Bad Behavior(25)

She had more layers than a birthday cake. I wanted to taste them all.

"What stopped you from doing those things?"

She shook her head against me, as if chiding herself. "It doesn't matter. It's not what I do. Now I'm on the defense."

"You could have fooled me earlier this week."

She laughed. "That? I had to give you a shot right out of the gate. See what you're made of."

"And what am I made of?"

She traced her nails over the lines of my ink before digging her fingernails into the skin over my heart. "Hmm, not sure just yet."

I rubbed her back in silence for a while, waiting for her to tell me more about herself, or even myself. The music continued playing in the living room, the whine of violins combining with the more tangible notes from a piano. I looked around her bedroom in the soft light. There were no pictures of any family or friends. Nothing to distinguish this room from a tasteful hotel suite in some swank high-rise.

"Don't you get lonely here?" I asked.

I could tell she wanted to deny it by the way she tensed. But then she softened. "I have work. And there are people there. Lots of them, actually. I'm surrounded by people all the time. This city makes sure of that. But even so, I do get lonely. Sometimes. Do you?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you have a family?"

"You want to know about my family?" I didn't expect this from her. The surprises kept coming.

"Yes."

I drew in a deep breath, needing more oxygen to talk about my past. "My parents have passed. I have two younger brothers. Washington and Kennedy. They're attorneys in New Orleans. Kennedy does plaintiffs' work, Wash defense."

"You and your brothers are all lawyers and presidents?"

She was quick.

"That's right. Mom and Pop had a certain way of doing things. They figured naming us all after presidents would make us try to do more and be more. I guess it worked."

"It sure did. All lawyers." Her voice was getting softer, relaxation sinking into her. "Were they lawyers, too?"



       
         
       
        

"No, they worked at a sugar plant outside of New Orleans. Neither of them even graduated high school. Worked hard all their lives. They only dressed up on Sundays, and that was only for the hourlong church service. After that, they were back in work clothes, digging in the garden or working on the car. They definitely weren't the suit-and-tie sort. They were what people mean when they say 'salt of the earth.' Provided for my brothers and me and sent us off to college. They died within a month of each other almost three years ago. I miss them."

She woke a bit from her drowsy state. "I'm sorry, Lincoln."

I shrugged. "So am I. It's okay. I have good memories of them."

Her eyes closed again. The flutter of her lashes against me was comforting, calming me right along with her. My past wasn't something that I enjoyed talking about, and I'd only ever shared it with a few close friends. I wanted to put it behind me, though I still carried pieces of my old self inside.

"How did you get that scar on your eyebrow?"

A lot of women had asked me about it. It was a story I tried to avoid. But Evan wasn't just any woman. Something about her had captivated me long before I'd even arrived in the city. She was a part of my casework, though not in a way she knew about. Just reading transcripts of her arguments and looking at her photo on her website intrigued me. How could a woman who looked like an angel defend the devils that preyed on the weak? There was more to her backstory than she wanted to tell me. Something happened to her that turned her away from her intended path of helping people and placed her firmly on this darker one. I wanted to know more, but now wasn't the time to push her.

Instead, she was gleaning more and more from me. I couldn't tell if her questions were a part of her strategy. Maybe she wanted to know my weaknesses, my Achilles' heel. Maybe she wanted to know me. Either way, telling her wouldn't absolve me of my past sins, but it would give her a better idea of what she'd gotten herself into. It didn't bother me that she was possibly looking for an advantage. I took her as she was.

"I made a mistake a long time ago."

"Mistakes don't always lead to scars like that."

"They do when the mistake leads to a fistfight with my brother."

"Was it over Marilyn Monroe, or did it happen on the icy Delaware during the Revolution?" Her clever way of asking which presidential brother.

"On the Delaware. Washington."

How could I explain the darkness that inhabited my past? It was still inside me, waiting there, biding its time until I made another mistake. I took a deep breath, suddenly nervous, fearing what she would think of me.