2
“You’re working,” Cora said over a cup of coffee on Wednesday morning. She stood in front of Liam’s desk at the Providence Falls police station, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. “At your actual desk. On your computer and everything.”
“Mmm.” Liam barely spared her a glance.
“I was beginning to think you were computer illiterate,” she teased. Not once had she seen him do anything at his workstation. He was always fiddling with the mouse, pressing buttons on the keyboard, studying them like they were alien objects. But this morning he was treating his computer the way everyone else did—like it was just a tool.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked without looking up.
Cora nodded to the growing stack of paperwork on his desk. “All that, for one. You haven’t made a dent in it since you got here. And you’re always coming to my desk, letting me do the research while you watch. So I figured either you didn’t know how to use a computer, or you’re just really lazy.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Now I know.”
“Lazy?” Liam arched a dark brow, still focused on his screen. Whatever he was working on, it had his full attention. “I’ll have you know I took your advice and tried running around the neighborhood this morning, for no reason other than to exercise.”
“I did notice that.” He’d left his running shoes in the hallway, and she’d almost tripped over them. Not surprising, since he was proving to be a messy roommate, as well as an opinionated one. When he’d first moved into her house last month, he’d gone all fire and brimstone on her when she’d tried to do her morning exercise routine. He’d insisted her clothes were too revealing, which was ludicrous because they were just basic spandex workout shorts and a tank top. Later, he’d admonished her for running without a reason because, according to him, it was a waste of time and energy. “And how did you like it?”
He frowned. “It made me hungry.”
“Yes, I noticed all my Pop Tarts were gone, too,” she said drily. Liam was always hungry. He ate like a fraternity guy on a junk food bender. Just last weekend she’d watched him go through an entire box of frozen waffles in one sitting, yet he still had the lean, chiseled body of an athlete. Men and their metabolisms. It wasn’t fair. “You mow through that stuff like it’s candy.”
“Sublime,” he whispered, still staring at his monitor.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He made a purring sound of appreciation in the back of his throat.
Cora narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you working on?” It was past ten in the morning, and they were about to go into the field to question a potential lead about the John Brady case. So far it was at a standstill, and they had nothing new to report. They were trying to track down Lindsey Albright, a college student who’d taken a selfie outside the Brady house on the night of the murder. According to Lindsey, she’d caught two figures in the window behind her in the picture. Captain Thompson said the photo was useless because it was too grainy and dark to show anything definitive. But Cora was hoping to interview the girl herself, in case she remembered anything else from that night.
Cora rounded Liam’s desk and peered over his shoulder. “What the heck is this?” Photos of brightly colored sports cars were splashed across the screen. One car was weaving through a setup of orange cones. Another was caught in a tailspin, a wave of gravel arcing into the air behind it.
Liam finally dragged his gaze from the monitor. “I’m signing up for a two-day course in speed and stunt driving this weekend.”
“With your car?” His poor sedan wouldn’t make it around the first cone without blowing a tire. It reminded Cora of something her grandfather would’ve driven back in his heyday. She often wondered why Liam hadn’t upgraded. Maybe he held on to it for sentimental reasons.
“Of course not. It says right here I’ll get to drive one of theirs.” He pointed to the web page, grinning up at her like a pirate who’d just discovered a hidden stash of gold doubloons. With his glossy hair waving rakishly over one eye, and the dark stubble on his strong jawline, he looked like the ultimate Hollywood bad boy. Though Cora hadn’t wanted to admit it, she’d been overwhelmed the first time they’d met. Liam was the kind of attractive that made a woman feel simultaneously giddy and wary. It was an unsettling combination. Everything about him—the powerful physique, the deep velvet voice, the dark eyes that promised deliciously wicked things if a woman was willing—had thrown her off balance. It had been so unexpected, she’d actually stumbled when he’d first grasped her hand. But that was then, and now... Now she was much better. Totally fine.
She took a fortifying sip of coffee. They were roommates, and that was all they were. He’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t into her, anyway. In fact, sometimes when they accidentally touched, he jerked away. Heat scorched across her face at the thought. It pricked her pride a bit, knowing he found her that undesirable, but honestly, it was a blessing in disguise. She didn’t want him, either. Her friend Suzette was forever getting into trouble dating men who weren’t right for her, and Cora didn’t need that kind of stress.
She read the website title out loud. “Extreme Precision and Stunt Driving.”
“Look at them,” Liam breathed, scrolling through the car photos. “Aren’t they glorious?”
“Happy Fourth of July, everyone!” Otto Simpson ambled into the office, holding a plastic container of frosted cupcakes with American flags and candy sprinkles. “I picked these up at Sugar Pie’s on the way here.” Otto was a heavyset man with a balding head and a deep love of God and country and baked goods. With his round face and ready smile, he reminded Cora of a Campbell’s soup kid from one of those old-fashioned advertisements.
“No time for your snacks, Otto.” Happy Blankenship rose from his desk across the room, eyeing the cupcakes with distaste. Though he was younger than Otto by several years, his wiry frame and pinched expression always made him seem older. “And don’t bother sitting down, either. We just got another call from the Greenfield Country Club.”
Otto plunked the cupcakes on his desk with a heavy sigh. “Those kids setting off bottle rockets in the street again?”
Happy gave a curt nod. “And this time they’ve been drinking. Apparently, they got their hands on some M80s, too. The big ones. They’re lighting them in the cul-de-sac near the dog park.”
“Every year,” Otto grumbled, following Happy out of the pen. “It’s like clockwork with those teenagers.”
“I’ll tell you what’s clockwork.” Rob Hopper hung up his phone and dropped his head to his desk, banging it a couple of times for emphasis. “Mrs. Wilson and her weekly complaints.”