Page 98 of Crash Course
"Research. I used my father’s login again. I thought if I could find files that mention PFAS or PFOA, I could determine how much he knows about Morgan contamination."
Cruz sat back and stacked his hands on top of his head, the position revealing that glorious chest she might never tire of.
Magic man.
He eyed her for a few seconds. She had been a trial lawyer long enough to recognize when someone had something to say.
She held her hand out. "What?"
He shrugged. "Are you ready for what you’ll find?"
"You mean if my father is aware his company caused a ten-year-old to get cancer? No. I’ll never be ready for that. But I’m a big girl and if they’re poisoning people, they need to be stopped."
"I agree. Just making sure you’d considered all the angles. What can I help with?"
She went back to her laptop. "Nothing. One-person job. Go back to bed."
"Eh," he said. "I’m up. There’s no way I can sleep knowing you’re out here."
Understanding that all too well, she glanced around. "Got a printer? You can help read through some documents."
"Sure." He pointed at the laptop. "May I?"
She handed it over and stood. "Of course. Do you mind if I get a glass of water?"
"Help yourself. Glasses are in the cabinet by the sink."
While Cruz connected her laptop to the printer, she made her way to the kitchen, opening the cabinet to the right of the sink where—one, two, three—five bottles of whiskey stood like soldiers in perfect formation.
Wrong cabinet.
But, hello? How much whiskey did he drink that he needed five bottles on hand? Might this be the crack in his armor?
"Not there," Cruz said. "Next one."
Closing the cabinet, she found the correct one and filled a glass from the fridge dispenser.
Glass filled, she padded back to the living room where Cruz had apparently successfully connected her to the printer and now sat staring at her after her discovery of his stash.
"You can ask," he said. "About the bottles."
"All right. I’m assuming you’re a whiskey drinker. Beyond that, is there anything I need to know?"
"I’m not . . ." He shook his head. "I don’t think it’s a problem. I’m stopping. Full disclosure. The last couple of months, I’ve fallen into the habit of a drink every night."
Every night.Oh-kay.
"Some nights," he continued, "more than others. Zeke called me out on it. The day before we flew to Nashville, Phin woke me up that morning. I didn’t know I was supposed to fly that day and the night before I . . ."
He stopped. Dragged his hands through his hair and stared down at his feet for a few seconds before looking back at her.
Cilla rolled her hand. "Overindulged?"
"Yeah. I swear, I didn’t know I had to fly." He shook it off. "Well, I shouldn’t have let it happen and Zeke was as pissed at me as I’d ever seen.Thatscared me. After we got back from Nashville, he called me out on it. Said he’d seen the bottles in the trash."
"Ew. That had to be awkward."
"Uh, yeah." He met her gaze again. "I promise you, I haven’t touched it since. Not one drop."
