Page 25 of Midnight Secrets

I chanced a look at him again.

He was still staring.

Feeling like a creeper, I shifted so my line of sight was out the front windows and not toward that corner. It also had the added bonus of being able to watch Mina make my drink. She was nearly finished.

But it wasn’t soon enough.

“Good morning, Ms. Holmes.”

I knew that voice. It had played as a soundtrack on several dreams this week.

I turned and looked up into a pair of rich brown eyes. Behind him, stood the man I saw at the corner table, a curious smirk on his handsome face.

A face that looked remarkably like Detective Quartermaine’s, just slightly older.

“Detective.” I offered him a nod. My gaze traveled past him to his companion.

He got the hint, turning to look at the man. “This is my brother, Ellis. Ellis, meet Claire Holmes. And her dog.” He turned back to me with a quizzical frown. “I’m sorry, what was her name again?”

“Pebbles.”

“That’s right.”

Behind him, Ellis chuckled.

“Pebbles. The escape artist.” Detective Quartermaine lifted a hand, aiming to pet the dog, but she growled.

I rolled my lips in, smothering a smile. Pebbles remembered the man who stopped her morning jaunt through the neighborhood.

Ellis laughed harder. “What’s the matter, Oz? Afraid of a five-pound ball of fluff?”

The detective aimed a glare at his brother. “The little ones are the kind you have to watch out for the most. Ankle biters,” he muttered.

“Pebbles is sweet.” I curled a hand around my dog’s head and scratched her ear.

Detective Quartermaine scoffed. “She’s a menace.”

I covered Pebbles’s ears. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just mad you’re cuter than he is.”

Ellis’s bark of laughter drew out the smile I’d been fighting.

“Oh, I like you. Ozzie, you didn’t tell me she had a wicked sense of humor.”

He’d talked about me with his brother? I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Grumbling under his breath, the detective glanced up and gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m going to murder Piper for giving me that damn nickname,” he muttered.

A small frown formed between my eyebrows. Who was Piper?

Ellis snorted. “If you were, you’d have done it last year. I’ve called you Oz since we were young. Ozzie isn’t that different.”

“Makes me sound like a rocker.”

“You don’t like rock music?” I asked.

He turned those dark eyes on me. Thick, black lashes framed them, making him appear as though he wore eyeliner. I knew women who’d kill for the look he had naturally.

“I think it’s fine,” he answered. “But I’m a cop. Not a musician. I can’t sing or play an instrument to save my life.”

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