Gallagher Justice

“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 like to forget it, but I can’t. Look, Fiona, I’ve got to say this. There’s a reason why people are talking.”

“What reason?” she asked coldly.

“It’s Hardison. The way he looks at you. He has a thing for you. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

“That’s ridiculous! He’s a happily married man, for God’s sake.”

“Is he? How long has it been since you saw the two of them together?”

That gave Fiona a moment’s pause. She’d always thought Guy and Sherry Hardison had the perfect marriage. They seemed so close. “Their marriage is none of my business. If they’re having difficulties, it has nothing to do with me.” She started to turn away, but Milo stopped her again.

“Just...be careful around Hardison, okay? There’s a lot more to that guy than he lets on.”

“Like what?”

“Take my word for it. Guy Hardison is not the picture of propriety he wants everyone to believe he is.”

“You know what I think?” Fiona challenged him. “I think you’ve been listening to too much office gossip.”

“And you know what I think? I think you have no idea the effect you have on men.”

A shiver ran up Fiona’s spine at the strange note in Milo’s voice. She could barely make out his features in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense his intensity, and the chill inside her deepened. She was suddenly aware of how alone they were on the street. There were cops at the scene, but their voices sounded a long way off. She felt a prickle of alarm as he continued to stare down at her.

Then he laughed softly, and his mood seemed to change instantly, as if the whole thing had been a huge joke. He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking like the Milo she saw every day at work. “Lucky for me,” he said with a disarming grin, “I’m immune to tall, gorgeous redheads. Blondes have always been my downfall.”

* * *

THEY SHOWED THEIR credentials to the police officer guarding the perimeter, and then Milo went off to find the medical examiner.