Crime & Counterpoint by M.S. Daniel Page B

cousins !” She squealed. Like a little pig.
    Bill’s brows rose, Barb’s lips gave a slight quirk of amusement, and Zach flung her a look, thinking she’d skipped one too many steps. He reached across the table to take away her wine glass. “I think you’ve had enough.”
    Jared squelched a chuckle at his fiancée’s disgruntled reaction.
    Carrie narrowed her eyes. “Go get her, Zach.”
    “Dear, she doesn’t even know we’re here. I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Abigail put in carefully.
    “I agree,” Bill added. “She might think we’re ganging up on her.”
    But Barbara shut him up with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned to Zach and gave him a brittle smile. “And since you’re the only single male here…”
    Zach met her glacial stare with an unruffled look of his own. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

14
    “We’re just saying, Shelley, you need to use all your God-given talents,” the drummer quipped.
    “Seriously,” the lead tenor saxophonist plugged. “Do you know how much more money I could make if I had your body and could fit into that dress?” His gaze flicked over Shelley’s nicely-packaged figure pointedly as he unhooked his Selmer Mark VI from his neck strap.
    “Oh, my God.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which only exacerbated some of her musical assets, and gave both a haughty look. “I don’t want to be some guy’s private pianist.”
    “But he’s loaded, baby,” Jean Laurent wailed, rubbing rosin on the horsehairs of his long bow. “You could be on a yacht in the Caribbean, sipping on daiquiris, mais no . Je sais! ” He grinned. “ Vous attendez l’amour parfait. ”
    “Oh please. I am not waiting for perfect love ,” Shelley retorted.
    “Yeah ya are.” The drummer unscrewed the wing nut from a cymbal. “And you can’t tell because you’re too high up on your goddamn horse.” He took the freed cymbal and blew a kiss to Shelley before exchanging it for one with a wetter sound.
    Shelley opened her mouth to reply, but from behind her, a deep, smooth voice stole her words. Her arms prickled before she even turned.
    “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
    The rhythm section and tenor man regarded the speaker: a height-endowed, obviously well-built man in a tantalizing tux who stood in the exact spot her recent admirer had just vacated. A collective gleam crossed all their faces; so much so, she had to look behind her.
    “Hi,” Shelley greeted at first, thinking him to be just another handsome guest. But then she recognized the fiery blue eyes, obstinate cleft chin, and dark hair. And her orbs rounded in surprise and dismay.
    “Do you have a minute?” he asked, suavely, staring straight at her.
    All her composure fell away. Was she somehow dreaming? Was this really the same guy from Ramone’s? The cop. And why was he looking at her that way? Why was he looking like that at all? GQ-perfect. She could smell his evergreen musk from here – dangerous, intoxicating.
    Jean appraised the stranger and smiled with his usual brilliance. “ Oui, monsieur . She totally does.” Extending his bow like a rapier, he encouraging the speechless dame to take the plunge, having sought a way to repay Shelley for getting him this top-line gig.
    The tip of Jean’s bow brought her out of her nervous, desperate trance to find that recognizable hand proffered to her. Her heart galloped.
    The cop gave her a dashing smile which flummoxed her further. Tentatively, she grasped his rough palm, experiencing an unexpected tingle. She took the steps one at a time. But distraught, she failed to pay attention. Her heel caught on the train of her crimson gown. She fell overboard.
    But just in time, he caught her around the waist. Heat rippled all over her as she stared into his cerulean gaze. “Sorry,” she breathed.
    “Have fun, Shelley,” the musicians taunted. She was too anxious to acknowledge them, but her escort tossed them a grin which was