“This isn’t cool,” Bernie grumbled from the back seat of the police vehicle. “If we get in a wreck, I’m locked back here.”
I looked over at Officer Bud Orlov, who was driving over the icy roads with relaxed competency. “I told you we could take Aiden’s truck,” I said. Again.
Bud ducked his head to see the thick white clouds above us. “No.”
I shook my head, turned, and sent Bernie an apologetic look through the thick metal mesh that separated us. “Sorry about this.” Until we figured out where Jareth Davey had landed, I had police protection whether I wanted it or not. I did want it. A lot. Right now, Oliver had gone home, and Violet had gone to work at a local burger joint, so they were safe at the moment. “You don’t have any jurisdiction in Washington state,” I reminded Bud.
“Don’t care. I want my car,” Bud retorted. The solid man had absolutely no sense of humor that I had ever been able to find.
For a second back in the summer, I’d thought he was interested in my older sister, Donna. Then I found out he was married. “How’s the wife?” I asked.
He turned down the heater, his gaze on the road outside.
I sighed. “Come on, Bud. I didn’t mean to get you shot or choked out last summer. I’m sorry. Really, really, really sorry.” It did seem that Bud held a grudge.
“Not your fault,” he said, flipping on his blinker and switching lanes on I-90, crossing the Idaho-Washington border.
“So. Wife?” I asked, more than a little curious. Who would marry no-nonsense Bud?
He sighed, the sound aggravated. “She’s fine. We’re still trying to figure things out, and I guess are still separated? I don’t know. She has her life, and I have mine, and they don’t seem to meet in the middle.”
I perked up. That was more than I’d ever heard from him. “What’s her life?”
He shook his head.
Fine. So much for girl talk with Bud. We drove in silence for the rest of the way until arriving at the cutest Irish shop imaginable. It was at the far north end of Spokane, and I’d actually never been there. My Gaelic blood quickened happily as I took in the Celtic knot across the door and the lovely, and somehow Irish, Christmas scene that had been painted perfectly across the front glass windows.
I hopped out of the car and quickly opened the back door to spring Bernie free. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” I said. Although, most of my Irish decorations came from my Nana O’Shea and her relatives across the pond. The one-story building stood alone with a ski shack building on one side and a two-story men’s suit warehouse on the other.
Bernie smoothed back his gray hair and tugged his coat into place. “Jocko does a good business that really picks up around St. Patrick’s Day as well as Christmas.”
Bud crossed the street, looked both ways down the shoveled but still icy sidewalk, and motioned us inside. “We’re out in the open.”
I was evading a stalker, and now also worrying about being shot. So I hurried through the doorway, smiling when the bell above the door jangled out a tinkly and happy sound. Blinking lights and Irish Santas decorated the space, along with spun angel hair and the smell of cookies. I immediately caught sight of a Celtic heart-shaped ceramic tray for jewelry that my mother would love. Humming, I grasped it and looked for more. A scarf caught my eye—green, silk, and Celtic. Perfect for my Nana.
By the time we reached the counter across the shop, my hands were full.
A tall teenager with a nose ring waited behind the counter. “You did well,” she murmured.
“I know,” I said happily. “Also, is Jocko around?”
“Sure.” She angled her head toward an open doorway behind her. “Jocko? You have people here.” Then she started ringing up my many purchases.
Shuffling sounded behind the door, and Jocko came into view. “Bernie,” he said, hustling around the counter to take Bernie’s hand. “I’m so sorry about Lawrence. I should’ve called, but business has been nuts.”
Bernie shook and introduced us, making a point of asking Jocko to talk to me because I was his lawyer.
Jocko kind of matched his name. He was short and wide with a nose that had been broken a few times. His face was square, his eyes brown, and his voice husky. His hair was a grayish-white mix and his face weathered with smile lines out from his eyes. I’d bet almost anything he’d boxed at some point in his life, and not just because he had cauliflower ears. “Hi.” His handshake was gentle.
“Hi.” I introduced Bud.
Jocko frowned. “Why do you have an armed guard?”
“Long story,” I admitted. “Do you mind if we chat for a moment?”
Jocko motioned me back behind the counter. “Sure. Let’s go to my office.”
Bernie rocked back on his heels. “I’m going to run next door and see what they have in the way of Santa suits. You keep the cop with you.” Without waiting for a response, he chugged right back through the store.
