Short, Sweet And Sexy. Cara Summers

reported it stolen this morning.”

      “So it wasn’t an accident,” Sam said as he took the scrap of paper and tucked it in a pocket.

      “Probably not,” Andrew said as he studied his brother. “Hit-and-run drivers don’t like to use their own vehicles. You got any other evidence that Pierre might have copped the necklace—other than that he often left copies when he pulled a heist?”

      “That and the fact that I saw him break and enter the museum. He’s good enough to have jammed the security cameras and he obviously turned off the alarms.”

      “Damn,” Andrew said.

      “I think it’s safe to say that he didn’t do all that to have a private viewing of the exhibits. He may have the real necklace on him right now.”

      Leaning back, Andrew propped his feet on the desk. “Why? For the past forty years, Pierre Rabaut has lived in this city and been a model citizen. He operates a highly successful and lucrative jazz club and serves on a couple of the mayor’s committees. Why go back to a life of crime now?”

      “Yeah,” Sam said. “I was thinking about that while he was in the museum. He was really good at stealing, you know. One of the best. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could still do it.”

      “It’s a hell of a solution to a mid-life crisis. And what about the man with the knife and the guy in the pickup? How do they fit in?”

      “Pierre knew there was extra security. It was on the news. I figure the bearded mugger was an accomplice. He was supposed to take the necklace and run. That way Pierre couldn’t be caught with the necklace on him. The guy in the pickup is another matter. He was out to get Pierre. And he must have known Pierre would be there. All I know for sure is that as long as Pierre has the necklace, he’s in danger.”

      Andrew thought for a minute. “We only have your word. That’s not probable cause to search him.”

      “That’s the last thing I want. What I want is to convince him to return the necklace before he gets caught, and Ms. A. J. Potter won’t let me near him.”

      Andrew’s eyes widened. “Ms. A. J. Potter? Pierre has a woman attorney, and you’re having trouble getting around her?”

      “She’s—” Rising, Sam began to pace again. “You should have seen her when she saw that truck barreling toward Pierre and the bearded man. She’s this tiny little bit of a thing, and she didn’t even stop to think. She moved like lightning and launched herself at them.” Even now when he thought about it, fear knotted in his stomach. “I thought they were all goners. I couldn’t believe it when the truck swerved at the last minute. It was a miracle.”

      “A. J. Potter, hmm?” Andrew’s face split into a wide grin. “Nice name. Same initials as me. I suppose she’s a looker too?”

      “Yeah. She’s…” Sam paused. It occurred to him that he’d never before had trouble talking about a woman to his brother. But he didn’t feel comfortable talking about A.J.’s legs—or any other part of her. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell his brother that her eyes reminded him of violets. “She’s…I…she’s hard to describe.”

      “I can see that. She’s got you stuttering.”

      “No…I mean…”

      “Is she single?”

      Sam frowned. “Yeah. Pierre got that out of her in less than two minutes. For a guy in his seventies, he’s got a way with women. He told her he’d fallen in love with her. What kind of a thing is that to tell a girl first time you meet her?”

      “You better introduce us, bro. Maybe she and I will have more in common than the initials.”

      Sam pinned his brother with a long, steady look. “Forget it.”

      “This just keeps getting better and better. First you’re jealous of an old man. Now you’re warning me off. I’ve got to meet her.”

      “No.” Just as Sam’s fingers began to tingle, Andrew gave a long, low whistle.

      “Too late. We’ve got company.”

      Sam knew before he turned who it was moving toward him. He would have recognized the click of those heels and that quick, ground-eating stride anywhere. The moment he turned, he got a quick vision of a woman and poodle before his eyes homed in and fastened like a tractor beam to her legs. The skirt seemed to inch a little higher with each step she took. He felt the blood drain from his head.

      A.J. VERY NEARLY STOPPED mid-stride. If Cleo hadn’t been pulling at her leash she might have. This time the rush of adrenaline surged through her and he wasn’t even touching her. It was his eyes. He looked at her in a way that no one else did—as if he could really see her.

      “Two things,” A.J. said when she reached him. In a minute, she would remember what they were. She drew in a deep breath and opened her mouth, hoping that something intelligent would come out.

      He spoke first. “I want to see my godfather.”

      “Right. That’s number one on my list. He wants to meet with you at a French café, Emile’s, near the courthouse at five this afternoon.”

      The smile came then, quick and charming. She wanted to smile right back, but she bit down on the side of her cheek instead. Ruthlessly, she gathered the evidence against him. This was a man who wanted to put a defenseless old man in jail. A man who had with that same charming smile taken money from her on the street!

      “Number two,” lifting her hand, she turned it palm up, “I also want my money back.”

      “Your money…?”

      “The hundred dollars I’ve slipped into your cup during the past five days.”

      “Whoa,” Sam said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I gave all of it to a homeless man who hangs around my family’s hotel. He might be interested in that job you were lining up for me.”

      She studied him for a moment. “If you’re making fun—”

      In a movement that she didn’t even see coming, he took the hand she was still extending and began to draw her toward the door. “Me, make fun? Never. Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about the money and Pierre?”

      “I’ve got some coffee right here,” Andrew said, snagging her other hand and putting a mug of coffee in it. “And I have some information on that pickup that tried to run down your client.”

      IT WAS ONE OF THOSE TIMES when Sam wished he’d been an only child. Or that murdering your brother was legal. One minute, he’d nearly had A.J. out the door for a private chat and, the next, Andrew had drawn her back to his desk. He’d even cleaned off a chair for her.

      “This is a really nice dog you’ve got there,” Andrew said. “Do you show him…or is it a her?”

      Andrew was actually petting the dog. Even more amazing was that his desk was also looking more orderly. File folders were stacked in a pile, and Sam could even make out the edge of a pristine-looking blotter. He was sure it had never seen the light of day before. But what really stunned him was that he hadn’t been aware that any of that was going on. All he’d been aware of was A. J. Potter from the moment she’d walked into the room.

      “Cleo is a her. And she loves men. My neighbor shows her. Right now she’s looking for the perfect male to breed her with.”

      “My brother has absolutely no manners.” Andrew managed to get Cleo settled on his lap. “Otherwise, he’d introduce us. I’m Andrew Jackson Romano, but you can call me Andrew.” He took A.J.’s hand in his. “We have the same initials.”

      Murder was out of the question. But he’d warned Andrew off. In a minute, he was going to punch him. He hadn’t felt that way since junior high school. Hell, it couldn’t be jealousy he was feeling. Could it? But as two other detectives