Seattle after Midnight

Pierce Harding brushed a sheen of water from his face. “Seems a little suspect to me. How do you think he knew which car was yours?”

“A lucky guess?” It occurred to her that for all she knew, the rose had been left by this very man in front of her. In fact, he could be the guy who’d called himself Jack.

But no. Jack had sounded young and insecure, nothing like this self-assured stranger.

“Maybe,” Pierce allowed. He stepped aside and gestured for her to get into the car. After a brief hesitation, that’s what she did, dropping her case to the passenger seat, along with the rose and the note.

Pierce leaned inside to pass her the keys. His hand was wet and cold, just like hers. She smiled up at him briefly, uncertainly.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “You’d better get going. Drive carefully, Ms. Lamont.”

He stood back for her to close the door, but she didn’t. Instead she peered up at him. He looked even taller from this vantage point. She noted his long, lean legs, and broad, powerful shoulders. If he’d intended to hurt her, he could have done so long ago.

Besides, she was new in town and working nights made it difficult to meet people. How was she going to broaden her horizons if she wasn’t willing to take the odd chance or two?

One thing she knew for sure. If she drove off now, she would never see Pierce Harding again. Somehow she couldn’t stand the thought of that.

This man was strong, capable, attractive…in a craggy sort of way. But it was the hint of sadness in the tired lines that bracketed his mouth that tugged at her heart.

In him she saw a different sadness than the one she’d sensed in Jack. A wiser, deeper, more pervasive sort of sadness.

“Is something wrong, Georgia?”

He hadn’t called her Ms. Lamont this time, she noticed. “I was just wondering…I don’t mean to be forward, this is strictly a friendly offer. But could I buy you a cup of coffee? For coming to my aid and everything? The coffee shop next door is open twenty-four hours.”

Pierce Harding looked surprised at first, which of course he would be. Women weren’t supposed to do things like invite strange men for coffee. Especially men who stepped out of dark shadows at the suspiciously right moment.

But no way could this man be the same guy who’d called her station and left her the rose. Every instinct Georgia possessed told her that was impossible.

“I’d be glad to join you for a coffee.” He glanced across the parking lot to the café she’d indicated. “Want to make a run for it?”

“Why not? We’re already soaked as it is.”

He held out his hand and she didn’t hesitate to take it. If all went well, soon she’d know much more about this man than just his name. And if things clicked between them, she might even end up with a date.

GEORGIA TOOK her bottle of orange juice and carrot muffin to a booth in the far corner. Pierce followed with his mug of coffee.

At the till, he’d tried to pay but she’d insisted she owed him.

For what, he wasn’t sure. Saving her from a thorny rose?

He slid onto the bench seat across from her, watching covertly as she unscrewed the lid on the bottle of juice, then inserted two skinny straws. He couldn’t believe he was really sitting here, with Georgia from KXPG, watching her sipping juice and breaking away pieces of her super-size muffin to pop into her mouth. Her hair hung in damp curls around a heart-shaped face.

Sweet, he thought. She looks like a really sweet person. Not exactly the image he’d attributed to her from listening to her show. But captivating none the less.

“I’m always starving after a show. I think it’s the crash after my adrenaline rush, you know?”

He nodded, fascinated suddenly by her eyes, which were open and honest, a vibrant blue. Not what he’d imagined, at all.

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle?” She offered hesitantly.

“With that accent? No way.” Funny how her slight twang didn’t come across on her radio program.

“You’re right.” She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. “I grew up on a farm in South Dakota. I went to college in Minnesota, then got my first job at an oldies station in Brookings. From there I moved to classic rock in Sioux Falls.”

“How did you end up in Seattle?”

“Pure luck. The program director for KXPG happened to stop at a motel in Sioux Falls while on vacation with his kids last August. I guess his wife had just left him and he and the kids had taken off on an impromptu road trip. Anyway, the night they were in Sioux Falls, his youngest turned sick with the flu. Mark said listening to my program helped both of them get through that night. The very next day I had a job offer.”

“I’m not surprised it only took one show to impress him.”

“Well, thanks. But what about you? Pierce. That’s an unusual name. Where did it come from?”

“God only knows. Maybe the doctor who delivered me?” He definitely could not imagine his mother pouring over baby name books, the way Cass had done. And Cass hadn’t even been pregnant. Just dreaming…

The memory pricked at his old stockpile of regrets and Pierce put his hand to his temple.

From across the table, Georgia clearly waited for more details about his life. She was probably curious about all the usual things. Where he’d grown up, gone to school, all that crap. In the end, though, she asked just one question.

“Were you a cop before you became an investigator?”

Now that was a perceptive question. Not that he should be surprised to find Georgia Lamont perceptive. Wasn’t that the very quality that drew him to her show every evening?

Georgia gave the impression that she understood all the worst pain and sorrow that could befall a human being. And yet, now that he’d met her, he’d guess that she’d experienced very little, or none, of the seamier side of life herself.

Likable, honest, wholesome…those were the adjectives that summed up the real Georgia Lamont. So how did she reach out to the lonely and disenfranchised the way she did? Who was that worldly, sultry enchantress she projected on air?

“I was.” His days as a cop seemed like a lifetime ago. “But I started my own business a couple of years ago. Mostly, it’s not a bad way to earn a living.”

“Tell me about some of your cases.”

“I don’t solve a murder every week,” he warned her, having come across this misconception more than a few times. “In fact, I don’t even own a gun. A lot of my work involves tracking witnesses, locating debtors, uncovering insurance fraud, background checks.”

“I always imagine private investigators following cheating spouses around. Do you handle those sorts of cases, too?”

“That’s not my favorite line of work. But occasionally I take on something like that.”

“Is that what you were doing tonight?”

He paused, then admitted as much with a nod. “My client had to go out of town on business. He was worried his wife was planning to meet with another man while he was gone.”

“And was he right?”

“I’m not sure. His wife took off for a hotel as soon as he left. She’s still there now. But as far as I can tell, she’s alone in that room. I figure her lover must have stood her up.”

“But then why not return home?”