Good Girls Don't (Donovan Brothers Brewery 1)

“Fuck you, Eric. That’s not true. I hire guys who are good with the customers.”

“And not so good with showing up on time or coming in when they’re supposed to work.”

Tessa held up her hands to try to stop the violent tension spinning through the room. “Guys, just—”

“You’re a real asshole,” Jamie snapped. “Besides us, the only people who have the alarm code are Wallace and the guys who’ve closed down the front room, and they’ve all worked here for at least three years. Some of the temp help I’ve brought in might not have been ideal, but they only ever work fill-in.”

Eric shrugged, his mouth still tight with disdain.

“I’d like to see you try to run the front,” Jamie said. “It requires personality. Ever heard of it?”

“Stop!” Tessa ordered. “Just stop. Everybody’s tense. So—” Before she could finish, Jamie walked out. Tessa almost stopped him. Her instinct was to calm things down. Make them both apologize. But she didn’t have the energy, not with all that hung over their heads. So instead of picking up the threads of her family and trying to weave them back together as she always did, Tessa let them hang there and walked away.

She was tired, as Eric had so kindly pointed out. Tired of playing the peacekeeper. Tired of trying to fix things. But it didn’t matter if she was tired. She couldn’t imagine how exhausted Eric must have been those first few years, when he’d taken on two teenagers and the brewery. He’d done his part to keep the family together; Tessa could do her part, too.

But she was starting to worry that she didn’t know how to fix this mess. Jamie might not have screwed up the alarm, but he’d done something far worse. The chances that the High West deal would go through…she knew they were low. Really low. But she couldn’t give up hope. Not yet.

She waved a listless goodbye to Jamie just as the first group of office workers walked into the bar, relief hanging around them like a cloud. Their workday was over. It was almost over for Tessa, too. Almost.

She pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and shook out as much tension as she could. The drive to the High West office would take nearly an hour with the traffic. Roland Kendall almost certainly wouldn’t be there, but she had to try.

And in the meantime… Tessa fluffed her hair and cranked up the stereo.

She meant to think of nothing. Driving soothed her. Something about the road and the music and the hum of the engine. It was the only place she could just be and not think. But today it didn’t work. Today the music made her think of Luke Asher.

He’d been a quiet kid, but now he looked mysterious. Almost dangerous. Dark and strong. As if she could lean on him and he’d banish her problems with one cold look.

Maybe it was just the hint of forbidden fruit. Her older brothers had rarely brought friends around when she was a kid. When they had, as Jamie had said, there’d been no introductions made. It was an unwritten rule that male friends were not allowed to simply hang around the house as if they lived there. But that hadn’t stopped Tessa from watching their brief visits with close attention.

Yeah. Forbidden fruit. And big strong shoulders. The kind of man who’d take care of all her problems, or at least make her forget them.

But at that moment, the fantasy was so far-fetched that Tessa switched off the music and set aside thoughts of Detective Asher. He might be able to solve the mystery of the robbery, but there was nothing he could do about the tangled mess Jamie had created. If anyone was going to do the rescuing today, it’d be her.

So she squared her shoulders and rode off into the sunset, clutching the steering wheel as if it were a weapon. Tessa to the rescue, one more time.

LUKE SUSPECTED ONE of the university students was behind the robberies. Not because he hated college kids—he only marginally disliked them—but because a college kid would fit the profile. Smart, tech-savvy, daring and in need of quick money. That also described the kids who’d dropped out of school and never managed to quite leave town. And there were a lot of those. Then, of course, there were the educated meth heads. Plenty of those around, too. In other words, without fingerprints or a hot lead, this case would be solved by running down every tiny detail, even the ones that seemed inconsequential.

Luke ran the surveillance video one more time, just for the hell of it. It offered little detail. At around 1:15 a.m., a shadow crossed the video of the loading dock. A few minutes later, it crossed again. This repeated a few more times, and that was it. No body, no height, no description. Just an approximate time of the robbery, and he’d already had that.

He backed up the digital feed a little farther, then farther still, looking for movement, just in case someone had cased the back door earlier in the evening.

But the only person who appeared was a woman with a blond ponytail and a happy smile. Tessa Donovan.

Luke very purposefully didn’t pause the video and look at her. Instead, he shut it down entirely just to avoid the temptation. She was cute, and that was that. There were thousands of cute women in this city. Granted, most of them were way too young for him, but then so was Tessa. Oh, she was past college age, but her eyes were still clear and bright and happy. She made Luke feel ancient.

“I’m heading home,” Simone said, gathering up her purse and briefcase. She wasn’t quite waddling yet, but she was definitely moving with more care. Luke shut his computer down and grabbed his own stack of work. “Here,” he said, reaching across his desk to grab for her heavy case. “Let me get that.” But she was still quick enough to jerk the briefcase out of his reach before he could touch it.

“I’ve got it,” she muttered, irritated by his offer of help. Lately, she always was, and that pissed Luke off. They were partners, damn it. They were friends, or they once had been.

“It’s seven,” he said as he followed her toward the front door. He watched her back as she shrugged. “You’ve been here since eight. You shouldn’t be working these kinds of hours.”

She slammed the door open with both hands, the briefcase banging against the glass. “You’re working them.”

“Simone. Don’t be stupid.”

Her shoulders snapped straight and she stopped so quickly that he had to grab her arm to keep from knocking her over.

“What,” she ground out, “is that supposed to mean?”