Читать книгу Capturing the Cop - Michele Dunaway - Страница 11

“So, did you do it?”

In the middle of opening the refrigerator in the staff lounge the next morning, Garrett stopped. Cold air swirled around him as he checked his watch. He punctuated his words with a low whistle. “Impressive. You waited all of ten minutes before you jumped me.”

“What?” Cliff frowned. He leaned against the doorframe.

Garrett retrieved a bottle of cold water, then he shut the refrigerator door. “I said, I was impressed that you waited a full ten minutes to find me once my shift started.”

Cliff grinned, his guilt obvious and unabashed. “Yeah, well, I had to stop for coffee. The stuff here is not that good when Cletus brews it, and Tuesday’s always his day.”

Cliff saluted Garrett with his coffee mug and pried himself from the door frame. He walked over to a red vinyl chair and sat. “And you still haven’t answered my question. Did you place the ad?”

Garrett took his time walking to the table. He made a show of opening the plastic water bottle and taking a long sip. Then he set the bottle down, and just to stall for more time, he ran a finger under his collar. Since he was headed into the field, he wore casual clothes: a blue polo shirt and jeans.

Cliff narrowed his eyes, indicating his displeasure at Garrett’s stalling. “Should I get Ben and Mason in here? They’re dying for information, but I told them that you might be threatened by all of us interrogating you at once.”

“Like, that’s probable,” Garrett said, taking perverse pleasure in Cliff’s being antsy. “As if Ben and Mason would intimidate me. You just wanted to be able to spread the news yourself.”

“That, too,” Cliff admitted with a sly grin. “So?”

“So what?” Someone had left the front-page section of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on the table and Garrett pulled the newspaper toward him. The Cardinals had won again.

As for the deliberate delay, Garrett figured his best friend deserved some grief for his impertinence. That Garrett had lost a poker game and gotten himself into this situation didn’t matter; in life post-Brenda, Garrett was a man determined to control his own destiny as much as he could. And that meant making Cliff squirm. Call it part of the guy code.

“Even a few of us against one is intimidating to any man,” Cliff said lamely. “They were going to be here, but I stopped them.”

Garrett grinned, the image of the counter girl in her silly high-school outfit entering his head. He’d been thinking about her all night.

“But I’m not any man. I’m Garrett Krause, bachelor god. All women want me.”

Cliff practically spit out his sip of coffee he started laughing so hard. “Such ego. You’re a thirty-six-year-old has-been with only a cat to keep him warm at night. Now, did you place the personal ad or not?”

Garrett couldn’t resist. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, leaned forward and stared Cliff in the eye. “No,” he said.

Cliff’s reaction was textbook. In the midst of another drink, he muttered and sputtered. His hand shook, sending hot java over the edge of the cup and splattering onto the white table. “Great. Not only did you wimp out, but I could use a paper towel.”

“Napkins are over there next to the fridge.” Garrett gestured magnanimously with his left hand. False concern laced his voice. “You didn’t nail the floor, too, did you? Who knows how often they mop that.”

“No, I didn’t get the floor. I got me, instead. Not that you’d care about that. Tell me why we’re friends?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can tolerate each other?” Garrett quipped.

“Ha-ha,” Cliff said, but a smirk had crept over his face.

Garrett took a drink of water before holding out the bottle. “Do you need some?”

Cliff set the mug down and began to daub the half-dollar-sized dark spot that had formed on his T-shirt. He accepted the bottle. “Yeah, I need some, or I’ll be a leopard all day. That’ll make me seem real professional when we go question the victim’s neighbors.”

“So did he do it?”

Cliff’s jaw dropped as some of the other detectives crowded into the doorway. “I told you they weren’t going to wait.” He turned to the other officers. “What do you think he did?”

“I think he’s a chicken,” Pete said. At fifty-something, he’d been on the force for over thirty years and married equally as long.

“Even I know how to place a personal ad,” Mason said, moving his six-foot-seven frame into the room. He towered over the rest of the men. “Come on, Garrett. How difficult can it be to fill out a simple form? Hell, we fill out paperwork all day. You had to be good at it, or they wouldn’t have made you a detective. No one wants to read a cruddy report.”

Ben simply stared at Garrett speculatively. “I don’t think Garrett’s that stupid,” he said. “He made a bet. I’m sure he followed through somehow.”

