Page 18 of Que Será, Syrah

Romero shoots the other man a quelling look, then turns his attention back to me. “You were saying?” he asks. His tone is polite, but I swear I can see a small smile flickering at one corner of his mouth.

“Oh, just that’s why I started calling you…that. I wasn’t trying to be funny, or rude, or…or whatever else you might have thought. I just…wanted you to know. That’s all.”

“Ah. Well, thank you,” he says. And now I know I’m imagining things because, if anything, he looks a little disappointed. “And can I assume you got everything straightened out with the DMV as well?”

“Oh, my license. Yes.” I feel myself blushing a little. “That’s all taken care of. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“For what?” he asks, looking startled and wary again.

“For only charging me with an infraction. You did me a favor.” I’ve read up on the subject. The choice was his. He could have written it up as a misdemeanor, if he’d really wanted to be a dick. And while the infraction fine was hefty enough, the misdemeanor charge carried an even bigger fine, a court appearance, and the possibility of six months in jail. Ack!

He smiles wryly. “You’re welcome. But considering I’d also have had to appear in court for anything other than an infraction, I’m pretty sure I did myself a favor, as well.”

“Even so, I’d like to buy you a drink. To say thank you.”

“I appreciate that. But unfortunately, I’m on duty at the moment, so...”

“Oh. Right. Maybe another time?”

“Perhaps.”

“All right. Well, I’ll let you get back to your lunch.” I start to turn away and then think better of it. “My name’s Allegra,” I say in the instant before I remember that “But you already know that don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Right. Well, Legs, then. People call me Legs.”

He nods solemnly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I do turn away then. I make it all the way back to my table before it hits me that he still hasn’t told me his name. “Fuck,” I mutter beneath my breath as I resume my seat. My food’s arrived and it looks and smells amazing. But all I can think about is, what the hell do I call him? For someone who doesn’t want to be called Romeo, he’s sure doing his best to channel Montague’s heir. “What’s in a fucking name, for real.”

Chapter 4

Clay

“So. You and Allegra Martinelli,” Miles Henderson muses, gaze tracking Legs as she returns to her table. “Man, I did not see that coming.”

“You still haven’t,” I reply, struggling to keep my temper in check. He’s getting married in five days. Shouldn’t he be keeping his eyes to himself? “Because there is no ‘me and Allegra Martinelli’. She was a traffic stop. End of story.” And I hope to hell I’m doing a better job of convincing him of that than I am myself.

“Better be—for your sake. Because, given the amount of time you’ve spent investigating her family this summer, I’m pretty sure the department would view it as a clear case of conflict of interest if the two of you were to get together.”

“I’m aware,” I tell him, taking a bite of my burger. It’s Kobe beef, which is typical for the bougie restaurants in downtown Napa—one of the many reasons I rarely eat here. Although I have to admit, it does taste pretty good.

“I know you’re aware of department policy,” Miles says, “But is she?”

“I very much doubt it. Why should she be?”

I can understand why Miles’s concern. His fiancé is besties with one of Allegra’s sisters. I think she might even be a member of their wedding party. When things started to heat up this summer, he requested to be reassigned out of Oak Creek Canyon rather than run the risk of violating policy.

“And anyway, she’s been out of the country for the last several years. So, whatever’s been going on around here, she was probably unaware of it.”

“Yeah well, Bianca—her sister—had been gone even longer. That didn’t stop you from suspecting her.”

“I didn’t suspect anyone,” I point out. “I didn’t invent those false complaints. I’m just the jackass who got stuck following up on them. And trust me, if we start getting anonymous calls about Legs over there, I’ll be following up on those as well—no matter what you think.”

“Well, I think that’s a lot more likely to happen than you realize,” Miles says, looking troubled. “I mean look, we all got up to no good, now and again, back when we were teenagers. That’s par for the course. And Allegra was a few years younger than me—more like your age—so all I really know about her is what I remember hearing at the time. But she had a reputation for being on the wild side, even then.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” I say, just barely managing to repress a smile. Because yeah, that tracks with the Legs I remember. “But I don’t get why you’re so concerned. I turned down her offer of a drink, didn’t I?”

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