get well, buddy.”

“Boy, the nerve of that guy,” Hank muttered after J.T. left.

The lieutenant, with his usual tenacity, turned his attention back to Matt. “If you go home to that town house of yours, you can expect more of that sort of thing. And there won’t be anyone there to run interference. If you go to the lake, you’ll have privacy. No one but Hank and me and a few others will even know you’re there.”

“Jeez! Don’t you ever give up?” Matt groaned. “Oh, all right! I’ll go to your damned fishing lodge.”

John beamed. “Good, good.” He rubbed his palms together. “I’ll make the arrangements. Hank will go by your place and pack your clothes, then be here tomorrow at checkout time to drive you up to the lake.”

“I’m thrilled,” Matt drawled.

“We’ll get out of here now and let you rest,” John returned, ignoring the sarcastic comment. “C’mon, Hank.”

Out in the hallway Hank fell into step with the lieutenant. When they were out of earshot of the room, he cleared his throat and asked, “Uh, does Matt know who your tenant at the lodge is?”

“Nope. We made our deal after he was shot.”

“That’s what I thought. Are you sure you know what you’re doing boss?”

They reached the bank of elevators and John punched the down button. The doors of the waiting elevator opened and the two men stepped inside.

“Absolutely. I’ve given this a lot of thought,” John replied, punching the button for the lobby. “Matt’s like an injured animal right now, snapping and snarling at everyone and trying his best to curl up in the dark alone and lick his wounds. Well, I’ll be damned if I let him.”

The lieutenant leaned back against the elevator wall and shot his detective a self-satisfied look. “Tender loving care and nurturing—that’s the best medicine for what ails him. In other words, what Matt needs most right now is a good dose of Maude Ann.”

Matt felt every pothole and bump as the car bounced along the dirt road through the woods. Clutching the armrest, he gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to maintain a stoic expression, but a hard jar made him groan. “Ahhh…damn, doesn’t the lieutenant ever grade this excuse for a road?”

“Sorry.” Hank slanted him a sheepish look. “I’m going as slow as I can. Hang on. The lodge is just around the next bend.”

“Yeah, I know.” Matt had been to the lodge with John several times to fish.

He looked around at the thick woods on either side of the road. Through the trees on the right he caught an occasional glimpse of the lake, but there were no houses or people in sight. That was the main reason he had agreed to come here. The lodge was about two miles down the gravel road from the highway and the only structure on this finger of land, so he would have plenty of privacy.

John had inherited the lodge and all the land between it and the highway from an uncle. At present he was merely renting out a few boats, and occasionally a tenant occupied the building. When John retired, his plan was to reopen the place as a fishing lodge and run it himself.

“You know, I really do envy you, getting to spend the summer here,” Hank said as he brought the car to a stop in the circular drive in front of the lodge. “This is a real nice place, in a rustic sort of way.”

The large, two-story building sat in a clearing about a hundred yards from the lakeshore. Made of rough cedar, it had a covered veranda that ran all the way around, with porch swings and groupings of wicker furniture at intervals so that the fishermen who came here could sit and enjoy the view. John’s uncle had built the lodge to cater to people who preferred a quiet place where they could go fishing and boating, and just relax and enjoy good family-style meals and the peace and quiet of the country.

In addition to John’s quarters, the place had a huge living room, kitchen and dining room on the first floor and eight bedrooms and six bathrooms on the second floor.

“It’s easy to see why the lieutenant is so proud of it,” Hank continued. “You’re gonna be real comfortable here.”