Ben was only one year younger than Garrett, but being the youngest didn’t always mean slow to catch on, Garrett thought. No wonder Ben had advanced to detective early.

“So what’s up your sleeve?” Ben asked.

Garrett made a show of studying his bare arms. “I didn’t place the ad,” he said.

“You admit you didn’t!” Pete slapped his hands against his thighs. “We had a deal. Boy, you’ll pay for this one. My wife even agreed you’re lame.”

“Moira said that?” Mason asked, his attention on Pete.

“She did,” Pete said. “Although, I didn’t tell her about the bet. Just that you refuse to date anyone.”

Garrett felt his mouth crook upward. Pete’s wife sent the guys baked goods weekly. She was everyone’s sweetheart. She’d disapprove of the bet.

“Pete, you can tell Moira that I am not lame. The deal was a date. Well, I got that. I will go on one date.”

Cliff looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t place the ad. How?”

Garrett kept his face poker still. “The girl behind the counter asked me out.”

“You—” Mason stopped himself before the foul language he was about to utter spilled out. “You dog,” he said instead.

“That’s me,” Garrett said, grinning. “All I have to do is call her, go on one date and then everyone gets off my back and leaves me alone. Bet fulfilled.”

It was Ben who asked, “Is she cute?”

Garrett paused for a moment and then shrugged. The guys didn’t need to know that she’d appeared in several of Garrett’s dreams last night, forcing him to take a very cold shower this morning.

“The girl I met is fine,” Garrett replied, refusing to describe Olivia in any detail lest she become the subject of gossip. “Besides, it’s only one date. That was the deal.”

Four faces frowned their disappointment. “One date,” Cliff confirmed. “Yeah, that was the deal. Next time we’ll have a Legal Affairs guy sit in on our poker game to make sure the bet’s airtight.”

“You do that,” Garrett said. He retrieved his water bottle, capped it and arched it into the trashcan. “Now, don’t we all have work to do? Brainstorm the motives and possible suspects in the Sampson case or something?”

“The guy was missing two years before that dog found his bones. Five more minutes won’t matter. When’s your date?” Mason asked.

“I haven’t set it up yet,” Garrett admitted. “I’m supposed to call her.”

“Do you have her phone number?” This question came from Ben. “I’d like some verification. Not that I don’t trust you, but…”

“I don’t trust him,” Pete said. “We all know what happens to men who get cornered. Well? Do you have her number, Garrett?”

“Of course I do.” Garrett reached into his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper. He handed it to Pete. “Home and cell,” he said. “Her name’s Olivia.”

The men passed the paper around. Ben peered at it longest, then held it up. “This handwriting might be female.”

“It is,” Garrett said.

He reached for the slip, but Ben stepped back. Then Ben picked up the lounge phone and, before Garrett could stop him, dialed. He held out the receiver to the still-seated Garrett.

“It’s ringing,” Ben said.

SHE WAS LATE. Olivia drummed her fingers against the leather steering wheel of her Saab convertible. The clock on the dash read 9:05 a.m. Her two-hour weekly workout with her personal trainer had gone over, and she was running a half hour behind. She pulled up at a red light and frowned as a strange noise mingled with the music on her radio.

Her cell phone, resting in the cup holder, was ringing. None of her friends or family ever called her this early. Had they panicked at work already because she was always extremely punctual?

But when she picked up the phone, she didn’t recognize the 314 area code glowing on the caller ID display. She pressed talk. “Hello?”

“Is this Olivia?”

The deep baritone voice washing over her sounded oddly familiar, and she worked to place it. “Yes.”

There was a brief pause before the sexy voice spoke again. “Hi, Olivia, this is Garrett Krause. We met yesterday afternoon at the Monitor classifieds office. Remember?”

Oh, she remembered, all right! Butterflies took flight in Olivia’s stomach, and she ignored the car horn blaring behind her. A bad girl didn’t care that she was late for work, or that the stoplight telling her to go had turned green. A bad girl cared that the man who’d haunted her dreams last night was actually calling. Olivia had been betting he wouldn’t phone, and mentally preparing herself not to be too disappointed. But he had—and the next day, too!

“Garrett, hold on,” she said as she dug for the hands-free earpiece she had buried in her purse. She managed to find it and attach the cord to the phone at the precise moment the stoplight turned yellow. She stepped on the gas and waved her apologies to the irritated driver behind her, who was now sitting through another red light.

