Love Under Fire Page 6

  For the first time since he’d helped her off the boat, Rowan touched her. As his arm went round her shoulder, she felt the weight of his gaze slide over her body like a living, breathing thing. “Too bad you haven’t dressed for it.”

  “Maybe I’m hiding, too.”

  His arm stayed put as he walked her up to the U-shaped bar, and she couldn’t prevent slanting an obvious glance at his fingers cupping her shoulder. “Camouflage,” he said, giving her a squeeze. After the excuse she’d made for her own attire, she could hardly complain.

  “I take it that’s Skelton?” he asked, lifting a brow in the direction of a man drawing a beer from the tap, dressed in a black T-shirt emblazoned with a long-dead singer’s face.

  Jo’s gaze slid between the customers leaning on the dark-oak edifice Rocky had bought at a demolition sale and transported to Nicks Landing in sections. But before she could answer, Rowan’s eyes latched on to a woman serving at one of the tables. “And that would be Molly. The woman who’s been blighting the life of everyone at head office.”

  Jo followed his gaze. As soon as she saw the red hair, she knew she’d found Ginny’s mom. “Sorry, that would be Ms. Wilks. I need to discuss her daughter with her. Molly does all the cooking. No doubt you’ll find her in the kitchen.”

  Jo accepted one of the stools Rowan pulled out from the bar, hooking her toes under the brass rail that ran a foot off the floor to pull herself in closer. She kept her bag over her shoulder instead of dangling it from the back of her stool. With the 9mm Glock she carried, she couldn’t afford to be careless.

  “What can I get you folks?” Rocky rubbed his hands together as if expecting a big sale. She wasn’t sorry to disappoint him. He was just short of being tall, but built wiry. He’d never have escaped the flames otherwise. One of the firemen had given her a lurid male description of how he’d found Rocky, trussed up like a chicken with duct tape wrapped round his sorry carcass. All plucked and dressed, ready for the oven.

  “I’ll just have coffee.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Johanna. Surely we can tempt you to have something stronger. A glass of wine.” Rocky smiled at her and the steel-gray sideboards he affected, bunched on his cheeks. There was more hair on his face than on top of his head, where he wore it long in a comb over.

  She hated when he used her full name, taking advantage of his supposed friendship with her father to hint at a familiarity that didn’t exist. And she hated the noise which made it necessary to lean forward to hear him. Her hands fisted on the bar and she ground out, “Bring me a cup of coffee” or else.

  “I’ll have coffee, too,” Rowan bit out in a way that brooked no opposition.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Johanna?” wheedled Rocky.

  Thankfully, Rowan let her off the hook by thrusting his hand out. “Rowan McQuaid.”

  “Rocky Skelton, owner. Glad to meet anyone who can drag Johanna in here. We don’t see enough of her.”

  Jo found it hard to keep the glee out of her voice as she butted in. “Rowan’s from Allied Insurance. He’s come to investigate your fire.”

  She watched Rocky closely. Tension bunched in his shoulders as he wiped his hands on the towel he kept hanging at his waist for polishing glasses. Though his body language said flight, he hadn’t been a cop all those years without learning how to bluff.

  “About time. Maybe we’ll get some action round here.” His friendliness wasn’t apparent in the look he darted at Jo. “I thought you two were an item when you came in. Sorry, my mistake,” Rocky said.

  “You weren’t too far out. Jo and I have been friends for a good many years.”

  “Give me a second and I’ll get those coffees. On the house, of course.”

  Rowan didn’t bat an eye as he refused. “No need, I’m on an expense account.”

  Rocky grabbed a couple of cups from the top of the espresso machine and began making noises with milk and steam.

  With his elbows on the bar, Rowan angled his body to face her. It put them close, close enough for his breath to brush her cheek. Close enough to taste it on her lips. But soon it became clear he only wanted to speak without being overheard. “Bad news, we’ve given him time to get his act together.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were friends with Skelton, Johanna. Anything I should know about?”

  “It’s a long story, nothing that affects this case.” Whoa, back up girl. Lord, she’d nearly caught herself out on a lie. “Well, only indirectly, but this isn’t the place.”

