Good Girls Don't (Donovan Brothers Brewery 1)

“Good! Check them!”

She nodded and got to her feet. “All right. Let me see what Detective Asher is up to.”

Luke met her in the hallway.

“He didn’t do it,” Simone said.

“Yeah, let’s get those tapes and see who did. Why don’t you ask him if he’ll take a ride and show us where he found it. He’ll do it for you. And let’s get the keg dusted right now.”

And just like that, it was easy between them again. Two hours without an awkward moment as they scoured the alley and harassed the manager of the apartment complex and peppered all the residents for any information they might have. In L.A., this case wouldn’t have warranted more than five minutes of attention, but here a theft ring got his full focus. It felt good. As if they were actually making a difference instead of just cleaning up after violence.

Simone squinted up at the one camera that was pointed toward their part of the parking lot. “Fifty bucks says the owner’s going to ask for a search warrant.”

“Shit. I’m not taking that bet. I’d start the process now, but it’s six. No judge is going to stay late for a property crime. Tomorrow will have to do.”

“You think the angle’s good?”

Luke tilted his head to one side and then the other. “I don’t know. It’ll be close.”

“Yeah.”

The manager emerged from a metal door and gave them the news they’d expected. The owner was someone in California and he was covering all his bases. He wanted a warrant, so there was nothing else to be done tonight.

It was past seven by the time they got back to the station and typed up their notes. Somehow, as Luke pulled out into traffic, he made the decision to stop by the brewery and give the Donovans an update. It was as good a time as any, since Tessa wasn’t likely to be there.

Funny how much relief felt like disappointment.

TESSA WAS ON A ROLL tonight. Every single draw was perfect. The place was busy, but not packed, and everyone was in a fine, mellow mood. Sh

e smiled with real happiness as she dropped off three porters to a table of men watching the baseball game on the corner screen.

On her way back to the bar, a woman touched her sleeve to stop her. “Where’s that cute guy who usually works here?”

“It’s his night off,” Tessa said for the twentieth time that evening. It was always the same. She wasn’t offended. Jamie was a popular tourist attraction. She’d posted on Twitter that he’d be off tonight, so there were actually fewer disappointed faces than usual.

“Hey, Tessa!” one of her regulars said from the next table. “Why don’t you ever wear a kilt?”

“You’re thinking of a schoolgirl uniform, Fred. It may be plaid, but it’s not the same thing, and you’ll never talk me into one.”

Fred slapped his knee and howled.

Laughing, Tessa cleared the empty pint glasses from Fred’s table and shook her head. “You’d better get home. Joyce will toss your dinner in the trash if you’re not home soon.”

He snapped upright and looked at his watch with a curse. Tessa slipped him his bill without another word, then turned and walked right into Luke Asher.

Luke reached to steady her tray of glasses, but he grabbed too quickly and nearly knocked it from her hand. “Sorry,” he said as he put one hand to her shoulder and one to the tray. He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I guess that answers the question of whether you came to see me.”

Happy with the flicker of discomfort she saw cross his face, Tessa eased past him. She had to level the playing field, after all. The man had walked out on her last night. After that make-out session in his lap, she was more than willing to give Luke another shot, but there was no reason for him to know that.

Hiding her smirk, she slipped behind the bar and stacked the glasses in the tray that was headed for the dishwasher. She wiped off her hands before turning to find Luke standing at the bar. “Did you come here to negotiate with my brother over the price of my maiden-hood?”

“Jesus, Tessa,” he muttered. The tips of his ears turned red.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure there are still details to be worked out. I don’t want to interfere.”

“I get it. You’re trying to torture me.”