“Uh, hi,” Olivia said, adjusting the thick black cord as she pulled into the lane for the Forest Park Express-way.

His voice was warm and friendly. “Hi, yourself. How are you this morning?”

“Fine.” Inwardly she cringed at the lame answer. Come on, inner, bad girl. Don’t desert me now.

Another car honked at her, so Olivia put on her blinker and made a quick turn into a Washington University parking lot. Her concentration on driving shot, she idled her car across two spaces. Conversing while parked was safer. The convertible top was down, and a breeze played with the ends of her hair.

“I’m fine, too, even better now that I’m talking to you,” he said. Then he gave a little laugh, as if deliberately teasing her. There were murmurs in the background, as though a television was on. “So where are you?” he asked.

“Headed to work,” Olivia admitted. “I’m running late.”

Although, with him on the phone, she sure didn’t care when she arrived at the office. With him, she sought to be bad. Very bad. She turned off the radio. The only sounds now were the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car.

“I don’t want to make you late.” His bedroom voice sent a shiver through her.

Heck, she’d skip work if he asked her to. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, putting a pout in her voice. Talking like a seductress was easier when you couldn’t see the other person’s face. “You told me you work erratic shifts. If you’re calling now, this must be a perfect time to talk.”

“So are you perfect?”

Far from it, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. This man would be her one night, her one digression into forbidden territory. One taste—no more. Giddy with the moment, Olivia let her inner bad girl rule. “I’m perfect in some areas,” she said, congratulating herself on how teasing her voice sounded as she answered his question.

“So then tell me one thing,” he asked. “How come you’re still single? Shouldn’t a girl like you have been snatched up by now?”

Olivia’s stomach tightened. Though her previous answer had been heavy with innuendo, her words hadn’t been a lie. As for her string of failed relationships, she didn’t ever intend to tell him the full truth about those. But she hadn’t been raised to lie. “I’m still single because I don’t settle,” Olivia replied, this time making her voice a tad provocative.

She heard his chuckle. “I see.”

“Uh-huh,” Olivia said. Even though he couldn’t see her, she twirled a piece of her hair coquettishly so that her mood would flow through the phone. “And just so you know, I don’t proposition just anyone, either.” That was for certain. She’d never propositioned anyone before.

His tone turned serious. “Then I’m honored. So shall we set up our date? I’d like to continue this intriguing conversation in person. Phones just don’t work for me. You can’t see the person.”

Which in this case had been a good idea, Olivia thought. When it came to normal phone conversations with men, she was terrible. Heck, she was terrible with men, period. Her longest relationship had lasted fourteen months, her two engagements each less than that. Garrett Krause wasn’t her league. But she only needed one night….

“Let’s definitely get this date on the calendar. I’d like to see you again.”

“The sooner the better,” Garrett said, his sexy tone back.

Olivia’s forehead creased, but she reached for her day planner. This bad-girl stuff was new to her. Did all men respond this eagerly? She wasn’t sure if she liked it. She pushed her discomfort aside. “I’m ready with my planner now.”

“You have a planner?” His voice held surprise. Then he said, “Great. Have you ever been to Melanie’s?”

“Melanie’s?” She racked her brain but drew a blank. “I’m sorry. I’ve never even heard of it. I take it it’s good?”

“Despite being just a hole in the wall, Melanie’s has some of the best seafood on the South Side. It’s on Grand, south of 44, past Tower Grove Park. How about we meet there? Say, Thursday night at six? That’s only two nights from now.”

Olivia wrote the information in her planner. She circled July twenty-seventh. She couldn’t believe that July was almost over. Age thirty-one was getting ever closer. “I’m sure I can find it.”

“You can’t miss it. The name is on the awning.”

She decided she liked his voice. “Melanie’s at six,” she confirmed.

“It was good talking to you, Olivia. Until Thursday, bye.”

And with that, he hung up. Olivia hit the red end button on her cell phone and surveyed the call timer. Less than three minutes. But it didn’t matter that she’d never really held a phone conversation with a man for more than ten unless they’d been fighting. What mattered was that she had a date with the sexiest man she’d seen in a long time. “Sorry Sara,” Olivia said aloud, as if speaking to her pious stepmother. “But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And I have to do this man.”