  She drummed her fingers on the bar impatiently. The coffee was taking forever. Rocky kept breaking off to serve someone else. At this rate the coffee would be cold before they were served. She watched Rocky scowl at a grungy-looking kid who hardly looked old enough to be in the bar. Should she check him out? The kid kept on calling and Rocky just kept on ignoring him.

  She noticed Rowan watching the byplay. “Interesting, don’t you think?” Sliding down off her stool, she said, “I can’t wait any longer for that coffee. Tell Rocky I’ve gone to speak with Ginny’s mom.”

  With one eye on Ms. Wilks and her one-handed balancing act with a tray filled with bottles and glasses as she wiped up spills from the table, Jo walked idly past the kid sitting alone on the far side of the bar. The closer she got, the more she thought she knew him from somewhere, but she decided not to approach him. Instead she salted his features away in her memory for future reference.

  She’d always had a nose for sussing if something was out of kilter, but the whiff of cannabis was unexpected. The air in the bar was quite blue with smoke, even in the nonsmoking area, it hung close to the ceiling. But this was different.

  Without making it too obvious she checked out his hands for a cigarette. He wasn’t holding one.

  No matter, fire was needed for smoke and a pinpoint of flame glowed at the back of her mind. Let it burn long enough… Oh yeah, sometimes her patience surprised her, only look at this business with Rocky and her dad.

  The waiting would simply make a positive result all the sweeter.

  Chapter 4

  R owan watched Jo, his hackles rising as he saw several other men in the bar do the same. He couldn’t control the spurt of possessiveness awakening the sleeping beast in the back of his mind. And he had to admit, letting it stretch a time or two before reining it in lessened the strain acting so damn nice all the time put on his back teeth. They ached.

  Hell, he wanted her.

  What man wouldn’t? She was so easy on the eye.

  For an extratall woman she gave the appearance of being comfortable in her own skin. No hunching her shoulders. No wearing flat-heeled shoes. No pretence. She was simply herself. Beautiful without seemingly aware of it.

  Casually, she walked by the stools on far side of the U-shape, hardly appearing to notice the guy whose clenched fist vibrated with impatience on the bar top. Yet, Rowan knew she wouldn’t forget him in a hurry.

  The intrusion of china clattering on the counter by his elbow broke his concentration.

  “Worth looking at, isn’t she, McQuaid?”

  Eyes off, you sonofabitch! It was all he could do to hold the growl at the back of his throat and swallow it down.

  Skelton wasn’t finished, more’s the pity. “Reminds me of her old man. He was a looker too, a real babe magnet. Pity.”

  He leaned toward McQuaid, confidential-like. Intuition told Rowan he wasn’t going to like what was coming. Looking away, he took his time, ripping open the paper tube, pouring the sugar into his coffee, stirring until it dissolved.

  “You probably know the story. Milo, her father, was my partner, but I don’t think I ever really knew him. He was the kind of guy who played his cards close to his chest. That’s another trait Johanna gets from him. I’ll tell you it shook me up when he committed suicide.”

  Rowan had heard enough. He jerked his head toward the other side of the bar. “There’s a guy over there so dry looks like he could
spit tacks.”

  Skelton didn’t need telling who Rowan was referring to. He looked over his shoulder, saying, “He’ll keep.”

  “I don’t think so, you deal with him, then come back and we can deal. No more interruptions.”

  “Sure, no worries,” said Skelton. Moving with the smoothness of long familiarity, he slid open the glass fridge door, grabbed a long-necked bottle, an import, and cracked the top.

  The round base hit the counter loud enough for Rowan to hear, but their conversation was another matter. The guy scowled down at the beer. It lasted maybe two seconds then his gaze widened fractionally before his pale lids shuttered his eyes, masking his expression. Skelton turned his back on him and like cock-of-the-walk, chest and biceps pumped, stretching the face of the dead rock star on the front, he stalked away. Behind him the guy twisted the top off the bottle. A fountain of froth spewed up the neck and over the counter.

  Rowan saw the shape of the curse on his lips, but couldn’t hear. Skelton could. Turning, he glanced over his shoulder as the guy slouched away, leaving the bottle slicked in foam, and untouched by human lips. Skelton simply shook his head, saying, “Kids. You can’t win. Now what do you want to know?”

