Free That Night on Thistle Lane by Carla Neggers

Dylan and Olivia wandered into the restaurant and joined him at his table. Waiters quickly brought out fresh place settings. Olivia had on lightweight jeans and a green linen top that matched her eyes. Dylan was in jeans and a hiking shirt, as if he hadn’t thought about being at the Boston hotel this morning. Noah hadn’t, either. He just generally wore the same thing.
    Olivia sat next to Dylan. She looked radiant, comfortable in her own skin in a way she hadn’t on Noah’s brief trip east in early spring.
    He’d been assaulted by black flies then, he remembered.
    “Loretta called,” Dylan said. “She said she emailed you and left you a voice mail and thought she’d hear back by now.”
    “Phone’s broken.”
    “Dropped it again?”
    “In the sink. Water damage.”
    “Ah.” Dylan shifted his gaze to Olivia. “Noah breaks a lot of phones.”
    “You get distracted and drop them?” she asked.
    Noah ignored Dylan’s obvious amusement at her question. “You could say that.”
    Dylan grinned. “He gets pissed off and kills his phone.”
    “Not often,” Noah said, keeping his attention on Olivia. “Dropping my phone in water is an indulgence but the alternative is to get distracted by the thing.”
    “It’s how his mind works,” Dylan said, leaving it at that. “What does Loretta want with you?”
    Noah glanced past him and looked out tall windows as Boston slowly came to life on a quiet, sunny Saturday morning. “I guess I’ll call her and find out.”
    “Noah?”
    He heard the concern in his friend’s voice and shifted back to him. “It’s all good, Dylan. No worries.”
    Dylan was clearly unconvinced. “Loretta has no official role with NAK. She’s my lawyer and business manager, and my friend. You two aren’t cooking up a surprise party. Something’s wrong. What?”
    “You’re moving on. I don’t want you to worry about this stuff.”
    “What stuff?” Dylan asked, eyes narrowed, alert. “What’s going on, Noah? You might as well tell me. I’m not going to quit badgering you until you do.”
    Badgering was one of Dylan’s qualities that had been most helpful and necessary during the past four years. It also could be inconvenient and, occasionally, annoying. But Noah saw that he had to tell him.
    He shrugged. “Some guy’s on my tail. He was here last night. At least I think it was him. I could be wrong—”
    “But you’re not.” Dylan took a breath. “Early fifties. Six feet tall. Dark hair with a lot of gray. Black suit. No costume.”
    Noah wasn’t surprised Dylan could describe the man. Between his years on the ice and at NAK, he missed nothing. He’d honed his natural instincts about people, their motives and character. He’d turned down a larger role with NAK, but he’d been indispensable in transforming Noah’s ideas and technical skills into a viable—and ultimately highly successful—company.
    “Did you talk to this man you saw?” Noah asked.
    Dylan shook his head. “He was watching you dance with your princess. Was she with him?”
    “Why would you think that?”
    “She left the ballroom right after he did. I tried to follow her but she disappeared before I could catch up with her. I didn’t see the older gentleman.”
    “Did you recognize him?”
    “No,” Dylan said without hesitation, then turned to Olivia. “What about you? Did you see this man?”
    She set down her coffee cup. “I spoke with him briefly. I think he’s the one you’re talking about. He asked what I knew about the woman Noah was dancing with.”
    “How did you respond?” Noah asked, keeping his tone neutral.
    “I didn’t, really. I just said I was there to enjoy the evening. I had the feeling he knew you, Noah. I didn’t think anything of it. We spoke for less than a minute. Then he moved on. Is he a problem?”
    “He’s an unknown.” Noah poured himself more coffee from a small silver pot. “He might not be a problem at all. I spotted him a few times in San