Sinclair Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

then took a deeper, more appreciative sip. “Is this Courvoisier Reserve?”
    He nodded, not surprised she recognized the expensive taste. Her shivering stopped when he put the pashmina coverlet over her legs. Partly so he didn’t have to look at them, but she didn’t need to know that.
    Her voice slightly husky, probably both with tiredness and the brandy, she asked, “Aren’t you going to open your present? It’s more than an apology, actually. It’s a peace offering.”
    He obliged, seeing what he’d expected: a wooden box filled with his favorite cigars. This time he didn’t bother asking how she knew, because he’d been chewing on one when he arrested her. The fact that she recognized the brand, could afford an entire box shipped the same day, and had gumption enough to approach him to make peace, told him volumes about her character. She had class, she was extremely intelligent, she had her PhD, or so she’d claimed when he arrested her, but she was also courageous and didn’t shirk from making tough decisions. All qualities he admired in a woman, but he wanted to keep disliking her. Had to keep disliking her. She wasn’t the rural Texas type, to put it mildly.
    “Thanks,” he said, “but it wasn’t necessary.”
    “I promised the judge I’d apologize in person to you, so it was necessary. I’m very sorry I was so difficult. It had been a long trip, but that’s no excuse.”
    When he only shrugged, she added more forcefully, “Besides, this is West Texas, right? Land of hospitality? Can’t we smoke a symbolic peace pipe and bury the hatchet?”
    At the image she evoked, he finally had to crack a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. “Are you saying you smoke cigars or that you want to bury a hatchet between my shoulder blades?”
    She laughed. “A little of both, maybe, but we can start with the smoke.”
    She had a sense of humor, too. But since he was refusing to like her, he merely opened the box, took out two cigars, fetched his clip from the bar and a crystal ashtray, and went back to her side. He started to snip the ends of the cigars, but she gently covered his hand. “Let me. I used to do this for my grandfather.”
    The touch of her soft hand flowed through him, more warming than the brandy, but he told himself it was the fire, which was roaring now. Still, he put the ashtray on the table between the two chairs and handed her the clipper, the lighter, and two cigars.
    She went through the ritual, rolling a cigar between her fingers and then smelling it discreetly, a distance from her nostrils. Finally she clipped the end, rose from her chair, and leaned over him to put the flavorful tube between his lips. With an adept, practiced motion, she lit the clipped end. It fired quickly. He took a deep draw, the warm smoke immediately soothing some of his nerves. He made a mental apology to Jasmine, but this woman had brought him an entire box of the cigars he pined for, and he couldn’t be rude enough to ignore her peace offering, even if she was a law breaker who put every defense he had on high alert. As a man, and even, for some reason, as a lawman. He sensed a second agenda in her she wasn’t admitting to. No matter how she couched it, this extravagant gift was a bit of a ruse.
    He caught a whiff of something as she leaned over him. He wasn’t sure what it was; it was too pungent for perfume or moisturizer or any of those other female things. When she straightened, her wrinkled jacket coat, already open, fell off her shoulders, and before she shrugged it back on, he saw the slight sweat stains under the armpits on her silk blouse. They were dry now, but had obviously happened when she was bombing along the road in that convertible under the bright sunshine.
    Every male instinct in his body went on full alert.
    He was smelling a very slight whiff of sweat under her deodorant, but it wasn’t disagreeable; in fact, it reminded him of another female part, fresh out of the shower