Cold Pursuit by Carla Neggers Page A

from behind the case. Whatever was going on between her and Elijah, Hannah, Jo thought, had herself under control. She always did. She was in her late twenties but seemed older, perhaps because of the hard life she’d led. She’d grown up in an isolated hollow just outside Black Falls, a different Vermont from the one Jo had known. After her mother died, Hannah took over as guardian to her two younger brothers, Devin and Toby, who were just ten and eleven at the time. Their father had abandoned the family over and over before finally running his car into a tree and killing himself not long after Toby was born. In addition to running the café with Beth and Dominique, Hannah was putting herself through law school. Most people in town had learned not to underestimate her.
    “It’s good to see you, Jo,” Hannah said graciously. “Dominique makes amazing scones, doesn’t she?”
    “She does. Nice to see you, too, Hannah.”
    Hannah didn’t make a gibe about Charlie Neal and the video, but that wasn’t her style. Instead of going out the front entrance, she left through a side door that opened into the house’s center hall and headed up the curving stairs to the apartment she shared with her brothers.
    Elijah made a move toward the door. He had on his canvas jacket, jeans and scarred hiking boots, and he looked as if he wanted to punch a fist through the nearest wall. Not that he was angry at Hannah. Something else, Jo thought.
    She cupped her coffee mug in both hands. “Hannah doesn’t want to talk to you.”
    He walked over to her table and helped himself to a chunk of her scone. The intensity of a moment ago seemed to have vanished. “I figured you for raw eggs and wheat germ in a blender.”
    “Everything in moderation,” Jo said. “Beth and I ran this morning.”
    “Did you? I just saw you stretching in your undies down by the lake.”
    “Don’t get your hopes up. Those were my yoga clothes.”
    He winked at her. “Looked like undies to me.”
    The man was hunting trouble. “Don’t you have a job?”
    “I stay busy. I saw you on your roof yesterday. Checking for bats?”
    “Rot. I don’t want leaks.”
    “If a bat gets in, you can scream. I’ll come rescue you.”
    She bit off a sigh and set down her mug. “I can’t believe I almost eloped with you.”
    “Sure you can.” The intensity was back, not quite contained behind his winks and teasing. “What’s the matter, Jo, don’t you have a sexy bad boy waiting for you back in Washington?”
    “A straitlaced FBI agent. He follows the rules. We just started seeing each other.”
    “Bet he loves your video.”
    She didn’t respond and wished she hadn’t let Elijah goad her down this road. He’d always known what buttons to push with her—physically, emotionally.
    There
was
a straitlaced FBI agent. But they weren’t going anywhere together, and they both knew it.
    Elijah narrowed his deep blue eyes on her. “Ah.” He looked amused now. “You don’t know what he thinks of your video. He doesn’t return your calls, does he?”
    “I haven’t called him.”
    “Want me to—”
    “Do nothing, Elijah. I want you to do nothing.”
    “If I were in your shoes,” he said, “I’d make up a straitlaced FBI agent just in case having an old flame next door became a distraction. Isn’t that the big thing with the Secret Service—prevention?”
    “We do pretty well with snipers, too.”
    It wasn’t something she should have said, but it had no effect whatsoever on Elijah. He grinned at her; it wasn’t a pleasant grin. “See you, Agent Harper. Do more yoga. Go back up on the roof. I like watching the wild turkeys, but you’re prettier, even armed.”
    She resisted shooting him as he headed out. Once the door shut behind him, she counted to three, breathed, then set her mug and plate in the dishpan. She didn’t know whether to blame her run, boredom or what for letting herself get into a sexually charged verbal sparring match with an