  “Not a lot.” Rowan took a long swig of coffee, checked out Jo over the rim of his cup, and said, “I’ve read your police statement, and I’ve brought a copy of your claim. Tomorrow morning I’ll check out your house. And in the afternoon, with your cooperation, I’ll do the same to your financial situation.”

  “You what?” Skelton shrank inside his black T-shirt and the white plastic face of Jim Morrison on the front sagged.

  “Cast your mind back to when you took out the policy on your house. Remember the privacy waiver?” Rowan reached into the pocket inside his leather jacket. The papers were folded in four. He spread them out on the counter, rubbing out the creases with his thumb. “Unless you sign this form giving me access to all your accounts, your policy becomes null and void.”

  Five minutes later, Rowan had an inventory of all Skelton’s banking, and the name of his accountant. He knew he’d been coming on strong, but the man had brought it on himself with his oh, so innocent, throw-away remarks about Jo’s father. The jerk knew what he was doing; he was just too dumb to realize Rowan knew it, too. At last he had an inkling, if not all, of why Jo didn’t trust the guy. He knew if he’d given the jerk another inch he’d have stabbed her in the back.

  Hell, he was banking on being out of Nicks Landing in under a week, could hardly wait. But if Jo’s secrets were going to be blabbed, he’d prefer to hear them from her lips.

  And as for his secrets…same goes.

  Jo recognized that the resemblance between Ginny and her mother was more than a mass of red curls. As she walked up behind Ms. Wilks, she heard her talking to the patrons in the same gotta-get-it-all-out-in-one-breath style as her daughter.

  “Ms. Wilks?”

  The woman gave the table a last flick with her cloth and turned, balancing the full tray on her hip. “Get yourself a table, hon. I’ll take your order in a sec.”

  “No. I don’t want to order. I wondered if I could have a word?” She wasn’t a short woman but she looked up at Jo, giving her a familiar wide, blue-eyed stare.

  “I’m sure the check’s in the mail….” She laughed then, but there wasn’t much humor in it, only the ring of resignation. “I bet you hear that all the time.”

  “Actually, no. It’s usually some other excuse. I’m a cop.”

  “Omigod! Something bad’s happened. Who is it? Carter or Ginny?” All the color leached out of her face, and in contrast, her hair swung in bright flames as her eyes flicked from side to side as if wondering where next to turn. “Has Carter taken another of his spells?”

  Jo felt dreadful. She spoke up quickly, wanting to reassure the distressed woman. “Relax. It’s okay, nothing major. I only wanted a word about Ginny.”

  Ms. Wilks released her white-knuckle grip on the tray and Jo made a dive for it, before its weight could send it crashing to the floor. Color returned to the woman’s face as they faced one another, each with a hand on the tray.

  “Thanks,” she said shakily. “I couldn’t afford to pay for that lot.” She nodded toward Rocky. “Not out of the wages he pays.”

  “My fault. I could have picked my moment better.”

  “So what’s Ginny been up to this time?”

  “Nothing too awful. Look, why don’t you put down that tray and we can talk about it?”

  “Sorry.” Ginny’s mother looked in the direction of the bar again. Rocky was serving the guy Jo had been watching. “I have to keep moving. He’ll dock my wages if I fall behind with my work.”

  “How about I walk round with you and we can talk as you work.” Jo asked as she carefully framed her next question. “See that young guy Rocky’s serving, do you know his name? Is he a regular in here?”

  “Who, Jeff Smale? Yes, he’s pretty regular. Not that I have much to do with him.” Her nose curled as she sniffed. “Always looks as if he needs a good wash. So, what’s he done?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing that she knew of, at the moment. “I thought I’d met him someplace but I don’t recognize the name.”

  “Maybe it was one of his brothers? There are three of them, and they all look alike.”

  “Maybe that’s it, thanks for your help, Ms. Wilks.” Jo said, but Ginny’s mother was already heading for another table.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Call me Betty. I’m more used to it than Ms. Wilks. Now, you were going to tell me about Ginny. I take it she’s in trouble again. She’s not a bad kid, but she’s impulsive. Doesn’t stop to think things through.”

