LITMIR.BIZ

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come to investigate your fire.”

      She watched Rocky closely. Tension bunched in his shoulders as he wiped his hands on the towel he kept hanging at his waist for polishing glasses. Though his body language said flight, he hadn’t been a cop all those years without learning how to bluff.

      “About time. Maybe we’ll get some action round here.” His friendliness wasn’t apparent in the look he darted at Jo. “I thought you two were an item when you came in. Sorry, my mistake,” Rocky said.

      “You weren’t too far out. Jo and I have been friends for a good many years.”

      “Give me a second and I’ll get those coffees. On the house, of course.”

      Rowan didn’t bat an eye as he refused. “No need, I’m on an expense account.”

      Rocky grabbed a couple of cups from the top of the espresso machine and began making noises with milk and steam.

      With his elbows on the bar, Rowan angled his body to face her. It put them close, close enough for his breath to brush her cheek. Close enough to taste it on her lips. But soon it became clear he only wanted to speak without being overheard. “Bad news, we’ve given him time to get his act together.”

      “Sorry about that.”

      “You didn’t tell me you were friends with Skelton, Johanna. Anything I should know about?”

      “It’s a long story, nothing that affects this case.” Whoa, back up girl. Lord, she’d nearly caught herself out on a lie. “Well, only indirectly, but this isn’t the place.”

      She drummed her fingers on the bar impatiently. The coffee was taking forever. Rocky kept breaking off to serve someone else. At this rate the coffee would be cold before they were served. She watched Rocky scowl at a grungy-looking kid who hardly looked old enough to be in the bar. Should she check him out? The kid kept on calling and Rocky just kept on ignoring him.

      She noticed Rowan watching the byplay. “Interesting, don’t you think?” Sliding down off her stool, she said, “I can’t wait any longer for that coffee. Tell Rocky I’ve gone to speak with Ginny’s mom.”

      With one eye on Ms. Wilks and her one-handed balancing act with a tray filled with bottles and glasses as she wiped up spills from the table, Jo walked idly past the kid sitting alone on the far side of the bar. The closer she got, the more she thought she knew him from somewhere, but she decided not to approach him. Instead she salted his features away in her memory for future reference.

      She’d always had a nose for sussing if something was out of kilter, but the whiff of cannabis was unexpected. The air in the bar was quite blue with smoke, even in the nonsmoking area, it hung close to the ceiling. But this was different.

      Without making it too obvious she checked out his hands for a cigarette. He wasn’t holding one.

      No matter, fire was needed for smoke and a pinpoint of flame glowed at the back of her mind. Let it burn long enough… Oh yeah, sometimes her patience surprised her, only look at this business with Rocky and her dad.

      The waiting would simply make a positive result all the sweeter.

      Chapter 4

      Rowan watched Jo, his hackles rising as he saw several other men in the bar do the same. He couldn’t control the spurt of possessiveness awakening the sleeping beast in the back of his mind. And he had to admit, letting it stretch a time or two before reining it in lessened the strain acting so damn nice all the time put on his back teeth. They ached.

      Hell, he wanted her.

      What man wouldn’t? She was so easy on the eye.

      For an extratall woman she gave the appearance of being comfortable in her own skin. No hunching her shoulders. No wearing flat-heeled shoes. No pretence. She was simply herself. Beautiful without seemingly aware of it.

      Casually, she walked by the stools on far side of the U-shape, hardly appearing to notice the guy whose clenched fist vibrated with impatience on the bar top. Yet, Rowan knew she wouldn’t forget him in a hurry.

      The intrusion of china clattering on the counter by his elbow broke his concentration.

      “Worth looking at, isn’t she, McQuaid?”

      Eyes off, you sonofabitch! It was all he could do to hold the growl at the back of his throat and swallow it down.

      Skelton wasn’t finished, more’s the pity. “Reminds me of her old man. He was a looker too, a real babe magnet. Pity.”

      He leaned toward McQuaid, confidential-like. Intuition told Rowan he wasn’t going to like what was coming. Looking away, he took his time, ripping open the paper tube, pouring the sugar into his coffee, stirring until it dissolved.

      “You probably know the story. Milo, her father, was my partner, but I don’t think I ever really knew him. He was the kind of guy who played his cards close to his chest. That’s another trait Johanna gets from him. I’ll tell you it shook me up when he committed suicide.”

      Rowan had heard enough. He jerked his head toward the other side of the bar. “There’s a guy over there so dry looks like he could spit tacks.”

      Skelton didn’t need telling who Rowan was referring to. He looked over his shoulder, saying, “He’ll keep.”

      “I don’t think so, you deal with him, then come back and we can deal. No more interruptions.”

      “Sure, no worries,” said Skelton. Moving with the smoothness of long familiarity, he slid open the glass fridge door, grabbed a long-necked bottle, an import, and cracked the top.

      The round base hit the counter loud enough for Rowan to hear, but their conversation was another matter. The guy scowled down at the beer. It lasted maybe two seconds then his gaze widened fractionally before his pale lids shuttered his eyes, masking his expression. Skelton turned his back on him and like cock-of-the-walk, chest and biceps pumped, stretching the face of the dead rock star on the front, he stalked away. Behind him the guy twisted the top off the bottle. A fountain of froth spewed up the neck and over the counter.

      Rowan saw the shape of the curse on his lips, but couldn’t hear. Skelton could. Turning, he glanced over his shoulder as the guy slouched away, leaving the bottle slicked in foam, and untouched by human lips. Skelton simply shook his head, saying, “Kids. You can’t win. Now what do you want to know?”

      “Not a lot.” Rowan took a long swig of coffee, checked out Jo over the rim of his cup, and said, “I’ve read your police statement, and I’ve brought a copy of your claim. Tomorrow morning I’ll check out your house. And in the afternoon, with your cooperation, I’ll do the same to your financial situation.”

      “You what?” Skelton shrank inside his black T-shirt and the white plastic face of Jim Morrison on the front sagged.

      “Cast your mind back to when you took out the policy on your house. Remember the privacy waiver?” Rowan reached into the pocket inside his leather jacket. The papers were folded in four. He spread them out on the counter, rubbing out the creases with his thumb. “Unless you sign this form giving me access to all your accounts, your policy becomes null and void.”

      Five minutes later, Rowan had an inventory of all Skelton’s banking, and the name of his accountant. He knew he’d been coming on strong, but the man had brought it on himself with his oh, so innocent, throw-away remarks about Jo’s father. The jerk knew what he was doing; he was just too dumb to realize Rowan knew it, too. At last he had an inkling, if not all, of why Jo didn’t trust the guy. He knew if he’d given the jerk another inch he’d have stabbed her in the back.

      Hell, he was banking on being out of Nicks Landing in under a week, could hardly wait. But if Jo’s secrets were going to be blabbed, he’d prefer to hear them from her lips.

      And as for his secrets…same goes.

      Jo recognized that the resemblance

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