Anticipation shuddered through Olivia. He’d be the ultimate lover. Even though she had zero experience in that area, she just knew he would be. Call it female intuition. Olivia turned up the radio, and humming because Garrett had actually called, she headed to work.

GARRETT PRESSED the off button and set the cordless receiver on the table. He glared at the four men watching him. “Satisfied?”

Cliff grinned, and for a moment Garrett wished he could smack that knowing leer off his friend’s face. “More or less.”

“I am,” Mason said. “You handled that with sheer finesse, buddy boy.”

“I don’t know,” Ben replied, his skepticism obvious.

Garrett stood, glowering at Ben. “Come on, you just heard the whole call. I made silly small talk and asked her out, and she accepted. We have a date on Thursday. Until then I have two different murders to solve and a summer program at Matt’s child development center. So enough. It’s done. The date’s set.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t ask her,” Ben persisted, not at all intimidated by Garrett’s solid stance. His green eyes narrowed. “But how do we know that you’ll really follow through? That you won’t just wimp out, call her back and cancel. Worse, you might stand her up.”

“I would never stand her up. That’s Mason.”

Mason took a step back and raised his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t bring that blind date into this. That wasn’t funny. I had to run. Did you see her? Murder one ready to happen. I was concerned for my life. Didn’t want you guys to have to be rolling yellow tape around me.”

Ben flicked his eyes heavenward, then returned his focus to Garrett. “No one’s questioning your integrity, Garrett, or your principles. I want to make sure you go on this date. Cliff and Mason date all the time. I’m engaged. Pete’s married. But you…If nothing else, I want to see for myself that this woman exists, that she isn’t some friend of yours helping you get out of a fix.”

Garrett’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’re insinuating I would do something like that.”

“No, but I would,” Cliff admitted with a grin as he warmed to Ben’s current thread. “And you know Mason would.”

“Maybe,” Mason said slowly. Then he laughed. “Okay, I would.”

“So you can understand our concern,” Ben added. “Since you didn’t place the ad, so we have no real proof of your serious intentions to fulfill the bet, a bet—I might add, that you lost to me.”

“I suggest we go along on the date,” Cliff suggested. “I agree with Ben. I’d like to see this woman for myself.” He paused and glanced over at Ben. “That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

“Something along those lines,” Ben said.

“Count me out,” Pete said. “My wife will kill me. I spend too much time with you guys already. She’s starting to harp on me to retire.”

“Count me in,” Mason said with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “I got nothing to do Thursday night.”

“I thought you were hot and heavy with what’s-her-name. Did you break-up with the latest one?” Ben asked. “I thought you were getting serious.”

“Not anymore. Now we just get together for occasional sex,” Mason said. “So I’m free.”

“No, you’re not,” Garrett said. He spoke so forcefully that all the men froze. “This is my date. You are not going. None of you. It may have been a while, but I think I can handle a date all by myself. A date is not like a car accident. I don’t require witnesses.”

Cliff folded his arms across his chest, and at that moment Garrett knew everyone had fully united against him.

“Tagging along is an excellent idea. We’ll sit at a table in the corner, have some lobster and crab legs, sip some beer, talk about our current cases—and monitor your progress. We work while you work.”

Garrett turned, but his six-foot-three frame failed to intimidate anyone. He needed only one date, and he’d prefer it to be alone. He had principles, for goodness sake. “You all are not going.”

Cliff smiled, and Garrett knew before Cliff’s next words that he was stuck.

“Yes, we are,” Cliff said in a tone that closed the matter. “Now, let’s get back to work. As you said, we’ve got multiple murders to solve.”

MELANIE’S was a little storefront establishment that Olivia almost drove by, until at the last moment she saw its name emblazoned on the kelly-green awning.

“Rats!” Olivia flipped on her blinker and ignored the honking from the Cavalier behind her, which had seen better days. Sorry, she mouthed to the irritated driver. Luck was with her and she found a convenient parking space on a side street. Steadying her nerves, she parallel-parked her car. The back tire ended up too close to the curb and she was between the lines, but—good enough. As she killed the engine, her phone rang. Thinking it might be Garrett, she answered before she checked the number on the caller ID.

“Olivia,” the familiar voice said. The voice of her conscience.

