Free Little Shop of Homicide by Denise Swanson

detective team. Now all we needed was a Great Dane, and we’d have the whole cast of characters.

CHAPTER 6

    J ake walked the three blocks to where he had parked his truck, replaying what had just happened. His uncle hadn’t mentioned how pretty Birdie’s granddaughter was or the strange mix of strength and vulnerability she possessed. Devereaux Sinclair wasn’t what he had expected, and he hated being caught by surprise.
    He winced as he climbed into the pickup’s cab. His leg seemed to bother him more when the weather turned cold and windy. The physical therapist had said he’d always have a certain degree of soreness, but it was impossible to tell at this stage of his healing whether the pain would be a twinge once in a while or so debilitating that he’d never be able to pass the U.S. Marshal reinstatement physical.
    Ignoring his discomfort, and his uncertain future, Jake put the truck in gear and headed toward Brewfully Yours. The local coffee café had Wi-Fi, and he needed to get online. His uncle Tony’s ancient computer was connected via dialup, and downloading information from that antique took longer than Jake’s patience could handle.
    It was only a little past two o’clock, so he had a couple of hours before he needed to head out to the country club, and he intended to use the time reaching out to a few of his colleagues about Joelle Ayers. He also plannedto do some research of his own on Miss Devereaux Sinclair.
    Tony had filled him in on her previous employer’s trouble with the law, but Jake wanted to make damn sure she was as innocent of any wrongdoing as his uncle thought she was. All he needed was to hook up with another con artist. The last one had left him bleeding on the side of the road, and he hadn’t even felt any attraction for her. He’d just been trying to do the right thing.
    As he passed the dime store, Jake glanced in the big plate-glass window and saw Devereaux talking to the fellow who had burst in on them. Was he her boyfriend? She was avoiding eye contact with him, staring over the guy’s shoulder while she twisted the end of her ponytail. Something about the conversation was making her uncomfortable. Was the guy questioning her about him?
    Jake felt an unwelcome surge of desire as he scrutinized her. His instincts told him that she was trouble, but his body didn’t care. Even dressed in old jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, she couldn’t hide her curves. The aloof expression on her face seemed at odds with her body’s softness. Softness a man could sink into and lose himself in.
    His attraction to her annoyed him. He shook his head. What was he thinking? One thing he’d learned early in his career in law enforcement was to maintain his distance from the good-looking females involved in a case. Too many foolish women imagined they were in love with the image of a U.S. Marshal, but once they were faced with the reality, they ran the other way. And if they didn’t, they wanted something from him—usually something illegal.
    Still, as he entered the café, the memory of Devereaux’s sea green eyes interfered with his breathing, and for a crazy moment he wanted to get in his truck, drive back to her store, and see if her eyes really were that color.
    A strong cup of coffee and some quality time focusing on his laptop helped take his mind off Devereaux,and the next thing he knew it was three thirty. Grabbing his coat and computer, he hurried to his pickup and headed to the country club. A few miles out of town, he turned between two enormous brick columns and drove past the snow-covered golf course. The clubhouse was an ultramodern design with lots of angles and an impressive entrance consisting of mahogany double doors and overhead windows that appeared to hang unsupported over the steps.
    When Jake stepped inside the foyer, an elegantly dressed woman looked up from the reception desk. “May I help you?”
    “I’m picking up a friend,” he lied smoothly. “She’s playing