He looked at me, his bluish-green eyes twinkling with the kind of amusement that made me wish I kept a spray bottle of holy water on the desk. “I suppose that’s true.”
Jolene licked her lips and looked over at me, the air suddenly too warm. “This is interesting. Is Devlin already out of the picture?”
“Aiden Devlin?” Cormac asked.
I stilled. “You know him?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just asked around town a bit. Apparently he’s the ATF agent in charge of the, well, explosive part of the missing antique boxes investigation.”
Jolene smoothed down her already-smooth jacket, all focus again. “Did you hear anything about that investigation, Cormac?”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” I said before he could help the reporter out. As much as I wanted to believe in sisterhood, Jolene had been a snake since high school. She’d slept with Donna’s prom date, dated Aiden, and made a career out of turning my problems into headlines. She had radar for my screw-ups and the work ethic to print them. “Jolene, I’ve asked you to leave. Don’t make me call the sheriff for this trespass.”
“Oh, please. You wouldn’t dare.” Jolene smiled her full wattage at Cormac. “Are you a lawyer?”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid not,” Cormac said easily. “I could never stay in school that long. I like to be out and about.”
She studied him, clearly intrigued. “Yet you’re asking about the investigation into Fiona O’Shea’s new store? Do you think the theft was staged?”
“No,” he replied. “I have no knowledge about the theft and was just in Silverville earlier today, and, well, you know how the gossip mill runs.”
Jolene looked at me and then back at him, angling her head to see better. She was taller than I was—most people were—but Cormac had to be a solid six foot two, broad in the shoulders and too relaxed for his own good.
“Then what’s your business with Anna?” she asked as if we were all great friends.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said. “Jolene’s a reporter.” It was probably fair to let him know.
Her smile didn’t flicker, but her eyes sharpened.
Cormac’s mouth quirked into another almost-smile. “I’m aware of that. I read the paper this morning, and your article about the city’s plans to clean up Nineteenth Street was fascinating. I enjoyed how you compared the whole situation to the weather, as if the area had gone through a hard winter and was finally headed toward spring. Much like us.”
Jolene’s voice warmed. “You read my story?”
“I did.”
She stood even straighter. “Are you from around here?”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head, eyes twinkling. “I’m not.”
Silence filled the room, light catching in the polished brass of the desk lamp. I tried not to grin. The man clearly didn’t know Jolene well enough to recognize that she’d just turned the flirt dial to high.
“Where are you from, then?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Pretty much everywhere,” he said. “I like to wander. I’m staying in Silverville right now at a very nice bed-and-breakfast, but I probably won’t be there for long.”
The woman was definitely persistent. “Do you have business in town?”
He cut me a look, sharp enough to be felt, and I just sat back in my chair. I didn’t know this guy and had no intention of helping him out. Besides, he oozed charm like it was part of his skincare routine. He could handle Jolene just fine.
“Since you asked.” He flashed her a grin that lacked the dimple. Maybe that dimple didn’t show up all the time. Interesting. “I’m looking to find those seven boxes that were stolen from Mrs. O’Shea’s new shop.”
“Really?” Jolene’s eyes lit up. “Are you some sort of insurance adjuster?”
He chuckled, low and rolling, the kind of sound that turned heads. Not that I was interested. I could just recognize quality when I heard it, and the British accent didn’t hurt. “Certainly not.”
Jolene preened, her shoulders straightening. “Oh?”
“No insurance,” he said. “Not my gig. I just find things.”
