Holly didn’t miss the deliberate implication that the sleepover had been approved by him, as though he was the decision maker where his daughter was concerned. The angle of his chin challenged her to dispute that.
But at least she had gotten a few words out of him, even if they had been cursory. Believing their conversation was over, she turned her head aside.
“What about you?”
Surprised by the question, she looked back at him.
He said, “You okay?”
She was about to respond with the polite lie she’d been giving her colleagues and friends. I’m fine, thank you for asking. That’s probably what he expected her to say. But, surprising herself, she gave an uncharacteristic burble of nervous laughter. “Not really, no.” Perhaps because they’d shared the experience, she felt she could be honest with him.
His eyes were the only animate part of him as he took her in from head to toe. Meeting her gaze again, he said, “I landed on you hard. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She accompanied her quick answer with a shake of her head.
“What about that?” He hitched his chin.
“What?”
“The bruise.”
“Oh.” Tentatively she reached up and ran her fingertips over the tender spot just above her eyebrow. “When you pushed me down, my head hit the floor.”
“Sorry.”
“No apology necessary.”
“You have a goose egg.”
“Until my assistant called my attention to it, I didn’t realize it was there.”
“It’ll hang on for a while.”
“No lasting harm done, though. When I think about what could have been, I begin to lose it.”
“Then stop thinking about it.”
“Easier said.” She held her hands in front of her at waist level, parallel to the floor. “I’ve tried to keep it from showing, but they won’t stop shaking.”
“That happens.”
“Not to me.”
“No?”
“No. Typically I don’t scare so easily.”
“Today’s scare wasn’t typical.”
“I can’t get the image of him out of my mind.”
“He was freaky, all right.”
“Honestly, Mr. Hunt? I was terrified.”
He hesitated a beat, then, speaking barely above a mumble, said, “You held it together when it counted.”
It was a veiled compliment, delivered grudgingly, so it seemed inappropriate to thank him for it. But she held his gaze for several seconds, and understanding was established.
Then he made a sound of impatience and gestured toward her hands. “It may be a couple of days before you lose the shakes. That’s a normal delayed reaction to a crisis situation.”
“Obviously you have more experience than I do with crisis situations.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how ill-chosen they were. The taut skin over his high cheekbones seemed to stretch even tighter. “Mr. Hunt, I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” He cut off her apology in a clipped, cold voice. Pushing himself away from the wall, he turned to Nugent, who was walking toward them carrying a soft drink can in one hand and a package of peanuts in the other.
Crawford Hunt frowned at him. “Are we going to finish this, or what?”
As they resumed their places around the table in the interrogation room, Matt Nugent asked him, “Is that awkward?”
“What?”
“You and the judge. Facing off in court today. Now finding yourselves on common ground. Survivors of a catastrophe.”
“We’re not on common ground, and despite the catastrophe, I’ll be real pissed off if she doesn’t award me custody of my daughter. One has nothing to do with the other.”
Neal punched the record button on the video camera. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you.”
Crawford let the remark pass without comment. He wasn’t going to be spurred into talking about his custody petition with Neal Lester.
Nugent relaunched the interrogation. “You told us earlier that when Rodriguez busted in—”
“I said when the ‘shooter’ busted in.”
“Same difference.”
“The hell it is,” Crawford said. “As Sergeant Lester here will tell you, the devil’s in the details. It’s my statement you’re recording, so, let’s keep it accurate, please. For the record, I didn’t know his name until just now. Rodriguez, you said?”
“Jorge,” Nugent supplied.
Neal shot a glare at the younger detective, silently rebuking him for the gaffe, then came back to Crawford. “That information doesn’t leave this room.”
“Like I didn’t know that?”
It seemed to rankle Neal that Crawford was also a law officer. His tone remained brittle. “Do you recognize the name?”
“No.”
“Ever seen him before you two met on the roof?”
“No. He wasn’t even vaguely familiar. Have you asked the judge? The name mean anything to her?”
“She says no,” Nugent replied. “But we’re going to check her court records and those of the late Judge Waters.”
“Could be he held a grudge against her or Waters. Or maybe Rodriguez had a beef with the U.S. justice system in general. Have you checked—”