Bernadette continued to eye her. “You sure you’re all right? I would say you look like you’ve seen a ghost, but that doesn’t really apply to you, does it?”
Sorcha let out a long sight as she realized Bernadette also knew about her powers. “I’m fine.” The last thing she wanted to do was complain about Luke on her second day. Especially since she didn’t know what was wrong with him.
Maybe this was normal.
Either way, he was allowed to have feelings. She just hated that his were so intense.
Rory returned to her side. “My car’s this way.” He led her back up the hill and across the road to Houston Street where he’d parked his unmarked black Dodge Charger in front of another hotel. The Brice. She loved the crisp, white stucco that stood out from the restaurant next door that was black with yellow awnings. Probably be a nice place to stay.
And it was most likely above her pay grade.
“Where’s your partner?” she asked as Rory opened the door for her.
“Out sick today. We’re short-handed, so I’m solo.”
“Sorry.” Sorcha got in as he shut the door behind her.
For some reason, she felt a bit awkward and had no idea why. She’d spent a lot of her career with all kinds of officers and investigators.
Unlike IA, her last precinct had been huge. Sometimes she’d known the people at a crime scene, but many times she’d walked in blind without knowing anyone other than her partner.
So why was she so nervous now?
She had no idea.
Rory got in and offered her a kind smile. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He tsked at her. “Fine never means fine. I can tell something upset you. Let me guess…about six and a half feet tall with more baggage than a transatlantic cruise ship?”
She snorted. “Is that your idea of a joke?”
“Yeah, I suck at humor as much as I do at small talk. My sister always said that I should have been a mortician. And maybe I should have. I’d see fewer dead bodies that way.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Have you been in Savannah long?”
“No.”
“Then you probably don’t know about Pirate’s House, do you?”
She had no idea what he was talking about. In New Orleans pirates had been a big thing, especially Jean Lafitte, and particularly the bar on Bourbon Street that had taken its name from the famous outlaw. “Which pirate?”
He turned left onto Bryan.
Sorcha frowned at the sight of another park. “Are these things all over the city?”
“What things?”
“Small parks.”
“You mean the squares, and yes. Savannah loves her squares.” He paused at the next intersection. “And that’s the Pirate’s House across the street.”
She stared at the old gray building that looked like many of the others they’d passed. “Oh, it’s a restaurant?”
“Yes, and it’s one of the oldest buildings in Savannah. Haunted as all get out, if you like such things. Working for IA, I assume you do.”
