Author: Jill Shalvis

There was nothing in Ali’s tone to suggest that they’d spent some time in Luke’s truck kissing like their lives had depended on it, but Jack knew him better than anyone else on the planet. Proving it, his gaze shifted from Ali to Luke. “Also, he can never find his keys and he snores,” Jack said.

“Thanks, man,” Luke said.

Jack smiled at Ali. “Hope you’re hungry; I brought Chinese. Ben, my cousin and the third musketeer, would’ve brought a loaded pizza. He’s on government assignment right now, and I’m just superstitious enough that I won’t eat a pizza until he’s home. You need anything else?”

Clearly surprised to be asked, Ali blinked. “No, thank you.” Her voice sounded funny and gave Luke a very bad feeling.

Jack didn’t miss it either. Jack didn’t miss much. “All right, I’ll get plates,” he said very gently, waiting until he was behind her and out of her peripheral vision to send Luke a steely look.

One thing the two of them had always shared was a hatred of seeing anyone mistreated or taken advantage of. Jack loved Luke, but the message was clear—don’t hurt her more than she’s already been hurt.

When Jack vanished into the kitchen, Ali moved to the couch, head averted. There might even have been a muffled sniffle.

Oh, Christ. Luke had faced down countless gangbangers, armed felons, and drugged-up perps. He’d faced the worst humanity had to offer, but he’d never gotten the hang of dealing with a woman’s tears. Sucking it up, he sat next to her.

She stiffened.

Ignoring that, he reached for her ice cream, thinking to set it down for her, but she surprised him with an elbow to the gut.

“What the hell?”

She hugged the ice cream to her chest. “I told you not to be nice to me right now!”

“I’m not nice. I’m never nice. And Jesus, remind me to never try to separate you from your ice cream again.”

Jack reappeared, paper plates and napkins in hand as he took in the scene. “Bad time?”

“Yes,” Luke said.

“No,” Ali said, and glared at Luke.

Jack nodded in approval. “Keeping him in line. That’s good. He needs that.”

Luke shot Jack a look, which Jack ignored as he plopped down on the couch right between them. The big oaf actually bounced Ali nearly to the floor and half sat on Luke as he settled in. He took the ice cream from Ali—and didn’t get elbowed, Luke couldn’t help but notice—and then handed out plates. They divided up the food, with Jack taking the last eggroll.

“Hey,” Luke said.

“It’d go straight to your ass,” Jack said, and popped the eggroll into his mouth. “No one wants to see that.”

Luke ignored this. They were both fit, but extremely competitive. Maybe Jack could kick his ass on a run, but Luke totally had him on the water and the boards.

When Ali finished her food, she pushed her plate away. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” Luke asked.

“Whatever information you two have that I don’t.”

Jack sent Luke a look, and Luke turned to Ali. “Look, at this point it’s all really just speculation…”

“I’m not some dainty flower, Luke. Spit it out.”

Jack grinned at her. “We’re going to be great friends, you and I.”

“As my friend then, tell me,” she said. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

“It’s about Marshall and his office,” Luke said carefully. At the first sign of tears, he’d shut the hell up. “And what else might have occurred there that night.”

“I already know what happened,” Ali said. “He screwed Melissa on the couch and then screwed me by claiming I stole the money.”

“Yes,” Luke said. “But the toe ring tells me that in all likelihood, Teddy had more than one woman in his office. And maybe one of those women got greedy. Problem is, the sheriff’s department is getting a lot of pressure to make an arrest. Hard to do when the hallway outside his office was Grand Central Station that night.” And then he told her about the comings and goings.

Ali stood and paced the room, stepping around the mess of things all over the floor. “So are they checking out Gus, and the caterer, and everyone else, including Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Mayor?” she asked.

Luke nodded. “Yes.”

“But I’m the only one who got caught with any sort of evidence,” she said quietly.

Luke rose and made his way to her. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Jack gave him a look at the “we.”

“How?” Ali asked.

“We put the evening together like a puzzle,” Luke said. “One piece at a time.”

“There’s a lot of pieces,” Ali said, and crouched down to begin picking up.

Luke pulled her upright. “I’ll get the mess later,” he said. “As for the pieces of the puzzle, we’ll figure it out.”