Olivia greeted her stepmother. “Hello, Sara.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I heard you left work early the other day. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Olivia said. That was the one thing about living at home. Everyone knew your business, even if you had moved out back to the pool house.

“So are you on your way here? I thought you could come up to the house for dinner. Blake’s at a meeting and I’m by myself.”

Just when was her parents’ next stadium tour? For people who were always out saving the world, they’d been home an awful lot lately. Olivia peered in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick. A touch-up wouldn’t hurt. The ravish me red had faded. “I’ll have to pass on the invitation. I’m meeting a friend.”

“A friend.” Sara sounded a tad too bright as she hid her disappointment that Olivia had plans. “Do I know her?”

Olivia groaned. “Actually, Sara, no.”

“So someone new?”

“I’m going on a dinner date tonight,” Olivia admitted, since the truth was easier than dreaming up some quickie lie.

Sara seemed stunned. “You have a date?”

Without air-conditioning, the car was heating up quickly, Olivia squirmed. “Yes. A date.”

“With who?”

“Someone new,” Olivia repeated, agitation growing as the car began to bake in the July heat. “We just met. You don’t know him.”

“Olivia, you’re terrible with men. And how can I not know him? I’ve met everyone in your crowd. You’ve been hanging out with them for ages.”

Which, when one thought about it, was exactly the problem. Olivia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. One of these days she’d learn to keep her mouth shut. That was what bad girls did.

Bad girls kept secrets from their stepmothers, even if, in Olivia’s case, the stepmother had really been the only mother she’d ever known.

Sara considered it her duty to get Olivia married, and to a godly and righteous man. As Olivia’s age edged closer to thirty-one, Sara’s maternal instinct had grown. What made Sara’s constant meddling worse was that Olivia had her grandfather to contend with, as well. He was the ultimate matchmaker.

Grandpa Joe had successfully gotten Olivia’s brother, Shane, and her cousins Darci and Harry wed. Figuring that if Grandpa Joe could bring on marital bliss, then she could, too, Sara had turned into a regular dating service for Olivia. The last man she’d introduced Olivia to had aspired to be a missionary deep inside Africa. His plans for their life had driven Olivia crazy after three minutes. No way was she sacrificing running water and electricity to help the less fortunate. Maybe that made her shallow, but not even her parents did that.

A bead of sweat formed on her brow. Time to get going. “Sara, I’m really sorry I can’t stop by tonight. I’ll come up to the main house for breakfast tomorrow. Give my love to Dad. I’ve got to run.”

Satisfied she’d said enough, Olivia disconnected before Sara launched into the lecture Olivia could tell was coming. Olivia began to put the phone in her purse but on further thought, placed the phone securely in the glove compartment. Knowing Sara, Olivia was sure her stepmother would call back, and nothing was going to ruin this night.

Heck, Olivia’s younger half brother, Shane, had sown a bucketful of oats before settling down. If Olivia even mentioned sowing a seed, her stepmother had the whole worldwide constituency out praying for her wayward, virginal stepdaughter. She’d been a fixture in her stepmother’s ministry column for years.

Olivia touched up her lipstick and opened the car door. As she stepped out, the St. Louis humidity instantly enveloped her. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her V-necked spaghetti-strap sundress. She’d wrestled all morning with her wardrobe, which had to go from work to her date. How she’d thought about wearing something bad, something black, sexy and oh, so “take me now.”

In the end, even if she had owned something like that, she couldn’t have done it. Instead, she’d settled for lace underwear, and had worn the sundress for its cleavage-enhancing abilities. She’d left the matching short-sleeved sweater in her office. She gripped her small white purse and began walking toward the restaurant.

As for the date, Olivia couldn’t remember ever being so nervous. She’d had enough blind dates in college to last her a lifetime. And then, of course, Sara had paraded eligible men through the endless social engagements that being Blake and Sara Jacobsen entailed. Both types of experiences had taught Olivia that she was terrible on her feet and lousy with idle conversation. She’d learned not to care, to pretend her inadequacies didn’t bother her, although deep down they did.

But tonight she worried. None of the men she’d met before had been as sexy as Garrett Krause. None of the men had seemed so ideal.

“Perfect for my project,” Olivia told herself aloud, much to the amusement of a passerby. Olivia walked on, voicing her thoughts only in her head. He’ll be my VITO boy. VITO was an acronym Chrissy had coined in high school—the letters being the first two of the words “virginity to.”

