Gallagher Justice. Amanda StevensЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “SO THIS IS WHERE YOU LIVE,” Milo Cherry commented as Fiona climbed into his car, a vintage ’69 Corvette Stingray beautifully restored. “Nice neighborhood.”

      “Thanks.” She sank comfortably into the bucket seat and glanced around. “Is this new? I’ve never seen you drive it before.”

      “I’ve been working on it in my spare time for a couple of years now. Cars are kind of a hobby of mine.”

      She ran her hand over the leather. “I’m impressed, Milo. I had no idea you were so mechanically inclined.”

      He gave her an enigmatic smile. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

      “It would seem so.”

      Fiona was certainly witnessing a whole new side of him tonight, and it wasn’t just the car. She was used to seeing Milo in his conservative, slightly geeky, lawyer persona—dark suits, sedate ties, brown hair neatly combed. Tonight his hair was gelled and he wore slim black pants and a black shirt opened at the collar.

      But the change went deeper than just the surface. Milo was usually one of the most laid-back people Fiona knew, but tonight he seemed restless, almost wired. His fingers tapped a nervous tattoo on the steering wheel as he waited for her to settle in.

      “I don’t mean to alarm you,” she told him as he pulled away from the curb. “But I think something may be burning in here.”

      “It’s just incense. I put it out earlier, but the smell is still kind of strong. Sorry.”

      “No, it’s okay. But would you mind if I rolled down the window a little?”

      “You can’t.” He shrugged another apology. “The power windows don’t work. Some kind of glitch with the wiring I haven’t been able to figure out.”

      Fiona smothered a sneeze. “You’ve got the address of the crime scene, right?”

      “You said the corner of Bleaker and Radney. That’s a few blocks west of Rush Street. Speaking of which.” His fingers continued to drum on the steering wheel as they headed down her street. “I had no idea you lived so close to the party zone. Do you go there much?”

      “To Rush Street?” Fiona shook her head. “Rarely.”

      “There’s a nightclub on Division Street called Blondie’s. Have you ever heard of it?”

      “No, but I don’t get out much,” she said dryly. “And besides, I’m not really the nightclub type.”

      He shot her a glance. “I think you might like this place.”

      “Is that where you were tonight when I called?” she asked curiously.

      He studied the road. “What makes you think I wasn’t home?”

      “Oh, I don’t know.” She stared at his clothes. “Maybe because you don’t look as if you just woke up.”

      “I never said I was asleep.” An intriguing little smile played at the corners of his mouth, and it occurred to Fiona that he had the look of a man with a secret he was just dying to tell. She wondered if, like a lot of males she’d known, he was preening over a recent conquest and couldn’t wait to brag about it in the locker room. He glanced at her again. “You want to go sometime?”

      “Go where?” Her mind had drifted, and she’d forgotten what they were talking about.

      “To Blondie’s.”

      “Are you sure a redhead can get in?” she teased.

      “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be okay.” His tone was dead serious. “What do you say?”

      Fiona hesitated. “You don’t mean like a date or anything, do you?” She winced the moment she said it. Gee, Fiona. Could you be any more insulting.

      His smile disappeared. “Not a date date. Of course not. I thought we could drop by after work and have a drink sometime. Listen to some music. Maybe even dance if the mood strikes us. You know, do that whole Ally McBeal thing.”

      Fiona feigned shock. “Don’t tell me you actually watched that show?”

      He gave her a warning look. “If you repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it. Plus, I may have to kill you.”

      “Not funny, considering where we’re going,” she grumbled.

      “Sorry.” He downshifted as he rounded another corner. “So is that a yes or a no to Blondie’s?”

      “It’s a maybe. Let me think about it.”

      He slanted her a glance. “Just out of curiosity...if I had asked you for a date, what would your answer have been?”

      “No. But it’s nothing personal,” she was quick to assure him. “I don’t date people I work with.”

      “Does that include big shots like, say, Guy Hardison?”

      Fiona turned in genuine shock. “What?”

      “Nothing. Forget I said that.”

      “I don’t want to forget it,” she said sharply. “You’ve implied something I don’t think I much care for, and now you owe me an explanation.”

      “Look, it’s nothing.” He lifted a hand off the steering wheel. “Just talk around the office, that’s all.”

      “What kind of talk?” Fiona folded her arms as she glared at him. She knew what he was getting at, but she wanted to hear him say it.

      “Nothing really. Just some grumbling about all the hot cases you’ve been getting lately.”

      “If by hot you mean high profile,” she snapped, “Maybe it’s because I win them.” It annoyed Fiona that she felt she had to defend herself. She was a damn good prosecutor. No one had given her anything.

      “Don’t take it personally.” Milo gave her a cool smile. “Like I said, it’s just gossip.”

      Fuming, Fiona turned to stare out the window. She hated gossip. It had taken her a long time to live down all the talk after the scandal with David broke. She didn’t need people speculating about her love life now and remembering what had happened to her in the past.

      She certainly didn’t need her own colleagues spreading rumors about her.

      The silence grew so awkward that Fiona was relieved when they turned down Radney a few minutes later, and she saw the police cars and the crime scene unit pulled to the curb in front of the alley. Milo parked behind them, and Fiona started to get out, but the door wouldn’t open. “Another glitch,” he said.

      “Good way to hold your dates captive,” she muttered.

      He turned back and stared at her. “What?”

      She shrugged. “Nothing.”

      She waited for him to come around and open the door, and then, still angry, she climbed out of the car and headed toward the alley without a word. Milo hurried after her and caught her arm. She spun, stared at his hand for a split second, then lifted her gaze to his.

      He got the message loud and clear and removed his hand from her arm. “Sorry. And I’m sorry about earlier, too. I was out of line.”

      “Yes, you were.” She held his gaze for a moment longer, then relented. “But let’s just forget it. We’ve got work to do.”

      He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “I’d