a man. Have some fun. Live a little.”
“You were the one who broke out the champagne when Dennis moved out.”
“Dennis Wolcott was a wimp. Face it, girl, you need a man.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Dad!” But his gaze, no longer on her, was fixed on someone near the door. “Dad?”
“Here comes one now,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a welcoming smile.
Jessica glanced over her shoulder to find Doug McGuire bearing down on them. Bruno chased after him, flapping his hands like an agitated bird.
McGuire stopped at their table, his dark-blue gaze touching on the wine, then lighting on their joined hands. He frowned and lifted an icy stare to Jessica.
“What do you want, Detective McGuire?” She removed her hand from her father’s, then picked up her wine when her hand suddenly felt too empty and vulnerable. McGuire always made her feel—nervous.
“We need to talk.”
Jessica raised her eyebrows and lifted her glass. She sipped, ever so slowly, watching McGuire heat toward slow burn. Damn it was fun! “I think we talked enough today, Detective, don’t you?”
Her father turned a laugh into a cough. Her gaze flicked toward him, and she remembered what he’d said just before McGuire descended. She needed a man. Well, McGuire might be a man, but he was not for her. She had to get rid of him before Daddy started matchmaking. And from the look of his grin and the sparkle in his eyes, she didn’t have much time.
“I’m having dinner, Detective. You can make an appointment with Liz.”
“No chance. The boyfriend will just have to eat alone tonight. I need you to come with me.”
She narrowed her eyes, then carefully set down her wine before she made a scene by throwing it into McGuire’s face. Then she sat back and looked him up and down. “This sounds interesting.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the rich, red flavor of the Merlot her father had chosen. “What do you have in mind, Detective?”
His gaze, which had fixed on her lips, snapped to her eyes. The heat there made her want to pull at the suddenly tight neck of her blouse. “Lose the date,” McGuire ordered.
Her father snorted again. She cast him an annoyed glare and stood up. Shouldering past McGuire, she bent and kissed her father’s cheek. “Excuse me, but the detective is quite insistent.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”
Her father grinned at her obvious ploy and winked. “Good night, Jess.”
Jessica turned and nearly bumped into a scowling McGuire. She moved past him and out the door.
Once outside, out of the range of too many listeners, she turned and demanded, “What’s so important you dragged me away before I had a chance to eat?”
“So I’ll buy you dinner.” He took her arm and started to hustle her along at a rapid pace.
“Where are we going?”
“Where we can talk. I think we need a level playing field and that fancy jacket-and-tie joint ain’t it. I know a good place to eat just a couple blocks from here. Do you mind walking?”
“Not at all, it’s a beautiful night for a stroll. So why are we running a marathon?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, slowing his steps. “Your boyfriend’s sure the understanding type.”
She feathered a smile. “He’s very secure, because he knows how I feel about him.”
“He called you Jess. I like that. Heard you broke your engagement to Wolcott. You went with that guy a long time, didn’t you?”
“Yes, seven years.”
“Sure didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”
“Is that what you wanted to discuss, McGuire?” she asked with a rise of anger. “As much as I value your opinion, it’s a poor substitute for a gourmet meal. This could have waited until morning.”
“Just wanted you to know that you got your wish.”
“My wish? I don’t recall wishing for anything, except maybe your transfer to Anchorage.”
“Very funny. Figured you’d be interested to hear that we pulled your friend Gilbert out of the river a short time ago. Very wet—and very dead. Congratulations, Judge, justice has been served.”
Shocked, she stopped abruptly. Then had to hurry to catch up with him.
Chapter 3
By the time Jessica got over the initial shock of Gilbert’s murder, they’d reached the restaurant. But it wasn’t a restaurant. From the outside, the place looked like a sleazy, rundown, enter-at-your-own-risk dive. Big bold, black letters painted on the window identified it as The Precinct, and a smaller line below read Bar and Grill.
A cloud of gray cigarette smoke greeted them at the door along with Patsy Cline wailing “Crazy.”
I must be, too, to allow myself to get maneuvered into this!
The moment she entered, Jessica recognized a dozen or more faces in a glance—she’d seen them in court time enough. Good Lord, he had brought her to a cop bar!
Doug would have to have been blind not to notice that Jessica drew the curious glances of most of the men in the room.
“Hey, Your Honor, you slumming?” one of the men standing at the bar asked good-naturedly.
“Well, Detective Slocum, what a pleasure to see you outside of court. You look much taller now that I’m not peering down at you from behind my bench.”
“And if I might say, you look mighty good out from under that black robe.”
“Say it! Say it!” she teased. “It’s music to my ears, Detective.”
“How ya doin’, Judge?” another asked.
“Just fine, Tony,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder in passing.
When she spied a heavyset man at the end of the bar, McGuire followed her over to him.
“Detective Bronowski! How are you? I miss seeing you in court.”
“Heck, Judge, call me Ski. We ain’t in court now.”
“What have you been doing since you retired?” she asked.
“Jerry and I bought this place,” Ski said.
“So you and Jerry are still partners. Good for you.”
Bronowski nodded to Doug, then said, “If McGuire gives you any heat, just let me know. Jerry and I can handle him for you.”
That’s a laugh! If anyone needed help, it was him, Doug thought. She was the one giving off the heat. He got hot every time he looked at her—and it sure wasn’t from anything she said. He took her arm and steered her over to a corner table that offered a modicum of privacy.
“So this is where the long arm of the law comes to unwind,” she said, once they were seated.
“One of them. There’s a couple more in the city— Fuzzy’s and Coach’s on the south side. A couple sports bars on the north side. Mostly the guys like to hang out in the sports bars.”
One of the men playing Sheepshead at a nearby table yelled, “Hey, McGuire, when are you and the judge gonna put on gloves and sell tickets?”
“We’ve been considering it as a fund-raiser toward promoting your early retirement, Novack.”
“I hear they pulled Gilbert out of the river tonight.” Doug nodded, wishing the loudmouth would shut up and concentrate on his card game instead