He’ll be the one I give my virginity to, Olivia thought. I’m thirty. It’s way past time to become a real woman, no matter what my parents say about waiting for marriage and Mr. Right. Olivia wobbled a little in the two-inch heels she wore. Garrett was tall, and she didn’t wish for him to tower over her too much.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? She never wore heels higher than an inch, and trying to be a femme fatale was as foreign to her as going to China. But tonight she hoped Garrett would find her sexy, invigorating, funny and beautiful—and slightly bad. She’d chosen him to deflower her, and she desired all that went along with the kiss and the promise of Mr. Right Now taking her to the edge and beyond. Darn it, she was long overdue. She was tired of reading about it—she wanted action. She was at the restaurant. Her fingers shook as she reached for the door handle. The moment had arrived.

CLIFF WAS ABOUT TO SIGNAL his waitress for another beer, when a movement at the hostess desk caught his attention. He lowered his hand and blinked just to make sure that what he’d seen, he’d seen clearly. He had. What was high-society Olivia Jacobsen doing in a place with zero star ratings, and alone?

Cliff squinted as some sunlight snuck underneath the awning and blinded him for a moment. When he could see again, his mouth immediately dried to a cottony texture. Garrett was greeting Olivia. She had the nerve to blush as Garrett pulled out her chair.

She was five minutes late, but the fact that Cliff had lost the “how late will she be?” bet with the guys wasn’t what upset him.

His best friend was about to have a date with Olivia Jacobsen, former fiancée of Cliff’s cousin Austin. Cliff’s parents had money and connections, but Austin’s had even more. However, the engagement had lasted only four weeks before she’d handed back the flawless diamond solitaire. Less than three months later, Olivia had been sporting another engagement ring, this one more ostentatious than Austin’s offering. Of course, that engagement also fizzled. Sure, Austin was now happily married to someone else, but in Cliff’s opinion, Olivia had toyed with his cousin’s heart.

So what was Olivia doing with Garrett, a man who couldn’t afford even a tiny engagement ring since his ex-wife had cleaned him out? This was not good. Garrett had always declared that he’d never date a rich woman again, yet here he was with Olivia. Cliff tossed his napkin on the table. He needed to get Garrett out of here—now. Cliff began to rise to his feet, but sat back down quickly before his partners noticed his erratic behavior.

Cliff clenched his hand to ease the overwhelming tension now consuming him. Had he really been about to confront Olivia? And what would he have said when he got there? He would have acted like a complete idiot. He’d have to trust that Garrett planned on doing what he had said—going on one date and one only.

Cliff frowned. Garrett had called Olivia the counter girl at the Monitor office. Everyone knew Olivia Jacobsen was vice president of corporate communications for her family’s company, Jacobsen Enterprises. She certainly didn’t work behind a counter, but probably in a lush, upper-story office with a fantastic view of downtown. Which meant, could this be a thing staged by Garrett to get the guys off his back?

Cliff took a deep, long pull of the cold beer that the waitress had placed at his elbow. Not only was Cliff a detective with sharp instincts, but he knew Garrett. The way Garrett was now toying with Olivia’s fingers meant that he didn’t have a clue who she really was.

In fact, now Cliff could view almost all of the picture, much the way he did when working a police case or puzzle. Garrett had needed a date to fulfill a bet, and somehow he’d found Olivia, probably at the Monitor offices. Why she’d been there was a mystery to solve later. Cliff would bet money that Garrett hadn’t asked Olivia her last name. Even if he had, he wouldn’t connect some counter girl with one of St. Louis’s most powerful families. He had no idea that he was out with a woman wealthier than his ex-wife.

Cliff drained more of his beer, his eyes narrowing as he saw Garrett laugh at something Olivia said. From all appearances, the date was actually going well, and as a friend, Cliff acknowledged he should be elated. Wasn’t this exactly what the guys had asked for? That Garrett be back out there on the scene? The deed done, Mason and Ben had already lost interest in Garrett’s date and were discussing how they liked the new Busch Stadium, which had opened last April.

Suddenly Ben asked Cliff a question, and Cliff turned his attention away from Garrett and Olivia. He consoled himself with one thing. If she hurt his best friend, Olivia Jacobsen would be dealing with him—and that was a promise.