Free Stone Cold Lover by Christine Warren

forgotten about me.”
    “As if.”
    Felicity paused to thank the waitress, who had returned with a tray of hot beverages and to take their order. She requested a savory crepe for herself and chose something for Spar without pausing to ask his permission. He would be more inclined to argue had his breakfast not prominently featured the word steak. He enjoyed beef, so he would reserve his judgment for the moment.
    Calmly, he sipped his “noir,” which turned out to be a large mug of black coffee. He had heard of the beverage, but had not previously had much occasion to sample it. He found the bitter, earthy flavor unusual, but pleasing. Catching the other man watching him, Spar simply raised a brow and waited.
    “Doesn’t he talk?” Ricky asked, directing the question at Felicity but keeping his eyes on Spar. “Frankly, it’s starting to creep me out a little.”
    Spar glanced at Felicity, who just rolled her eyes and gulped down her own drink, before answering. “I speak when I have something to say. I don’t know you, therefore I can think of nothing I believe you must hear.”
    For a moment there was silence, then Ricky threw back his head and laughed. “Well, damn me twice, Fil, but I think you may have actually found someone in this world with an even worse temperament than your own. I’m not sure which one of you deserves my pity more.”
    “You can save the pity and just answer some questions,” Felicity said.
    Ricky leaned back and let the waitress deposit Spar’s and Felicity’s plates, then whisk away his own. He curled his fingers around his newly refilled mug and nodded at them. “Fire away, mon amie . Je suis à ton service. ”
    “So, tell me what happened last night. At the abbey.”
    Spar speared a forkful of steak and eggs and chewed while he watched Ricky’s face. Judging by the man’s expression, he had not been expecting Felicity’s line of questioning.
    “The abbey? Why do you want to know about a bombing at the abbey? Did you do some work for them or something?”
    Felicity shrugged and cut into tender crepes layered with ham and Gruyère. “I’m interested. I mean, how often does a semi-decommissioned Catholic monastery get blown up, right?”
    “Not very often.”
    “What are they saying about it?”
    “The authorities? Not a lot. There was an explosion. It occurred sometime shortly after one in the morning. The type of explosive, the identity of the perpetrator, and any possible motive are still to be determined.”
    “And what about the damage? Was anyone injured?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side, as if he was attempting to see something beyond Felicity’s calmly phrased questions. “Why do you want to know?” he demanded.
    “Why does it matter?” she countered.
    Spar tightened his grip on his utensil until he felt the metal begin to soften and bend. He did not appreciate the change in Ricky’s tone, but Felicity appeared unperturbed. Instead of looking threatened, she met the other human’s gaze head-on and drew her shoulders back with determination. The tension stretched for a long, brittle moment.
    “Look, Fil,” Ricky said on a sigh, finally giving an inch of ground, “I know you, and I’ve known you for a long time, so I know that you’re not the kind of girl who would have planted a bomb in an abbey. If only because the idea of destroying the artistry of the architecture and the windows would offend your sensibilities too much to even contemplate it.
    “But,” he continued, lifting a hand to point across the table at her, “you ask questions like this of the wrong person, and someone else might think you’re checking up on your own handiwork, hein ?”
    Felicity nodded calmly. “Which is why I’m not asking anyone else, Ricky. I’m asking you. Do you know what was damaged? I heard the explosion went off in an area they used for storage, so I’m assuming no one was in there at the time.”
    She had a talent for