does all the cooking. No doubt you’ll find her in the kitchen.”
Jo accepted one of the stools Rowan pulled out from the bar, hooking her toes under the brass rail that ran a foot off the floor to pull herself in closer. She kept her bag over her shoulder instead of dangling it from the back of her stool. With the 9mm Glock she carried, she couldn’t afford to be careless.
“What can I get you folks?” Rocky rubbed his hands together as if expecting a big sale. She wasn’t sorry to disappoint him. He was just short of being tall, but built wiry. He’d never have escaped the flames otherwise. One of the firemen had given her a lurid male description of how he’d found Rocky, trussed up like a chicken with duct tape wrapped round his sorry carcass. All plucked and dressed, ready for the oven.
“I’ll just have coffee.”
“Oh, c’mon, Johanna. Surely we can tempt you to have something stronger. A glass of wine.” Rocky smiled at her and the steel-gray sideboards he affected, bunched on his cheeks. There was more hair on his face than on top of his head, where he wore it long in a comb over.
She hated when he used her full name, taking advantage of his supposed friendship with her father to hint at a familiarity that didn’t exist. And she hated the noise which made it necessary to lean forward to hear him. Her hands fisted on the bar and she ground out, “Bring me a cup of coffee” or else.
“I’ll have coffee, too,” Rowan bit out in a way that brooked no opposition.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Johanna?” wheedled Rocky.
Thankfully, Rowan let her off the hook by thrusting his hand out. “Rowan McQuaid.”
“Rocky Skelton, owner. Glad to meet anyone who can drag Johanna in here. We don’t see enough of her.”
Jo found it hard to keep the glee out of her voice as she butted in. “Rowan’s from Allied Insurance. He’s 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