Her expression showed her doubt and gave him a pang right in his gut.

Apparently in Jack’s too, because he stood as well. “No one’s going to leave you to fry for something you didn’t do,” he said quite intensely.

Ali managed a small smile. “Thanks. I owe you both.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said, and kissed her on the cheek. “’Night.”

Luke followed him to the door.

“Don’t sleep with her,” Jack said quietly. “She needs comfort and a friend. And—” he continued before Luke could utter a word, “don’t give me any bullshit like you’re not her friend because you’re not getting involved. You’re as involved as I’ve ever seen you.”

Chapter 10

The next morning, the sky was dark and mottled, the clouds tumbling against each other, threatening rain. Instead of putting himself out on the water on a board to be bait for a bolt of lightning, Luke put on his running shoes.

It started to sprinkle as he ran along the rocky beach, but he didn’t mind. It kept him cool. The air was salty from the ocean and also scented with pine from the trees. And in spite of the weather, the mountain chickadees were still out singing in force, “cheeseburger, cheeseburger,” sounding like The Chipmunks on crack.

It made him hungry.

On the way back, he slowed at the Schmidts’ summer beach house, remembering his promise to the Geriatric Gang to locate Roger Barrett’s GTO. He walked around the front of the house and took a look through the glass panel across the top of one of the two garage doors.

Yep. There was the ’67 GTO.

With a shake of his head, he knocked on the front door.

No answer.

He knocked harder.

Two minutes later, the door was opened by Phillip Schmidt’s twenty-two-year-old grandson. Mikey was wearing a bright Hawaiian-print shirt with red and green parrots on it, unbuttoned over a pair of sunshine-yellow boxers. His sun-kissed blond hair hit his shoulders, and he had on small, round, purple-lensed John Lennon sunglasses, a laid-back, surfer-dude smile, and held an unlit joint pinched between his fingers. “Oh shit,” he said at the sight of Luke and turned to run.

Luke reached out and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Mikey, as thin as a pipe cleaner with eyes, ran in the air for a few beats before Luke gave him a little shake and dropped him back to his feet.

“Dude,” Mike said, rolling his shoulders, “I have rights.”

“Yes, but smoking pot isn’t one of them.”

“It’s called Maritime Law, man. They can’t tell you what to do in the ocean.”

“You’re not in the ocean, and I don’t give a shit about your pot. I’m here about the GTO in the garage.”

“My grandpa won it in a poker game. Sweet, right?”

“Very. But it’s not yours.”

“Says who?” Mikey asked.

“Roger Barrett.”

“Aw, man, that guy’s a hundred and something years old. He can’t see past his own nose, and anyway, he’s a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.” For emphasis, Mikey made the crazy sign, twirling a finger by his ear.

“He’s seventy and sharp as a piranha’s eyetooth,” Luke said. “Plus he had Lasik surgery. Roger can see better than both of us put together. And he’s got one finger on his ‘oops I’ve fallen and can’t get up button’ to report the GTO as stolen. Get it back to him today.”

“Can’t. I have, like, plans.”

“Cancel them,” Luke said.

“No can do. Candy James is coming over today. I’m going to get laid, man. She is one hot piece.”

“If you don’t return the car, you’re going to be the hot piece, Mikey. In prison.”

Mikey sighed. “Harshing my buzz, dude.”

Luke held out his hand. “Keys.”

Mikey mopily grabbed a set of keys on the foyer bench and slapped them into Luke’s palm. “It’s on empty.”

Of course it was. Luke started to walk out, then turned back. “You work for that cleaning company that takes care of Town Hall, right? The night shift?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You ever see anyone there in the offices late at night?”

“Sometimes. People are, like, working hard to keep their jobs, man.”

“How about recently?” Luke asked.

“You mean as recently as when your girlfriend stole the money from Ted Marshall’s office?”

“Ali isn’t my girlfriend, and she didn’t steal the money.”

“Ted Marshall’s a pretty good guy, man. He wouldn’t lie.”

“Have you seen anything helpful? Anyone else in the office with him, for instance?”

“Maybe I don’t feel like telling you.”

“You feel like going to jail?”

Mikey let out a dramatic sigh. “The cops already asked me this. I told them I didn’t see anything.”