Wolfe Watching. Joan Hohl

assistance from a federal agent. His brother’s teasing was nothing new, and it was a price Eric was more than willing to pay.

      Raising his arm, Eric took a small swig from the long-necked bottle, swishing the beer around inside his mouth before letting the brew trickle down his throat. The bottle was his second for the night...his second and his last.

      Eric knew better than to overindulge at any time. A soused undercover cop had even less value than a soused anyone else, and was potentially a lot more dangerous...to himself, to the force and to bystanders, innocent or otherwise.

      “Aren’t you about ready for another beer, Eric?” Bill asked, almost as if he had tapped into the other man’s thought process. “You’ve been nursing that one since right after you sat down. Hell, the rest of us are on our fourth.”

      No kidding? Eric mentally responded, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Two’s my limit,” he said truthfully. “I can’t tolerate more than that, it goes to my head,” he explained, lying without compunction.

      “Bummer.” The unsolicited opinion came from Vincent. “I can knock ‘em back all night without getting woozy.”

      “Yeah, you just can’t drive,” Bill retorted.

      Vincent shrugged. “I don’t have to.” He favored Tina with a sweet smile. “We have a nondrinker in the group.”

      Eric had known from the investigative report his brother had provided for him that Tina rarely indulged in any kind of alcoholic drinks, the exception being the occasional celebratory half glass of champagne at holidays, weddings and such. He hadn’t known that she was the designated driver for the less prudent members of her circle of friends. He again arched a brow at her.

      “You’re the official D.C., huh?”

      Tina frowned. “D.C.?”

      “Drunk chauffeur,” he explained, grinning to ease the sting from the expression.

      “Hey, I resent that,” Vincent protested, loud enough to be heard over Bill’s eruption of laughter.

      “Sorry, no offense meant.” Though Eric offered the apology to Vincent, he kept his gaze steady on Tina.

      “I don’t mind.” She was quick to the defense. “It doesn’t happen too often...and they are my friends. And I prefer having them alive.”

      “Thatta girl, Tina,” Vincent crowed, raising his frothy mug in salute to her, while leveling a smug look at Eric. “She doesn’t want to see this handsome face and body all torn and mangled in a wreck of metal.”

      “Oh, brother.” Bill rolled his eyes.

      “No, it’s true,” Tina said, her smile soft, maternal. “I don’t want to ever see any of my friends or anybody else for that matter torn and mangled.”

      Eric felt an odd little catch at the base of his throat at the softness of her smile, the caring sound of her voice. It was not the sound or look one would expect from a woman involved, even peripherally, with the pushing of narcotics.

      Chill out, Wolfe, he advised himself, taking a sip of the now-warm beer to dislodge the catch. More than most, he knew how deceptive appearances could be.

      Take this group, for example, he mused, shifting his eyes from Tina’s tender expression to sweep the occupants of the two tables with a swift but encompassing glance.

      They all appeared to be perfectly normal, average, law-abiding citizens. But were they? Ah, there’s the question, Eric thought, appearing quite normal and average himself as he laughed at a quip from Bill. He was in a particularly good position to know that appearances quite often did not reflect reality.

      From the bits and pieces he had picked up from the conversations around the table during the demolition of the pizza—which had actually exceeded its reputation—Eric had gleaned the information that the careers of the individuals were diverse, ranging from carpenter to corporate middle manager and several different job descriptions in between, including Tina’s ownership of the florist shop. All quite normal, with such a varied assortment of individuals.

      Perhaps. Keeping his expression free of his speculative thoughts, Eric skimmed the faces around him. But on the other hand, he reasoned, for all he and the world knew, this varied assortment of individuals with diverse career pursuits might well be in the business of supplementing their incomes with the profits garnered by dealing in illegal substances.

      Of course, the world would continue to revolve in its ignorance. Eric fully intended to glean the necessary information, first thing in the morning, or as soon as Cameron could gather it for him.

      The search might prove fruitless. Eric hoped it would; he was enjoying their company. Nevertheless, the investigation and follow-up would be done, whether the results were good, bad or merely indifferent.

      Meanwhile, there was a question about Tina. A very big, very unsavory question.

       Was she mixed up in a narcotics mess?

      Her attractive peal of laughter drew Eric’s attention—and his hooded eyes—to her profile. She was looking at Nancy at the end of the second table, laughing appreciatively at whatever the other woman had said. Once again he felt that odd catch in his throat.

      Why did she have to be so damned appealing? Eric asked himself, studying her with an appearance of lazy disinterest. The problem was, there wasn’t a thing lazy or disinterested about his perusal of her.

      Merely looking at Tina reactivated the memory of her slender thighs banding his hips and posterior, driving a wedge of heat to the apex of his thighs.

      Damn. He was hard. Eric drew a long, slow breath and shifted unobtrusively in the chair, easing his leg to the side, away from the too-enticing touch of hers.

      What was it about this particular woman? he wondered, sketching his gaze over Tina, from the top of her shimmering blond hair to the slender ankles beneath the hem of her wool slacks, lingering on the gentle curves in between.

      She was attractive.... Okay, she was more than attractive, he conceded. Her petite frame held infinite allure. Her face, though not classically beautiful, was delicately featured, lovely, with that mass of honey blond hair contrasted with dark brown eyes and brows and an abundance of long lashes above a small, straight nose and a delectable pair of lips made for crushing by a man’s passion-hardened mouth.

      Eric swallowed a groan and shifted again. What in hell was he doing to himself? Now he was not only hard, he was hot and uncomfortable, and he had completely lost the thread of the ongoing conversation.

      Maybe it was time to cut out of here, he thought. Get some fresh air. Get some rest. Get a grip.

      Lifting a hand to his mouth, Eric covered a manufactured yawn. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you folks,” he announced, pushing his chair back away from the table, distancing himself from Tina. “But I’m ready for bed.”

      “Yeah, me too,” Bill said, stifling a genuine yawn. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

      Three of the others agreed that it was time to leave, since they also had to work. The remaining members of the group protested. Tina stayed silent, but stared at Ted in mute supplication.

      “But it’s not that late,” Helen pointed out.

      “Only a little after twelve,” Mike said, glancing at his watch.

      “We can stay for a while,” Ted insisted, seemingly unconscious of the appeal in Tina’s eyes. “You’re not ready, are you, Tina?”

      “If you wouldn’t mind, Ted.” Though she smiled, she also sighed. “I’m tired, and I have a lot of orders to get out early tomorrow morning.”

      Ted frowned.

      Figuring it was worth one more shot, Eric spoke up. “I can take Tina along with me, Ted, if you want to stay. I live right up the street from her.”

      “You