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“I want to. I miss him.”
“All I’m saying is, if you were to cut back on the visits, no one would hold it against you. Especially not him. He won’t know.”
“But I would.”
George gave a rueful smile. “Fuckin’ hero, through and through.”
“Knock it off.”
“Okay. Carry on with your visit.” Over Ledge’s shoulder, he addressed Henry. “See you in PT. No slacking today.”
As he was on his way out, Ledge said, “Oh, George. Thank whoever put the flowers in here. Both of us appreciate the gesture.”
“Wasn’t anybody on staff,” George said. “Dude brought them to Henry yesterday.”
“Dude?”
“Had metal tips on the toes of his boots. Said he was a friend of yours.”
Ledge’s jaw turned to granite. “Dude said wrong.”
Chapter 11
The forty-minute drive from Marshall took Ledge only twenty-five. When he stalked into the office of the district attorney, the receptionist turned away from her computer, and, recognizing him, smiled. “Hi, Ledge.”
“Ms. Raymond.”
His thunderous expression and tight tone of voice caused her smile to falter. “What brings you here this morning?”
“The DA invited me.”
Flustered, she shuffled the paperwork scattered across her desk and consulted a large calendar. “I don’t have you—”
“It was an open invitation.”
Without slowing down, he strode past her desk, made straight for the interior door across the anteroom, and practically tore it off its hinges. Rusty was seated behind his massive desk. Propped up on the corner of it were the obnoxious boots, crossed at the ankles. He was talking on his cell phone. Seeing Ledge, he grinned with what looked like supreme satisfaction.
“I’ll have to get back to you.” He ended his call and dropped his phone onto his desk. “Ledge.”
“Cocksucker.”
“Mr. Dyle?”
Ledge didn’t turn around, but evidently Ms. Raymond had followed him as far as the doorway but had stopped short of coming in. Rusty raised a calming hand to her. “It’s okay. He’s rude as all get-out, but as long as he’s here, I’ll spare him a minute.”
Ledge heard the door being quietly closed behind him.
Rusty remained leaned back in his leather swivel chair, but lowered his feet to the floor and linked his fingers over his middle. He had developed a paunch, all the more noticeable because the rest of him had remained slender. “Well, after that grand entrance, what can I do for you?”
“You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”
The grin only spread wider. “How come you’re in such a high snit this morning?”
“Twenty years ago, I warned you to stay away from my uncle. The warning stands.”
Again, that infuriating, taunting grin. “You didn’t like the flowers? I thought they were pretty. Picked them out myself.”
“Stay. Away. From. Him.”
