Free Fatal Justice by Marie Force

she said softly. “It’s only been a few weeks. It’s too soon for me to be thinking about going out with someone else.”
    Nick stood up and came around the desk. “You were a loyal and faithful friend to him. I know you had strong feelings for him, but you weren’t a couple as much as you might’ve wished otherwise. I can’t see how going out on a date would be inappropriate.”
    She brightened. “Thanks.” With a wicked smile, she added, “Sam’s going to flip her lid when she hears I’m going out with Tommy.”
    “Probably.”
    “Why does that make it even more exciting?”
    “You’re being nice to her,” he reminded her.
    “Absolutely,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she left the room. “Always.”

Chapter 8
    At noon, Senator Robert Cook escorted Nick into the Senate dining room. “So glad you could join me today, Nick.”
    He was nervous in the company of Cook, a senatorial institution. Sure, he had worked closely with Cook’s staff for many years but he’d had limited contact with the man himself. Dining alone with him was certainly unprecedented. “Thanks for asking me.”
    “It’s a good chance for us to get better acquainted while we’re out of session,” Cook said in a deep southern Virginian drawl.
    They were shown to a table in the ornate room where only one other table was occupied.
    “Southern Comfort, neat, darlin’,” Cook said to the waitress.
    She smiled. “Sweet tea, Senator?”
    “Oh all right,” Cook said with a hangdog expression that made Nick grin.
    “Same for me,” Nick said.
    “Millie’s told everyone about my damned blood pressure,” Cook grumbled about his wife. “Can’t get a decent drink anywhere in this town.”
    Nick smiled at his dismay.
    “You’ve gotta try the Senate bean soup,” Cook said.
    Nick ached when he remembered how much John had enjoyed the traditional soup. “I’ve had it before. Senator O’Connor loved it.”
    “Yes,” Cook said. “He did.”
    When the waitress reappeared with their drinks, they ordered two bowls of the soup along with turkey clubs.
    When he shook his head with dismay, Cook’s mane of snow-white hair barely moved. “Such a terrible shame what happened to him. I know I don’t have to tell you.”
    “No, sir.”
    Cook squeezed a lemon into his tea and stirred, his every movement and gesture signaling his utter comfort in his own skin. Nick couldn’t help but be a little intimidated. “What’s that saying?” Cook asked. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?”
    “Where I grew up in Massachusetts we say you squeeze them on a lobster.”
    Cook’s lined face lifted into a smile. “I like that. Very good.” He took a long drink from his glass. “Life has handed you some lemons lately, Nick. It’s time to squeeze them on a lobster.”
    “That’s my plan. In fact, I talked to Senator Martin earlier, and between the two of us, we’re going to call every member and try to get O’Connor-Martin back on the floor as the Senate’s first order of business after the recess.”
    Cook nodded his approval. “I hate to say it, but we need to play the grief card and get it done before people move on and forget about O’Connor’s untimely death.”
    Nick was quite certain he would never forget John O’Connor’s untimely death but chose not to say so, knowing the older man was speaking from decades of political experience—and that he was right. It wouldn’t take long for official Washington to forget that John had once graced the halls of power. The time to act on the landmark immigration legislation he had co-sponsored was right now.
    Leaning in, Cook lowered his voice and seemed to choose his words carefully. “You’ve only got a year, Nick. I’d like to help you make it count.”
    “I’d appreciate that, Senator.”
    “Call me Bob. But as I was saying, the time will go quickly, and I’m sure you’re interested in making as big an impact as possible.”
    Nick ate the flavorful soup