LITMIR.BIZ

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      The bartender was back at the taps, filling more beer mugs. He smiled wryly as he caught Grant’s eyes. “Don’t waste your time on that one,” he advised. “The trips are hard to catch.”

      “Trips?”

      “There are two more, look just like her. Identical triplets. Except one of them got married a couple weeks ago.”

      “I guess at least she got caught.”

      Marty grinned. “Yeah, by the richest guy in town. Lincoln Swift. His brother, Jax, owns this place.”

      Grant’s interest was piqued a little more. Officer Templeton hadn’t provided that particular piece of information. That her brother-in-law’s brother owned the bar where Karen had worked. Or that she herself worked there, too. Because the police department didn’t pay enough, or because of some other secret she harbored?

      He glanced over his shoulder again. It was easy to follow Officer Templeton’s progress around the dimly lit room. For one, the dress was like a bright red beacon. Then there was her hair. She didn’t have it twisted back in a god-awful tight bun tonight; instead, it reached beyond her shoulders, a streaky mass of brown and blond waves that bounced as she walked.

      Seymour would have taken one look at Officer Templeton and said she was sex on a stick.

      If Seymour wasn’t six feet under.

      Grant looked back into his beer. He didn’t want to think about Seymour Reid any more than he wanted to speculate about his sister and her baby. But Seymour had been on his mind ever since he’d gotten the invitation in the mail that afternoon.

      It was for a ceremony a month from now, when Claudia, Seymour’s widow, would accept the Distinguished Service Cross for her deceased husband. She’d included a handwritten note for Grant, imploring him to attend. Grant had been Seymour’s best friend. He was godfather to their two children. Wouldn’t he please, please come to North Carolina, where the ceremony was being held?

      He dug his fingertips into his pounding temples. Unlike Grant, who’d been a combat controller with the US Air Force, Seymour had been army all the way. A Green Beret. He’d been a few years older than Grant, a hothead with the need to be a hero running in his veins. Grant had been attached to Sey’s unit for more than half the time he’d served. When he’d gotten out of the air force nearly six years ago because he’d thought it would save his marriage, Seymour had warned him it wouldn’t. At the time, Grant had warned Seymour that his marriage wouldn’t survive him staying in.

      But it turned out Seymour had been right.

      As usual.

      Grant and Chelsea had been divorced within a year.

      At Seymour’s funeral last year, Claudia’s wedding ring had been firmly in place on her finger.

      “Getcha another, bud?”

      He realized Marty had spoken and looked at his now-empty mug. He hadn’t even realized he’d finished the beer.

      Which was a pretty good reason not to have another. “No thanks.” He tossed enough cash on the bar to cover the drink and a tip, then pushed out of his seat and grabbed his coat from the empty bar stool next to him.

      From the corner of his eye, he saw Officer Templeton bending over slightly as she cleared a table. How anyone as short as her could have legs that went on forever was beyond him. His ex-wife was nearly as tall as he was and her legs hadn’t seemed that long.

      He was almost to the door when the pretty police officer straightened and her gaze collided with his.

      She looked surprised for about half a second, then dumped her round tray into the hands of one of her customers and started toward him, not stopping until she was two feet away. She propped her hands on her slender hips and gave him a steady look. “There are at least ten bars in this town. Yet you pick Magic Jax.”

      “So?”

      She shrugged. “Don’t expect me to believe it’s coincidental. You wanted to see the place where Daisy worked.”

      “Karen. And interesting that you didn’t mention you work here, too.”

      “It’s temporary.” Her dark eyes continued to boldly meet his. “Are you going to ask when you can meet your niece?”

      He grimaced. “You don’t know that she’s my niece. You only think she is.”

      “Little lady, are we gonna get our cocktails anytime soon, or—”

      She looked at the old guy wearing a ten-gallon hat who’d just interrupted them. “Squire Clay, I’ve warned you before. If you call me ‘little lady’ again, I’m not gonna let you off for speeding the next time I stop you.”

      The auburn-haired woman with Ten Gallon hid a snicker.

      “You want your drinks right this second, go on over and get ’em from Marty,” she told him.

      Ten Gallon looked a little abashed. “Sorry, Ali,” he muttered.

      Seeming satisfied, Officer Templeton looked back at Grant. “It’s a pretty good hunch,” she continued as if there’d been no interruption at all. “If you’re willing to provide a DNA sample, we could know for sure.”

      His DNA wouldn’t prove squat, though he had no intention of telling her that. Particularly now that they’d become the focus of everyone inside the bar. The town had a whopping population of 5,000. Maybe. It was small, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance he’d be recognized. And the last thing he wanted was a rabid CCT Rules fan showing up on his doorstep.

      He’d had too much of that already. It was one of the reasons he’d taken refuge at the ranch that his biological grandparents had once owned. He’d picked it up for a song when it was auctioned off years ago, but he hadn’t seriously entertained doing much of anything with it—especially living there himself.

      At the time, he’d just taken perverse pleasure in being able to buy up the place where he’d never been welcomed while they’d been alive.

      Now, it was in such bad disrepair that to stay there even temporarily, he’d been forced to make it habitable.

      He wondered if Karen had stayed there, unbeknownst to him. If she was responsible for any of the graffiti or the holes in the walls.

      He pushed away the thought and focused on the officer. “Ali. What’s it short for?”

      She hesitated, obviously caught off guard. “Alicia, but nobody ever calls me that.” He’d been edging closer to the door, but she’d edged right along with him. “So, about that—”

      Her first name hadn’t been on the business card she’d left for him. “Ali fits you better than Alicia.”

      She gave him a look from beneath her just-from-bed sexy bangs. “Stop changing the subject, Mr. Cooper.”

      “Start talking about something else, then. Better yet—” he gestured toward the bar and Marty “—start doing the job for Jaxie that you conveniently didn’t mention before.”

      “I told you. It’s temporary.”

      “I don’t care if it is or isn’t. But it makes me wonder what other details you’ve left out.”

      She looked annoyed. “Mr. Cooper—”

      “G’night, Officer Ali.” He pushed open the door and headed out into the night.

      * * *

      Ali stifled a curse as she watched Grant Cooper flip up the collar of his coat before he strode across the street.

      Then the door to Magic Jax swung closed, cutting off the sight of him as well as the flow of cold air.

      That didn’t stop her from feeling shivery, though.

      “Ali,

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