Dead Aim. Anne Woodard

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      “Ready.” Before she could stop him, he took her jacket out of her hands and held it up so she could slip it on.

      Maggie hesitated, then turned to allow him to help her, silently chiding herself for letting so simple a gesture catch her off guard like that. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      She started to move away from him, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

      “Hold on a second. Your collar’s turned.”

      There wasn’t anything remotely sexual about the way he flipped her collar over, then smoothed it into place, yet her body tensed involuntarily and the back of her neck burned where he touched her. She would swear she could still feel the heat of his hand where it had rested on her shoulder.

      He flicked her unruly curls out from beneath her collar and stepped back. “There. That should do it.”

      She kept her head down and tugged up the zipper. Her throat felt tight and her breathing was fast and a little shallow, but she managed to keep her words light, teasing, in keeping with the Maggie everyone at Joe’s thought they knew.

      “Are all you Montana guys so well mannered?”

      He laughed. The sound of it set her pulse racing.

      “Blame it on my dad. He was hell on good manners.”

      He held the door for her, then automatically took the street side of the sidewalk even if there weren’t any cars to defend her from.

      “My car’s parked just around the corner,” she said, forcing herself to look up at him.

      She refused to admit that she was disappointed when she found he was scanning the street rather than looking at her.

      “I’m a couple blocks farther down,” he said. Yet when she turned the corner, he turned with her.

      “You don’t have to walk me to my car, you know.” She couldn’t quite suppress the irritation in her voice. “It’s not that late, and Fenton isn’t that dangerous.”

      “That’s good. Which car’s yours?”

      “The red Subaru.” She punched the automatic entry button on her key ring. The car beeped and unlocked the doors. The system was a safety mechanism, one she’d relied on more than once when she had to get away fast. Once, it had almost cost her her life.

      He waited on the sidewalk while she walked around to the driver’s side.

      “I’ll meet you at the bar, all right?” she said, silently willing him to go away now so she could get herself under control.

      “Fine.”

      He was still standing there when she slid behind the wheel.

      Maggie switched the key in the ignition. The Subaru’s engine raced a little, then settled into a steady, comforting purr.

      And he was still standing there.

      Cursing herself for a fool, she leaned over and opened the passenger’s side door.

      “Get in. I’ll drive you to your car.”

      It figured. The one man who had the power to addle her wits just by looking at her was also well mannered and annoyingly overprotective. And that was dangerously appealing, too. She would have to be extra careful. She didn’t dare let herself get involved.

      The Subaru was fairly roomy, but Rick Dornier took up a lot more space than she liked. She was finding it hard to breathe. The engine hadn’t warmed enough to put out any heat, yet she would swear the temperature inside the car was rising.

      By the time she dropped him off at his pickup a few minutes later, her chest was hurting from the effort to breathe. She made sure he knew how to get to the bar, but didn’t wait for him even to unlock his door before her foot mashed down on the gas pedal.

      Her tires squealed on the pavement as she roared away.

      It was only the middle of the week, yet the parking lot at the Good Times bar was almost full when Rick arrived.

      Maggie, shoulders hunched against the cold, was pacing in front of the door. He had the feeling she was regretting her offer to help, but before he could say a word, she yanked the door open and stepped inside. Frowning, Rick followed her.

      Even in his college years, he hadn’t been much for bars and partying. His friends ribbed him about his unsociable ways, but these days he generally stuck to the unfashionable places where he could get a beer and maybe engage in a little conversation about whatever game was showing on TV.

      Walking into Good Times was like walking into a wall of heat and humanity. The bar was everything he hated—loud, crowded and trendy. A sign outside had advertised a live band for the weekend, but right now a popular country and western pop hit was blaring from hidden speakers that almost, but not quite, managed to cover the deafening roar of conversation and laughter.

      The crowd was mostly college kids and young professionals, with an occasional aging, desperate male here and there trying to pretend that the years weren’t catching up with him. Dress was everything from slick business suits to short tops, low jeans and navel rings. Judging from the expressions on their faces, all of these customers had one thing in common—a grim determination to have fun, no matter how much it hurt.

      Rick tried to imagine Tina in a place like this and failed. Tina lived in the reverent quiet of libraries and museums, not this kind of insanity.

      A tug on his sleeve drew his attention back to Maggie. He had to bend down to hear what she was shouting. She leaned closer, her breast touching his sleeve.

      “I’m going to hit a friend at the bar, ask him about Tina, who all the regular patrons are, see if we can find someone who saw her. Order me a diet soda, will you?”

      Her breath was warm on his ear. All he would have to do to kiss her was turn his head….

      Before he could say a word, she’d handed him her jacket and slipped into the crowd, seemingly as comfortable in this madhouse as she was at the Cuppa Joe’s. Just walking into the place had brought the sparkle back to her eyes.

      Before Rick could follow her, a harried-looking waitress dodged in front of him with an overloaded tray of drinks. He edged around her and ran into three giggling females who eyed him with a speculative interest that drove him in the opposite direction. By the time he’d worked his way through the outer fringes of the crowd, he’d shucked his own jacket and lost Maggie completely.

      Rick stared about him, baffled. He hadn’t worked out any real plan, just figured he would talk to the bartenders and waitresses until he found someone who remembered Tina and the guy she’d been with. He hadn’t counted on having to deal with a crowd like this or noise levels that made it impossible to talk below a shout.

      He wished Maggie were beside him. She seemed to be at home in a place like this.

      He would swear he could still catch her lingering scent on his jacket sleeve where she’d inadvertently pressed against him.

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