about?”
Mark squeezed her shoulder in an intimate manner. “We’re handling the situation. If we need your assistance, we’ll let you and your father know.”
Tension arced between the two men. She stepped away, disengaging her shoulder and trying to remove herself from the crossfire.
“Are you done questioning her?” Jason asked Mark, as if she wasn’t part of the conversation.
Mark walked to the sofa. “Have a seat. We shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Annoyed, Libby said, “I think we’re done.”
“Great.” Jason ignored Mark’s offer to sit on what was, in fact, his own couch. “I’ve got a dozen boxes in my car. You can help unload them, unless you need to leave because you’re on duty?”
“No. Today’s my day off.” Mark crossed back to Libby’s side.
Jason took his turn placing a protective hand on her shoulder, but did Mark one better and went for the opposite shoulder, so his arm draped behind her back. “Then your dedication to Libby’s case is commendable.”
Christ. She was coveted territory in a pissing contest.
Mark shrugged. “Just another public servant doing my job.”
“I knew we could count on you to get the job done. That’s why I recommended you to the hiring committee.”
Mark grinned. “You have uncommonly good judgment—for a defense lawyer.”
“Someone needs to keep the police honest.”
The testosterone level in the room had reached choking levels. “Why don’t you two start unloading those boxes?” Libby said.
“Sure. After that, we can talk about my mother’s research.”
She was done with both men. All men. Perhaps even the human species in general. “We can talk before we meet with your aunt and uncles tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said, with the satisfaction of a ballplayer who knows he’s about to score. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at noon and take you to lunch.”
There was no way out. “That would be lovely,” she said and turned to Mark. “Are we done?”
“With everything but the pizza.” He turned to Jason. “Let’s unload those boxes, so Libby and I can finish our dinner.”
She shouldn’t have underestimated Mark’s ability to get the last word. But both men had underestimated her. The two full staircases between the ground floor and the attic would put all that extra testosterone to work. “The boxes need to go up to the attic. I’ll make sure there’s room, while you two start unloading.” She walked toward the long, steep staircase and hoped the boxes were very, very heavy.
T HE COP BAR HADN’T CHANGED in three years. The pool tables in the back still had a long line of people waiting their turn, and the dart boards on the side were still a focal point where patrons played Cricket for pitchers of beer and bragging rights. The jukebox played an old Jimmy Buffet tune, and a group of young men, arms linked around each other’s shoulders, sang along, loud and off-key.
Simone had seen the same scene a hundred times before; the singers just kept getting younger. She smoothed her skintight dress as she walked by and headed to the bar. The quartet paid their regards to her breasts as she passed.
She’d get this over with so she could go home and finish packing up the study. Her days as a resident of Seattle were almost over. But first, she had to find out where Aaron was and if he could be stalking Libby again.
During the early days before the restraining order was in place, to help Libby’s case Simone had made a point of finding out what Aaron’s favorite hangouts were. Unknown to Libby, Simone had spent many nights in this bar asking questions and trying to find other women who might have suffered from Aaron’s obsessive attentions.
It wasn’t easy. Petite with long blonde hair and endowed with a pair of double-Ds, some women hated her on sight. But false modesty wasn’t her style. She dressed to please herself, and if that got her more than her fair share of male attention, so be it. Over time,
Mark squeezed her shoulder in an intimate manner. “We’re handling the situation. If we need your assistance, we’ll let you and your father know.”
Tension arced between the two men. She stepped away, disengaging her shoulder and trying to remove herself from the crossfire.
“Are you done questioning her?” Jason asked Mark, as if she wasn’t part of the conversation.
Mark walked to the sofa. “Have a seat. We shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Annoyed, Libby said, “I think we’re done.”
“Great.” Jason ignored Mark’s offer to sit on what was, in fact, his own couch. “I’ve got a dozen boxes in my car. You can help unload them, unless you need to leave because you’re on duty?”
“No. Today’s my day off.” Mark crossed back to Libby’s side.
Jason took his turn placing a protective hand on her shoulder, but did Mark one better and went for the opposite shoulder, so his arm draped behind her back. “Then your dedication to Libby’s case is commendable.”
Christ. She was coveted territory in a pissing contest.
Mark shrugged. “Just another public servant doing my job.”
“I knew we could count on you to get the job done. That’s why I recommended you to the hiring committee.”
Mark grinned. “You have uncommonly good judgment—for a defense lawyer.”
“Someone needs to keep the police honest.”
The testosterone level in the room had reached choking levels. “Why don’t you two start unloading those boxes?” Libby said.
“Sure. After that, we can talk about my mother’s research.”
She was done with both men. All men. Perhaps even the human species in general. “We can talk before we meet with your aunt and uncles tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said, with the satisfaction of a ballplayer who knows he’s about to score. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at noon and take you to lunch.”
There was no way out. “That would be lovely,” she said and turned to Mark. “Are we done?”
“With everything but the pizza.” He turned to Jason. “Let’s unload those boxes, so Libby and I can finish our dinner.”
She shouldn’t have underestimated Mark’s ability to get the last word. But both men had underestimated her. The two full staircases between the ground floor and the attic would put all that extra testosterone to work. “The boxes need to go up to the attic. I’ll make sure there’s room, while you two start unloading.” She walked toward the long, steep staircase and hoped the boxes were very, very heavy.
T HE COP BAR HADN’T CHANGED in three years. The pool tables in the back still had a long line of people waiting their turn, and the dart boards on the side were still a focal point where patrons played Cricket for pitchers of beer and bragging rights. The jukebox played an old Jimmy Buffet tune, and a group of young men, arms linked around each other’s shoulders, sang along, loud and off-key.
Simone had seen the same scene a hundred times before; the singers just kept getting younger. She smoothed her skintight dress as she walked by and headed to the bar. The quartet paid their regards to her breasts as she passed.
She’d get this over with so she could go home and finish packing up the study. Her days as a resident of Seattle were almost over. But first, she had to find out where Aaron was and if he could be stalking Libby again.
During the early days before the restraining order was in place, to help Libby’s case Simone had made a point of finding out what Aaron’s favorite hangouts were. Unknown to Libby, Simone had spent many nights in this bar asking questions and trying to find other women who might have suffered from Aaron’s obsessive attentions.
It wasn’t easy. Petite with long blonde hair and endowed with a pair of double-Ds, some women hated her on sight. But false modesty wasn’t her style. She dressed to please herself, and if that got her more than her fair share of male attention, so be it. Over time,
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