Love Under Fire. Frances Housden
know with him.”
“I for one never thought he’d play matchmaker. Shows how wrong you can be. It’s usually us married guys who’re pushing all their mates into the same boat. Has he managed to set you up with someone then?”
Hoping it would keep Harry off his back, he told him, “There’s a woman I’ve taken out a couple of times, but it’s early days. Might never come to anything.” Hell, he knew it wouldn’t, not now he’d met Jo again.
The shame of it was, he liked Barbara, and had thought maybe he could make it work, since she filled all his requirements. A woman he could be friends with, but who didn’t stir his blood. It was a decision he’d made a long time ago. He wasn’t looking for love. That way he wouldn’t be hurt when she found someone else. The pain his father went through when his mother left wasn’t going to be part of his inheritance.
No, it definitely wasn’t for him.
Harry pushed back his chair and stood up to face him. He was two to three inches shorter, but he’d never carried the bulk that Rowan had, even when they’d both been desk jockeys. “No problem then. I wasn’t really shoving Jo your way.”
“No point. Jo and I have known each other for years. We worked together in Auckland.” It didn’t take more than that for Harry to cotton on. Not that he liked doing it to Jo, but if it would help his old friend mind his own business…
“So, she the one…the one who… Look say the word and I’ll get Bull to put Jake back on the arson job.”
“Hell, no!” He leaned over the desk and stared Harry in the eye. “And if word of this gets out I’ll know who to blame. Right? I’ve no animosity toward Jo. I threw myself in the way of that bullet. My choice. Okay?”
“Sure thing. But if you know each other so well, how come she didn’t give you an earful for pinching her parking space?”
“I didn’t know I had.”
Harry’s chin jutted slightly, his eyes narrowing as if hiding the wheels turning behind them. He’d always been easy to read.
“Look, to Jo, I’m simply Rowan McQuaid, and I’d like it to stay that way. I won’t be here long enough for involved explanations. And as much as she thinks she knows me, I know her better. Her mouth is inclined to go into self-destruct mode at the most inopportune moments.”
A grin split the sergeant’s face. “You really do know her.”
“Let’s put it this way, it’s not so much Jo I’m worried about, but if Molly Skelton finds out who I am my life won’t be worth living.”
“Got it in one, mate.”
Outside, Jo was saying, “Will you stop looking like a sick puppy, get into the car and shut the door?” Ginny’s pathetic show of reluctance was ruffling Jo’s patience. The girl was lovesick. Jo sighed, then clamped her lips on the smile forming as she watched the teenager’s crablike shuffle. Each time Ginny’s feet crossed, Jo held her breath, waiting the inevitable tumble while doing a mental inventory of the first-aid stuff she carried in her bag.
Eventually the kid made it to the passenger’s seat without taking her star-glazed eyes off the exit, and fastened her seat belt. Heaven help the boys when the girl grew up; Ginny wasn’t backward at coming forward when someone took her fancy.
“He’s not going to come out. He’s too busy. Besides, his car’s parked out front.” And he would pay for pinching her spot. A chance to drive his Jag would just about cover it. A decision punctuated with an ellipse as her car crawled into Main Street. Hers had to be the oldest model in the fleet. Not simply a case of first come first served, more that with her work schedule, they didn’t expect her to be in any high-speed chases. And in the unlikely scenario of them presenting her with a newer one, she’d have to make do with a tune-up.
Finally, Jo had Ginny’s attention, albeit secondhand. “You mean that beaut car is his? Isn’t he just, just too awesome?”
Awesome was hardly a description she would have used herself, but Rowan was definitely something. She just couldn’t make up her mind what. She wouldn’t go so far as to agree with the hoary old saying that absence made the heart fonder, but in her case it certainly beat faster.
“I think your earlier description was more apt, Ginny. The man is definitely a babe.”
It was as if she’d been given a new and improved pair of eyes that saw past the facade he’d used before. Details she’d missed took on a shimmering quality that beckoned her like a light in the window after dark. Like going home.
God, was that it? She was homesick for Auckland?
No way. The rest of her symptoms were definitely hormonal.
“What’s his name, Miss? Has he come to live in Nicks Landing?” The words came out in a breathless rush.
The title Miss hurt, like suddenly being reduced to the status of maiden aunt, or schoolteacher instead of teen idol. “His name is Rowan McQuaid, he’s only in town for a week, and for heaven’s sake, call me Detective…Jo,” she compromised, on the spur of the moment.
“Is he a detective, too?”
“He’s a private investigator.”
“A private eye…wow, even better. Is he here…like on some big case?”
The child definitely watched too much TV. Philosophical at being reduced to second fiddle, Jo got ready to disappoint the kid. “Nothing exciting, a case of arson, is all. We’ll be working on it together.”
She glanced at Ginny to ask, “It’s the next left, isn’t it?” only to find her status had been restored.
“That’s ace,” she said, all big eyed. “Yes, turn here, it’s just two blocks down. Top apartment on the corner.”
Jo pulled up outside a run-down apartment building crying out for refurbishment. It was a shame. A lick of light-colored paint over the sea of won’t-show-the-dirt-khaki could give the whole neighborhood a face-lift and send it rocketing up a price bracket.
“Okay,” she said, catching her breath as the dung-colored entrance door creaked open and a woman with a frown carved into her features came out. No wonder the kid had tried to heist pink barrettes. They were an antidote for living here.
“When I visit your mother at work, I’ll discuss which form your punishment will take. Though I guess grounding would be as good as any.”
“Oh no, not grounding, it’s almost Halloween. My friends and I have something planned.”
“Even better.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Can’t I just help someone? An old lady or something? Granny Monroe lives down the hall from us. I could do some cleaning for her.”
Jo pretended to consider a moment. She couldn’t blame the kid not wanting to miss out on a night of trick-or-treating. “I’d have to check with her that you’d done a good job.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll go right in and ask her now. I can phone you when it’s done. Will that do?”
“Sounds good to me.” Jo dug into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a business card and gave it to Ginny. “My number’s on there. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk to your mother, but I’ll tell her I’ve okayed you helping Granny Monroe.”
The weight of the world seemed to pull Ginny’s mouth down at the corners. “Molly’s okay, but Rocky doesn’t like it when people take Mom’s mind off her work.”
“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll flash my badge and tell them it’s police business.” She winked at Ginny. “So, what’s wrong with the inn? Don’t you like her working there?”
“I guess it’s all right, but Dad and I hardly see her. Mom says it’s the only way we’re ever going to