All A Man Can Ask. Virginia Kantra

do what I can to increase patrol presence up here. But those sliding doors are easy to force. You might consider blocking the track with a broom handle.”

      “I’ll take care of it,” Aleksy said. “I’ll take care of her.”

      “See that you do.” He walked to the door.

      “Thank you,” Faye said.

      “Hey, bro,” Aleksy called.

      Jarek half-turned.

      “Give my love to Tess.”

      The chief’s harsh face relaxed in a smile. “Come to dinner Friday. You can give it to her yourself.”

      They made quite a picture on their way to the black-and-white cop car—the same dark hair, the same long, muscled backs, the same unconscious arrogance in the set of their shoulders, the same assurance in their strides. Another woman would have drooled. Faye’s fingers itched for her sketchbook.

      But before the impulse formed into action, Aleksy came back up the walk alone. Faye caught herself admiring the proportions of his chest, the strength of his thighs, and flushed like an art student with her first nude model.

      To hide her embarrassment, she asked, “Who’s Tess?”

      Aleksy pushed open the screen. “Teresa DeLucca. Local reporter. Got herself engaged to Jarek about a month ago.”

      “You don’t approve,” she guessed.

      “It’s not up to me to approve. Jarek seems happy.” He wandered toward her kitchen. “Got anything to drink?”

      He certainly didn’t mind making himself at home, she thought. But he must be thirsty. She wondered how many hours he’d spent on her bank spying today. He smelled like the outdoors, like leaves and sun and sweat.

      Faye sighed. One drink, and then she’d send him on his way. “Beer or soda?”

      “You keep beer in your refrigerator?”

      “It’s perfectly legal,” she said. “I’m over twenty-one.”

      He flashed his lethal grin. “You look about sixteen. But that’s not what I meant. I pegged you as the designer water and herbal tea type.”

      At least he hadn’t told her she looked twelve. “Do you want the beer or not?”

      “Yes, please, teacher.”

      She tugged open the avocado green refrigerator—a mistake left over from the seventies, like disco or silk shirts for men—and pulled out a long-necked bottle. He thanked her and tipped it back. She tried not to stare at his throat as he swallowed. There was an angry pink sunburn above the collar of his T-shirt. When he stretched his neck, she could see a line of pale, smooth skin below. Her own mouth dried.

      Oh, dear. Oh, no.

      She hugged her left arm across her chest, holding it like a barrier between them. “Why don’t you like your sister-in-law?”

      “Future sister-in-law.” He set the bottle down on the counter. “And I like Tess fine. We’re a lot alike in some ways.”

      She tried to hear what he was not saying. “Pushy? Stubborn? Obnoxious?”

      Aleksy laughed, a warm, rich, surprised sound. “She’s not as bad as me. Just…independent.”

      “Not too independent to get married, apparently.”

      He picked up his beer. “We’ll see.”

      Faye didn’t want to get involved, but this was fascinating stuff. “You don’t think she’ll go through with it?”

      “I think she’ll do it. I just hope they can make a success of it. Marriage is a tough proposition.”

      “What made you such a pessimist?”

      He lowered the bottle from his lips. “Experience.”

      Faye could understand that. She took another beer out of the fridge. Her own mother was currently vacationing in Florida with husband number four. Her father—her mother’s second husband—was a self-absorbed academic who had always preferred the company of his books to the demands of a wife and child.