Free Illusions of Death by Lauren Linwood Page A

friend whose wife always starts with dessert here.”
    Karlyn laughed. “I’ve never been brave enough to try that.”
    “If you’re full after the meal, we’ll split something.”
    “As long as it’s chocolate?”
    He shrugged. “Or their key lime pie. I could live with either choice.”
    “Hmmm. Maybe we need to order both. What else is good?”
    He opened the menu and scanned it quickly. “The shrimp and linguini. Their scallops and angel hair pasta.”
    “Seems like you come here often.”
    Logan shook his head. “A few times a year. But I’ve eaten at Lombardi’s all my life—thirty-five years and counting.”
    The server took their drink orders and returned quickly with their wine and breadbasket.
    “I’ve never met a piece of bread I didn’t like,” Karlyn admitted as she generously buttered a slice of sourdough.
    “You must work out. I don’t see any bread handles on you,” he joked.
    “I’m a runner. Picked it up in college from a boyfriend. The relationship ended, but the running kept me going.” She bit into the sourdough and sighed. “Whenever I’m working on a story idea, I toss on my Nikes and head to the Park.”
    “Central Park?”
    She nodded. “I used to live a few blocks away. I’ve pounded its pavement many times, characters and scenes whirling around in my head.”
    “I ran track in high school,” Logan shared. “I still run. An instructor at the academy preached you never want a perp to get away because he outclassed you in a foot race. I took his advice to heart.”
    “Even though you’re a detective now? I didn’t think plainclothesmen chased suspects. Except in books and movies.”
    “The former Boy Scout in me likes to be prepared. Besides, I wouldn’t want Matt Collins showing me up.”
    Karlyn laughed. “My readers expect me to put Matt in perilous situations. He has to be able to run like the wind. It’s saved his life more than a few times.”
    Their salads arrived, and she dug in. “Tell me about your work. Any unusual cases?”
    He chewed thoughtfully. “Are you milking me for new book material or interested in what I do?”
    “Either way, you’ll tell me. I’m good at getting what I want,” she said with a smile.
    “I’ll bet you are.”
    The teasing words didn’t mask the undercurrent of sexual energy sparking between them. Karlyn was afraid she’d forgotten how to flirt, but she seemed to be doing fine. The flicker in Logan’s eyes let her know she was right on track.
    He took another bite. “I could tell you about the brawl I broke up last week at the salad bar between two senior citizens during Sunset Hour.”
    Karlyn chuckled. “Were they fighting over the cherry tomatoes or mushrooms?”
    “Neither. It started over who could make the most trips back and somehow segued into a woman they both found interesting. She came in every Tuesday and hadn’t showed up yet. By the time she got there and I’d been called, the old coots had demolished all the salad plates and had moved on to the frozen yogurt machine.”
    “And they say retirement is boring.”
    “That’s about as exciting as the Springs gets. Although we did have a local woman learn that her son hid his bagged drugs in the peanut butter jar. She told us she started hiding her jewelry in it, too, thinking it was a safe place. Naturally, he found it. And sold it.”
    “At least your life’s not dull.”
    Logan shrugged. “Most of the violent stuff happened when I was with Atlanta PD. Gang bangers. Meth houses blowing up. Domestic abuse. Robberies gone wrong. I have a thousand stories about that. The Springs has crime, but it’s on a lesser scale.”
    Their entrees arrived, and their talk turned to books and music. It surprised her how much they had in common. She hadn’t wanted to think of tonight as a date, but Logan Warner made for good company.
    They decided on the key lime pie and some decadent chocolate mess for dessert.
    As they ate, she decided to mention the elephant