Wolfe Watching. Joan Hohl

he had received on her, compliments of his older brother, Cameron, an FBI agent, Eric knew that Tina generally met her friends at a neighborhood tavern on Fridays, for an evening of fun and frivolity.

      Eric likewise knew that the tavern served up a decent charbroiled steak with side orders of tossed salad and Texas fries. He had heard, as well, that the pizza was first-rate. He loved charbroiled steak and Texas fries. Good pizza, too, come to that.

      Should he?

      His stomach grumbled.

      Eric’s smile was slow and feral.

      Why the hell not?

      Two

      He stood out in the human crush like a fiery beacon on a fog-shrouded beach. The indirect amber lighting sparked bronze glints off his gold-streaked mane of tawny hair.

      Tina spotted Eric Wolfe the instant she crossed the threshold into the dimly lit taproom. A frisson of shocked surprise rippled the length of her small frame; her step faltered; her thighs quivered with remembered warmth.

      Appearing casual, as though her hesitation were deliberate, she studied him while making a show of glancing around the spacious room.

      Eric stood propped against one end of the horseshoe-curved bar, his back to the wall. He was dressed casually, quite the same as that morning, but in newer tight jeans and a different, brown-and-white patterned sweater. His right hand was wrapped around a long-necked bottle of beer, which he intermittently sipped as he lazily surveyed the laughing, chattering patrons crowded into the noisy, smoky tavern.

      “Do you see them?”

      Tina’s body reacted with a slight jolt to the intrusive sound of Ted’s voice too close behind her. Them? She frowned. Oh, them! Reminded of her friends, Tina dragged her riveted gaze from the alluring form at the end of the bar and transferred it to the far corner of the room, where she and her friends usually congregated at two tables shoved together.

      They were there, in force, all eight of them. Two of the women and one of the men had arms raised, hands waving, to catch her attention.

      “Yes,” she finally answered. “There in the back, at the same old stand.”

      “Here, let me go ahead,” he said, moving in front of her. “I’ll clear the way.”

      Following in Ted’s footsteps, weaving in and out and around tables and the press of bodies standing by, reminded Tina of the ride that morning, and the man in command of the bike. She slid a sidelong glance at the bar, blinked when she saw the empty spot at the end of it, then crashed into a beefy man who had just shoved his chair away from a table and was half in, half out of his seat.

      Yelping, the man stumbled backward. His shoulder collided with Tina’s chest, knocking the breath from her body and sending her reeling. Oblivious to the mishap behind him, Ted plowed on toward the corner and their friends. Backpedaling, Tina careered off another patron and emitted a muffled shriek as she felt herself begin to go down.

      A hard arm snaked around her waist, breaking her fall, steadying her, shooting fingers of heat from her midsection to her thighs. She knew who her rescuer was an instant before his low voice caressed her ears.

      “Don’t panic, thistle toes.” His voice was low; his arm was strong, firm. “You’re all right.”

      Tina didn’t know if she felt insulted or amused by Eric’s drawled remark; she did know she felt suddenly overwarm within the circle of his arm—overwarm, yet strangely protected and completely safe.

      “Thank...you,” she said, between restorative gulps of breath. “A person could get trampled in this herd.”

      Eric’s smile stole her renewed breath. The laughter gleaming in his crystal blue eyes played hell with her still-wobbly equilibrium. A muscle in his arm flexed, sending rivulets of sensation dancing up her spine.

      “You’re welcome.” Keeping his arm firmly in place around her waist, he turned his head to make a swift perusal of the room. When his glance came back to her, he arched his eyebrows promptingly. “Where were you heading?”

      “Over there,” Tina answered, indicating the front corner with a vague hand motion.

      “What happened to your escort?” Eric’s voice conveyed censure for the man’s dereliction of duty in caring for her. “Did he desert you in this zoo?”

      “He was clearing the way for me.” Tina’s smile was both faint and wry. Looking at the table, she saw that most of her friends were now on their feet, their conversation animated as they stared back at her. Ted stood next to the table, his expression a study in confusion and consternation.

      “Looks to me like your native friends are getting restless,” Eric observed.

      “Yes...er, I’d better join them.” Tina took a step, fully expecting him to remove his arm; it not only remained in place, it tightened, like a steel coil anchoring her to his side. He began to move, drawing her with him.

      “This time, I’ll run interference.”

      Turned out there was no interference to run; Eric’s intimidating size, coupled with his air of self-confidence and determination, had the patrons clogging the spaces between the tables in their haste to get out of his way.

      “Tina, what happened?” Ted demanded, eying Eric warily when they reached the table.

      “It was nothing,” she replied, trying to make light of the embarrassing incident.

      “She could have been injured.”

      Tina shivered at the hard condemnation in Eric’s tone, and saw Ted visibly flinch in reaction to the piercing stare from the taller man’s laser-bright eyes. “But I wasn’t,” she quickly inserted. “So let’s forget it.” Forcing a carefree-sounding laugh, she swept her friends with an encompassing look and rushed on, changing the subject. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving.”

      “Relief’s on the way.” The assurance came from one of the men. “The pizza’s been ordered and should be coming any minute now.”

      “Good.” Smile in place, Tina turned back to Eric. “Thank you again. I...” she began, intending to gently but decisively dismiss him.

      “We ordered plenty,” a female voice piped in. “Would you care to join us, Mr.—?”

      “Eric Wolfe,” he supplied, extending a smile and his right hand to the man closest to him.

      “Bill Devine.” Bill grasped Eric’s hand and jerked his head to indicate the woman next to him, the one who had initiated the introductions. “This is Nancy Wagner.”

      Nancy...supposedly her best friend! Tina fumed in silent frustration as the round-robin continued.

      “Wayne Fritz.”

      “Georgine Cutler.”

      “Mike Konopelski.”

      “Vincent Forlini.”

      “Helen Elliot.”

      “Louise Parsons.”

      “Ted Saunders.”

      Eric’s smile vanished as the circle was completed with Ted. His voice took on a hint of disdain; his handshake was insultingly brief. “Saunders.”

      A strained silence descended on the group around the table. A red tide rose from Ted’s neck to his cheeks. Tina felt a stab of compassion at his obvious abashment, and a sense of astonishment at Eric’s powerful effect on her friends. Eric had merely repeated Ted’s name, and yet his tone, the look of him, had held the force of a hard body blow.

      Tina’s sense of compassion, and her underlying unease, lasted a moment, then dissolved into impatience and annoyance. With his attitude, by his very presence, Eric had thrown a pall over the congenial atmosphere,