Small-Town Secrets. Linda Wisdom Randall
“As if that would do it. I have teenagers, for God’s sake!”
She went back inside and stopped in the ladies’ room long enough to freshen her lipstick and cologne. She knew her outfit was professional looking, with a touch of femininity—a square of lace peeking out of the pocket on her navy houndstooth vest, topping navy linen pants. She made sure her pager was switched on, then grabbed her purse and left.
Now to see if the man looked as good as he sounded.
The man looked even better than he sounded.
Bree might not have met Cole Becker before, but when she stepped inside the restaurant, she had no problem targeting her quarry.
He sat in the last booth, his back against the wall. Long jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him. Neatly shorn black hair flecked with silver framed a blatantly male face, whose signs of wear and tear only accented his rough good looks. A faded gray, cotton button-down shirt matched the equally faded jeans.
He looked like a man who had all the time in the world. As if nothing mattered except what he was going to order for lunch.
Bree knew better. There was something in that deceptively lazy gaze wandering over her that said this man probably knew everything about her down to her bra size. Just from that look.
An energetic Beatles tune boomed out of a jukebox near the front door. The first thing that hit the people who entered the restaurant was the black and hot-pink decor. Hot-pink vinyl bench seats framed black tables of the booths, and pink and black vinyl alternated on stools at the counter. Most of them were occupied, Bree noted. Chatter momentarily halted as the occupants paused and identified the newcomer.
Her gaze returned to the man sitting in the booth at the rear of the room.
Oh my God. No man should look this good.
She resolutely kept her jaw up off the floor as she walked toward him. This man didn’t need to worry that the lines by his eyes and mouth had been stamped there by time and the sun. They only intensified his good looks. He watched her with an expression that also betrayed a hint of amusement, as if he was aware of her thoughts.
He has to be used to lots of feminine appreciation.
Storm-gray eyes that matched his shirt tracked her movements. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and held out his hand.
He had to be a good six feet two inches to her five feet eight. She wasn’t used to men towering over her, and it had been a long time since a man looked at her the way Cole Becker was. As if she was today’s blue plate special.
“Detective Fitzpatrick, I’m Cole Becker.” He spoke in that kind of supremely masculine voice that wouldn’t sound out of place in a woman’s bedroom.
Where did that thought come from? She firmly shook it off before it gathered too much momentum.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the bench across from his, then looked past her. “Did you leave your partner back at the station?”
She mentally gave him points for knowing about Jinx. But then, as Roy had told her, there’s no privacy in a small town.
“His table manners can’t always be trusted,” she replied, sliding across the hot-pink vinyl seat.
“Too bad. I was hoping to meet him.” Cole sat down. “I can guarantee everything they serve here is fantastic,” he added, nodding toward the menu. “And it’s on me.”
Bree arched an eyebrow. “Some might see that as bribing a police officer.”
“I don’t think Holloway would consider a $5.95 hamburger a bribe,” Cole murmured with amusement. “But if you order the steak sandwich, favors will be asked for.”
“Hey there, hon.” A waitress stopped by the table. Her gaze was filled with unabashed curiosity as she stared down at Bree.
“Annie, this is the town’s new detective, Bree Fitzpatrick,” Cole introduced. “Detective, this is Annie, the love of my life who keeps me well fed.”
Annie shot him her “get out of here” look.
“Nice to meet you, hon,” she said warmly. “What can I get you to drink?”
Bree smiled back. “Iced tea, please.”
She nodded and started to walk away.
“Hey, Annie, I don’t get asked?” Cole said with mock hurt.
She laughed. “Oh, hon, the day you don’t drink black coffee is the day the sky will turn plaid.” She wiggled ample hips encased in denim. “I’ll get your drinks now. That’ll give the detective time to figure out what she wants to eat.” She pointed her finger at Cole. “You, I already know.”
“Eat here often, do you?” Bree asked, entertained by the waitress’s lively chatter.
“Only two times a day, seven days a week,” he admitted. “But we’re here to talk about you. I understand you have three kids. Two from your husband’s first marriage, the third yours and your husband’s.”
The light in Bree’s eyes dimmed a bit. As if obeying a command from within, she pasted on her professional expression.
“I consider all three mine,” she replied, pausing long enough to murmur her thanks as the waitress deposited her drink in front of her. “But I really prefer we not discuss my children. I like to keep my work and personal life separate.”
The lines fanning out from his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You’ve never lived in a small town before, have you? The favorite entertainment around here is learning everything you can about your neighbor. Once the residents know all the little details, they consider you one of their own. It’s already common knowledge you bought Mrs. McGyver’s place. As for your job, the city council liked your credentials, which I have to say were impressive, and your hire was almost immediate. Detectives with your credentials don’t usually come to a place like Warm Springs,” he told her. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt when you’ve got some city politicians on your side.”
Bree’s gaze could have cut through him like a hot knife through butter. He didn’t look the least bit cowed. If anything, he smiled more.
She looked up when Annie returned to take her order. Bree quickly examined the menu and asked for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.
“I’ll have my usual,” Cole said.
Annie gave an unladylike snort. “Like I didn’t already know.” She moved away.
“One day I’ll order something different,” he called after her.
“Sure, and tomorrow Harrison Ford is going to show up and take me away from all this grandeur,” the waitress snickered.
Bree smothered her chuckle. “Stand in line.”
Cole looked at Bree and decided she was one fine-looking woman, even if she did carry a gun and could probably pin him up against a wall with a minimum of effort.
He’d never thought of freckles as sexy until he noticed them lightly dusted across her nose. They went with the red hair tucked behind her ears and wisped across her forehead. Her tailored clothing stated she was no-nonsense. Probably had to give that impression because of her occupation. But the citron studs in her ears, gold filigreed chain around her neck and the hint of perfume proclaimed her femininity to anyone who cared to look for it. His gaze flicked downward. She wore no wedding ring, so she must have laid her husband to rest even in her heart.
Cole was positive she’d deck him if he told her she was cute.
Besides, she was not his type. Law enforcement officials he’d met in the past were pretty regimented in their thinking. And the woman had three kids.
No, not his type. Even if just looking at her made his day.
This meeting was purely business, however. He’d dangled