  It was like déjà vu, hearing an echo of Grandma Glamuzina’s old warning. Think before you speak, girl.

  Some role model she would make, when she still hadn’t learned that herself.

  Rowan tucked the signed form back where it had come from and smiled at Skelton. “Wise move. Less painful than drawing teeth.”

  He threw Rowan a look with a lot of stick behind it. “Some things are sacred.”

  “I’m afraid that cow died the moment you signed the insurance agreement.” And it wasn’t even fine print. “Where can I find your wife?”

  “Molly? She’s in the kitchen.” Pale blue eyes swiveled in the direction of a door practically invisible against the dark wall, except for a small round of safety glass. Skelton cracked a smile. “Reckon she’ll be pleased to see you. Been getting on her nerves all this waiting.”

  Putting his empty cup down alongside Jo’s untouched one, Rowan slid a ten out of his wallet and placed it on the counter.

  Indecision hovered over Skelton’s features, and flicked between his expectation of Rowan’s reception when he entered the kitchen and the studied insult in the ten which diminished him. His ego won. “It’s on the house.”

  “No, thanks. Company policy, but keep the change.”

  A quick glance through the glass to confirm there were no bodies on the other side, and Rowan shouldered his way through the swing door.

  Molly lived up to her name, contrary to his expectations after reading the crazed letters she’d bombarded Allied Insurance with. Silver-blond curls bobbed on her forehead and her cheeks were pink with exertion as the knife in her hand made short work of the carrots sitting on a work table too tall for someone of her diminutive size. “Mrs. Skelton?” he inquired.

  She looked up, swiping at a lock of hair dancing in front of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Molly smiled and the dimple in her chin deepened. Only the series of lines tracking either side of her mouth and eyes showed her true age. “Sorry, we don’t allow the public through here. Health regulations.”

  “Your husband sent me through. I’m from your insurer.”

  The knife in her hands froze midstroke and her smile faltered an instant then widened. Fluttering her eyelashes, Molly laid the knife down carefully on the scrubbed, pine butcher block at one end of the work counter. Right
there and then Rowan decided Rocky had sent the abusive letters in his wife’s name.

  She wiped her hands on the navy apron she wore over a pink frilled blouse. “If I’d known they were going to send you, I’d have insisted on getting face-to-face sooner.”

  Hell, she was flirting with him. “I’m sure we’ll be able to resolve all your problems within the week.”

  Her pert mouth pouted. No trace of the childish protest touched her eyes. Instead of sparkling, a dearth of emotion flattened their blue depths.

  “I take it you haven’t brought the check?”

  A wiser man would have backed off when he caught the look in Molly’s eyes, but sometimes it was easier to be wiser after the event. “I’m afraid not, but I do want to thank you for writing to Allied Insurance about your concerns.”

  The slash of overbright pink lipstick disappeared as she bit her lips. Aw, hell. She was going to cry. “I don’t want thanks. A thank-you will never replace what I lost. All my pretties.”

  That flummoxed him. He hadn’t heard about the lost pets in the fire. “I’m sorry Mrs. Skelton. I know it’s hard to lose a pet—”

  “Pets?” she sobbed. “I didn’t have no pets. It’s my collections, my crystal, my Lladro. What didn’t smash when the beam fell onto my glass cabinet, the firemen finished off with their big feet.” Molly grabbed her apron and buried her face in it, which muffled the sounds.

  “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve come here to give the local cops a hurry up.” He could imagine Jo’s face if she heard him now, but he picked the tool most likely to get the job done.

  Molly’s eyes peered at him over the apron.

  “You have to admit it’s not your everyday kind of case. Do you have any thoughts on what could have provoked…”

  She sniffed and dropped the apron. “I’m done thinking about it. All I want is to make a start at replacing my stuff. Not that I’ll be able to. Not all. Some of my pieces were irreplaceable. For starters there was…”

  It looked like being a long list. Rowan started to brace himself against the boredom of a minute description of everything Molly had lost in the fire. But as he listened, it became easier. He felt sorry for her. The woman had no children, was stuck with a husband whose idea of beauty appeared to be the badge of a Harley-Davidson, or a crash helmet with a dent in one side. Everything beautiful in her life had been destroyed in a few short minutes.