High Noon

"Well enough. How about you?"

"Let me answer that by asking if you've got a stopwatch on me."

"Sorry, left it in my other purse."

"Then I'm good. I just want to get this out of the way, so it doesn't keep distracting me. I really like the way you look."

"Thanks. I'm okay with it myself most of the time."

"See, I've had you stuck." He tapped a finger to his temple, then paused to flash a smile at the waitress who brought over his pint of Gui

"You bet." The waitress set a bowl of pretzels on the table, gave Duncan a wink, Phoebe a quick once-over, then carted her tray off to another table.

"Well, sldinte. " He tapped his glass to Phoebe's, sipped. "So, I kept asking myself were you stuck in there just because of Suicide Joe or because I thought you were hot. Which was my second thought when I saw you, and was probably inappropriate given the circumstances." She sipped more slowly, watching him. That tiny dimple that flickered at the corner of his mouth when he gri

"Yeah, the first was sort of: Thank God she's going to fix this."

"Do you always have that kind of confidence in total strangers?"

"No. Maybe. I'll think about it." He angled so their knees bumped companionably with a little whoosh of denim against denim. "It's just

I looked at you and it struck me you were someone who knew what to do, knew what you were doing-a really hot woman who knew what to do. So I wanted to see you again, maybe figure out how come you're stuck. I know you're smart-also a plus-not only because of what you do, but hey, Lieutenant, and you seem young for that."

"I'm thirty-three. Not so young."

"Thirty-three? Me, too. When's your birthday?" "August."

"November. Older woman." He shook his head. "Now I'm sunk. Older women are so sexy."

It made her laugh as she tucked up her legs, shifted a little toward him. "You're a fu

"Sometimes. But with serious and sensitive sides, if you're counting points."

"Points?"

"There's always a point system in this kind of situation. He's clean. She has breasts. Points added. He has a stupid laugh, she hates sports, points subtracted."

"How'm I doing?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to be able to add that high without my calculator." "Clever, too. Points for you." She sipped at her beer, studied him.

He had a little scar, a thin, diagonal slash through his left eyebrow.

"Still, it's risky to assume I'm smart and competent-if those are included in the final total-with so little actual data."

"I'm a good judge of people. On-the-job training."

"Owning bars?"

"Before that. I tended bar and drove a cab. Two professions where you're guaranteed to see all types of people, and where you get to peg them pretty quick."

"A cab-driving bartender."

"Or bartending cabdriver, depending." He reached over, tucked her hair behind her ear, gave the dangling silver at her lobe a little tap. The gesture was so casual and smooth, she wondered at her own quick jolt of intimacy.

"Easy to juggle hours on both sides," he continued, "and I figured I'd sock away enough to open myself a sport's bar."

"And so you did, fulfilling the American dream."

"Not even close-well, the American dream part-but I didn't earn the ready to open Slam Dune riding the stick or driving a hack."

"How then? Robbing banks, dealing drugs, selling your body?"

"All viable options, but no. I won the lottery."

"Get out. Really?" Delighted, fascinated, she lifted her glass in toast before stretching out a hand for a pretzel.

"Yeah, just a fluke. Or, you know, destiny, again depending. I picked up a ticket now and then. Actually, hardly ever. Then one day I went in for a six-pack of Corona, sprang for a ticket."

"Did you pick the numbers or go with the computer?"

"My pick. Age, cab number-which was depressing since I hadn't pla

"Yeah."

"What's wrong with them?"

She laughed again, snagged another pretzel. "Obviously, you retired as a cab-driving bartender."

"Bet your ass. Got my sports bar. Very cool. Only fu

I may lose man points here, but I figured out after a few months I actually didn't want to be in a bar every night of my life."

She glanced around Swifty's, where the music had gone slow and dreamy. "Yet you have two. And here you are."

"Yet. I sold half interest in Dune's to this guy I know. Well, almost half. Figured, hey, Irish pub."

"Hence Swifty's."

"Hence."

"No travel, no flashy car?"

"Some travel, some flash. Anyway, how did you-"

"Oh no, the question begs to be asked." She wagged a finger at him. "It's rude, but it has to be asked. How much?"

"A hundred and thirty-eight million."

She choked on her pretzel, holding up a hand when he tapped her on the back. "Jesus Christ."

"Yeah, that's what I said. You want another beer?"

She shook her head, gaped at him. "You won a hundred and thirtyeight million dollars on a lottery ticket?"

"Yeah, go figure. Best six-pack I ever bought. It got a lot of play at the time. You didn't hear about it?"

" I… " She was still struggling to absorb. "I don't know. When?"

"Seven years ago last February."

"Well." She puffed out a breath, pushed a hand through her hair. Million replayed through her mind. "Seven years ago last February I was busy giving birth."

"Hard to keep up with current events. You got a kid? What variety?"

"A girl. Carly." She saw his gaze shift down to her left hand. "Divorced." "Okay. Lot ofjuggling, single parent, high-octane career. I bet you've got excellent hand-eye coordination."

"It takes practice." Millions, she thought. Millions stacked on top of millions, yet here he was, nursing a Gui

"I like Sava

"Um." She felt blindsided. The cute, fu

"You were with the FBI? Like Clarice Starling? Like Silence ofthe Lambs} Or Dana Scully-another hot redhead, by the way. Special Agent MacNamara?" He let out a long, exaggerated breath. "You really are hot."

"Due to this, that and the other thing, I decided to shift to the Sava

"Hostage?" Those dreamy eyes of his sharpened. "Like if a guy barricades himself in some office building with i

"If it's in Sava

"How do you know what to say? What not to say?"

"Negotiators are trained, and have experience in law enforcement. What?" she said when he shook his head.

"No. You have to know. Training, sure, experience, sure, but you have to know."

Odd, she thought, that he'd understand that when there were copsArnie Meeks sprang to mind-who didn't. And never would. "You hope you know. And you have to listen, not just hear. And listening to you, here's what I know. You live in Sava