Code of Justice. Liz Johnson

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just five days after I almost died in a crash—a crash that killed my sister, who believed the reason behind the crash was illegal drugs.”

      “But…”

      “But I don’t believe in coincidences.”

      “Me, neither.” His eyes turned a softer shade of brown, and he squeezed her hand. “You’re in some serious trouble.”

      THREE

      “Mom, I’m fine. Really. You can take off. Nora is going to come by and check on me every day after work.”

      “But what about during the day? What if you need something? Shouldn’t I stay a little longer?”

      Heather looked into green eyes so much like Kit’s, and a pang of sadness shot through her stomach. She almost dropped the half smile she’d pasted on her face. Reaching for her mom’s hand, she squeezed it gently. “I’m okay. I have crutches to get around the apartment. A couple kids from the church youth group are going to pick up food and groceries for me. There’s really nothing else I need. I’m really glad that you came, but you have a life back in Sacramento.”

      And I have a case to solve.

      Her mom’s gray hair bobbed around her ears, as she gave her oldest daughter a solid once-over. “I wish your dad didn’t have to get back to the base to get his unit ready to deploy. He’d talk you into letting us stay.”

      The corner of Heather’s mouth lifted slowly. “No he wouldn’t. He’d tell you that you raised a tough girl and that I’ll never get better if you coddle me.”

      Her mom nodded and chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

      Heather’s eyes locked with her mom’s, and she squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I love you. Both of you.”

      “We love you, too, sweetie.” Her mom leaned down to kiss the top of Heather’s head, softly patting her hair. “If you need me, just call. I don’t mind coming back. Whatever you need.”

      “Have a safe flight. Thanks!” Heather called from her seat on the couch, just before her mom disappeared behind the closed door. Her leg propped on the cushions beside her and head resting on the back of the sofa, she stared at the ceiling. She’d been home from the hospital just two days, but already the walls were beginning to close in.

      She had to get out of the condo and start working on the case. Thinking about Kit’s killer walking around free was driving her crazy. The trouble was she hadn’t heard from Jeremy since he’d agreed to help her.

      Apparently she was going to have to make the first move. Reaching for her phone, she nearly rolled off the couch when it rang at ear-piercing volume before she touched it. Apparently her mom thought her injury also made her deaf.

      “Sloan.”

      “Well, that’s some greeting,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

      “Nate? What’s going on?”

      Her supervisor’s tone was a little too light when he said, “Just calling to check on you. Nora said I have to make sure that you’re doing okay, especially since your mom left today.”

      “She’s been gone literally five minutes. I’m fine.” She sounded grumpier than she meant to, but something told her he wasn’t just calling to check in. “Now spill it. Why’d you really call?”

      In typical Nate fashion, he switched topics the moment the questions were directed at him. “I talked with personnel today. You’re going to have to be inactive with the Bureau for anywhere from six weeks to three months.”

      “Three months! You’re kidding, right?” He was teasing. He had to be. There was no way she could spend three months on the couch. At least she’d have time to wrap up Kit’s case.

      “Sorry, kid. It might only be a few weeks, but you’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy and then be cleared by the doctor to be reinstated.”

      But what if the case wrapped up in just a few weeks? How would she fill her three months then? “Can’t I at least get behind a desk? I can still do paperwork. I have two fully—well, mostly—functioning arms. I can write reports. Do research. Man the phones. Whatever you need. I just can’t sit on a couch for that long.”

      “I know this isn’t any fun. It’s not fun for me either. I’m going to have to put up with the coffee that Myles or James makes for who knows how long. That’s just rotten. I may even have to go out looking for a new barista agent for the office just to get some good joe.”

      Heather knew her laugh was exactly what he wanted, but she couldn’t hold it back. “Or you could make your own coffee.”

      “What’s the point of being the SAC if I have to make it myself?”

      Just in case they were on the edge of getting too familiar, every so often, Nate would throw out a reminder that he was the Special Agent in Charge of the Portland office. “As always, excellent point, sir.”

      “Nice try. No amount of brownnosing is going to get you behind a desk any sooner.” He paused, and she could almost see his face turning serious. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Lay low. Get some rest, and get healed. We need you back in the office. Functioning at a hundred percent.”

      “Sure. Okay.” Or not so much.

      “I’m serious, Sloan.” His tone took on a quality not unlike her mom’s angry voice.

      “Yes, sir. I’ll keep my head down and I won’t take any unnecessary chances with my health.” And that’s the truth. Any risks I take to find Kit’s killer are entirely necessary.

      “Good. Nora will be by tonight. She broke our date to make sure you’re okay. I hope you appreciate the pain that I’m going through so my fiancée can check up on you.”

      She chuckled again before hanging up. She could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at her. The drugs made her so groggy, but she couldn’t seem to sleep soundly. Maybe a nap would help.

      Immediately her phone rang again, and she nearly chucked it across the room, which would have been torture to retrieve. Fumbling it between stiff fingers, she managed to flip it back open. “Yes?” she said, nearly out of breath.

      “Heather?”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s Latham—sorry—Jeremy.”

      “Do you have any news?”

      He paused for a moment, and she thought she could hear a voice coming through the radio in his car. “I just got a call from my friend Tony with the Portland P.D. He thinks there may be a body in the morgue that’s of interest to us.”

      “Really? How so?”

      “I’m not sure. He just said there’s a guy there I should see. The last time I talked to Tony was right after you were poisoned in the hospital.”

      “You think it’s connected?”

      “It’s

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