if you caught her? I bet you would have touched her a whole lot more.”
Dusty grinned, showing several gaps between crooked, stained teeth. “It ain’t like that, man. I just panicked. I’ve been in that little cell for days. I was starting to get claustrophobic.”
Grasping the back of the other man’s chair, Dom leaned down until he could see his reflection in Dusty’s dark pupils. “Cut the bull. You’re a small-time druggie, Dusty. You would have pled and been on your way to rehab in the next day or two. You’ve been in the system long enough to know that. So why’d you do it?”
“I told you, I panicked—”
Straightening, Dom forced himself to take a step back. Then another. That conflicting mix of ice and heat, the one he’d felt when Cam had told him about Joel, was back. He suddenly didn’t trust himself not to step over the line, and his tenuous hold on his control shocked him. “The guy who gave you a fix. When did he first contact you?”
Dusty’s gaze skittered away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re going to take a drug test whether you want to or not, and then you’re going to be charged with yet another count of under the influence. That, with a charge of assault and attempted escape? Well, let’s just say you better get over that claustrophobia really fast. There won’t be any more drug rehab on the horizon. You’re going to prison, man. I can’t see a skinny guy like you lasting very long there.”
Dusty narrowed his eyes and spat on the floor. “I can handle it.”
After staring at the blob of saliva on the floor, Dom looked back at Dusty. Fear flashed in the other man’s eyes, making Dom smile evilly. He activated his radio. “Prisoner ready for transport back to the jail.” Dom casually strolled toward the inner door that would take him back to the courtroom.
“Wait!”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned around. “Something you needed, Dusty?”
“So—um. So what happens if I tell you who gave me the stuff? You gonna drop the charges? You know, the assault. The escape charge?”
“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. I can’t do anything like that. But if you cooperate, I’ll talk to the D.A. myself. If you don’t, well…”
Dusty swallowed hard and cast another glance at the outer door. “The other inmate. Martin Johnson. He slipped me a hit in the holding cell just before we loaded. Told me he had more and all I had to do was cause a little ruckus here.”
Dom pressed the button on his radio. “Hold off on transport.” He retraced his steps into the room. “Did he specify what kind of ruckus?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything about the judge? Or Mathilda Nolan?”
“Who’s Mathilda?” Realization sparked in his eyes. “Oh. The brown-haired babe?” Flicking his tongue obscenely, Dusty murmured, “You got something going with her?”
Dom was sure he didn’t react by so much as a flicker, but Dusty latched onto the idea and wouldn’t let go. “You do, don’t you? Isn’t that some kind of, I don’t know, conflict or something?”
“Stay focused here. So for a hit of meth, you put your freedom on the line? With no further instruction than that? Without asking for any kind of motive?”
A shadow darkened Dusty’s eyes before he narrowed them and snorted. “Freedom? I ain’t been free for over twenty years, man. You ever been addicted? You ever needed something so bad, you were willing to do anything to get it?”
An image of Mattie’s doe eyes and full lips flashed in Dom’s mind before he ruthlessly shoved it away. He’d fought that particular craving for days, and just as he’d expected, it was Mattie and not sheer boredom that was making this assignment so tough.
“What do you know about Johnson?” Dom would get the man’s file himself and talk to Pete after he debriefed Johnson. But it was always helpful to hear what the other inmates knew about one another.
Dusty snorted. “He
Dusty grinned, showing several gaps between crooked, stained teeth. “It ain’t like that, man. I just panicked. I’ve been in that little cell for days. I was starting to get claustrophobic.”
Grasping the back of the other man’s chair, Dom leaned down until he could see his reflection in Dusty’s dark pupils. “Cut the bull. You’re a small-time druggie, Dusty. You would have pled and been on your way to rehab in the next day or two. You’ve been in the system long enough to know that. So why’d you do it?”
“I told you, I panicked—”
Straightening, Dom forced himself to take a step back. Then another. That conflicting mix of ice and heat, the one he’d felt when Cam had told him about Joel, was back. He suddenly didn’t trust himself not to step over the line, and his tenuous hold on his control shocked him. “The guy who gave you a fix. When did he first contact you?”
Dusty’s gaze skittered away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re going to take a drug test whether you want to or not, and then you’re going to be charged with yet another count of under the influence. That, with a charge of assault and attempted escape? Well, let’s just say you better get over that claustrophobia really fast. There won’t be any more drug rehab on the horizon. You’re going to prison, man. I can’t see a skinny guy like you lasting very long there.”
Dusty narrowed his eyes and spat on the floor. “I can handle it.”
After staring at the blob of saliva on the floor, Dom looked back at Dusty. Fear flashed in the other man’s eyes, making Dom smile evilly. He activated his radio. “Prisoner ready for transport back to the jail.” Dom casually strolled toward the inner door that would take him back to the courtroom.
“Wait!”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned around. “Something you needed, Dusty?”
“So—um. So what happens if I tell you who gave me the stuff? You gonna drop the charges? You know, the assault. The escape charge?”
“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. I can’t do anything like that. But if you cooperate, I’ll talk to the D.A. myself. If you don’t, well…”
Dusty swallowed hard and cast another glance at the outer door. “The other inmate. Martin Johnson. He slipped me a hit in the holding cell just before we loaded. Told me he had more and all I had to do was cause a little ruckus here.”
Dom pressed the button on his radio. “Hold off on transport.” He retraced his steps into the room. “Did he specify what kind of ruckus?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything about the judge? Or Mathilda Nolan?”
“Who’s Mathilda?” Realization sparked in his eyes. “Oh. The brown-haired babe?” Flicking his tongue obscenely, Dusty murmured, “You got something going with her?”
Dom was sure he didn’t react by so much as a flicker, but Dusty latched onto the idea and wouldn’t let go. “You do, don’t you? Isn’t that some kind of, I don’t know, conflict or something?”
“Stay focused here. So for a hit of meth, you put your freedom on the line? With no further instruction than that? Without asking for any kind of motive?”
A shadow darkened Dusty’s eyes before he narrowed them and snorted. “Freedom? I ain’t been free for over twenty years, man. You ever been addicted? You ever needed something so bad, you were willing to do anything to get it?”
An image of Mattie’s doe eyes and full lips flashed in Dom’s mind before he ruthlessly shoved it away. He’d fought that particular craving for days, and just as he’d expected, it was Mattie and not sheer boredom that was making this assignment so tough.
“What do you know about Johnson?” Dom would get the man’s file himself and talk to Pete after he debriefed Johnson. But it was always helpful to hear what the other inmates knew about one another.
Dusty snorted. “He
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