Midnight in Ruby Bayou by Elizabeth Lowell

machine and pretend to be invisible. I’ve got some paperwork to clear up before my three-o’clock appointment comes in. Afterward I’m going to close up shop and go rip a bloody strip off Owen Walker and Archer. With luck, I’ll catch them together.”
    Ray knew she would, because Walker had told him he had a 3:20 appointment with Archer. But that wasn’t Ray’s business. Protecting Faith Donovan was, for the moment.
    He took a sip of the coffee, sighed deeply, and said, “The only thing you do better than making coffee is making jewelry. Those matching rings you designed for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary were just plain perfect.”
    â€œMore flattery? I just made you coffee. You angling for seconds?”
    â€œNot yet. And it’s fact, not flattery.”
    Ray walked over to a chair near the coffee machine. As he sat, he unbuttoned his sport coat so that it wouldn’t get in the way of the shoulder harness he wore. Resting his left ankle on his right knee, he shifted around until his gun didn’t dig into his ribs. The motions were entirely automatic. He had been retired from Los Angeles PD for four years. Twenty years of detecting all the ways man screwed his fellow man had been enough.
    He pulled a magazine from his hip pocket and began reading about upcoming sales of the antique Christmas ornaments that he and his second wife collected.
    For a few minutes the only sound in the shop was the whisper of pencil over paper and the creak of the swivel chair Faith sat in. Neither she nor the guard looked up when a lay preacher across the street in Pioneer Square started yelling about Armageddon. Since the millennium had already turned, there wasn’t much of an audience for prophecies of sacred blood and gore.
    The door buzzer rang. Faith looked up and saw a well-dressed man of medium height standing on the other side of the break-proof glass door.
    â€œKnow him?” Ray asked, eyeing the sleek, expensive leather coat whipping around the man’s calves. Hat and gloves. European, likely. Most Americans liked their leather coats hip length.
    â€œI’ve never met the man, but I’m guessing his name is Ivanovitch. He has a three-o’clock appointment.”
    â€œHe’s early.”
    â€œWhat’s eight minutes among friends?” she asked dryly. “Let him in. The sooner I’m finished, the sooner I can get my hands on my brother.”
    Ray put the magazine aside and went to open the door. “May I help you?” he asked politely.
    â€œYes, thank you.” Ivanovitch summed up Ray with a quick glance. A guard, armed, alert. Not unexpected, but hardly welcome. “I am Ivanovitch.”
    As an ex-cop, Ray didn’t like overcoats. They could hide too much, and anybody who wore a long coat in L.A. probably had a lot to hide. As a Seattle guard, he had become accustomed to seeing overcoats. They were no longer a reason for instant suspicion.
    But he still didn’t like them.
    â€œCome in, Mr. Ivanovitch,” Ray said. “Ms. Donovan is expecting you. May I take your coat?”
    â€œThank you, no. I have not long to stay.”
    Ray eyed the man’s thick shoulders and the beginning of a belly. Now he really wished he could see beneath the coat. But he couldn’t, so he would just watch the leather-gloved hands and the blue-gray eyes and wait for any telltale signs of nervousness.
    Smiling, Faith walked forward. When she held out her hand, Mr. Ivanovitch bowed briefly over it instead of shaking it as she had expected.
    European for sure, Ray decided. He stepped back a few feet but didn’t go back to his chair. He had been trained to fade into the background without moving more than a few inches. He was good at it.
    â€œMay I offer you coffee?” Faith asked.
    â€œThank you, no.” Despite a raging case of jet lag compounded by vodka and anger, Ivanovitch managed a creditable smile. “Please