Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [17]
She nodded to Scott Thorne, a state trooper Beth was dating, as he added cream to his coffee-to-go, but he pretended not to see her as he headed for a riverside table on the back wall. So she called to him. “Hey, Scott.”
He sighed. “Jo.”
Her sister rolled her eyes as she slipped on an apron in dark evergreen—the café’s signature color—behind the glass case. She was a paramedic as well as co-owner of the café, two years younger and slightly taller than Jo, and the copper highlights in her dark hair were natural. “Don’t pick on Scott,” she said cheerfully. “What’s your pleasure, Agent Harper?”
Jo surveyed the tempting array of treats and pointed at a plate of buttermilk-currant scones. “I want one of those. I know I should go for the nuts-and-seeds bread, but we ran five miles this morning.”
“You ran five miles. I slogged.”
But when she reached into the case, Beth grabbed two scones—one for Jo, one for herself—and set them on small evergreen-colored plates. Jo got mugs and filled them at the coffee bar.
They joined Scott at his table overlooking the river. He was in uniform, and Jo recognized the prestigious silver ram’s horns insignia that identified him as a member of the Vermont State Police search-and-rescue team. He gave Jo a quick glance, then got up and addressed Beth. “I have to run.”
Beth didn’t look the least bit offended. “Dominique’s making leek-and-goat-cheese tarts,” she said, referring to Dominique Belair, one of the three “sisters.” Beth grinned. “I can snag one for dinner—”
“That’s okay,” Scott said with the barest flicker of a smile. “I’ll see you later, though.”
Once he was back on the street, Jo sighed. “Looks as if I ran off your trooper boyfriend.”
“Scott,” Beth said. “His name is Scott. I guess he could have been nicer to you, huh?”
“Nah. He did what I’d have done in his position—be polite and scoot.”
“He’ll like you once things settle down with you and that Internet flap. But he really is good-looking, isn’t he?”
“Very. I think I saw dimples when he smiled at you.”
“Don’t tell him he has dimples. He’ll never warm up to you.”
Jo laughed, relishing her sister’s company. How long had it been since they’d had lazy days to spend together? “Fresh scones, hot coffee and a nice view. Life in exile’s not too bad.”
Beth snorted. “For you. It’s killing me. Canoeing in the cold yesterday, a five-mile run in the cold this morning.” She gave an exaggerated stretch of her lower back. “A three-mile run would have been fine with me. No run would have been fine. I don’t need to be in shape to leap tall buildings and run after bad guys. Then again, at the rate you’re going, before long neither will you.”
Jo broke open her scone, which was filled with tiny dried currants. “Fair point.”
“I’m just saying.” Beth dipped her knife into a small pot of Vermont-made butter and slathered it on her scone. “You like this kid, Charlie, don’t you?”
“Charlie counts on people liking him.”
“Maybe he was looking for attention with that prank of his. Big family, father’s the vice president—you Secret Service types everywhere. It can’t be all that easy to stand out.”
“Not my problem. He and his friends and bazillion cousins are okay. That’s really all that matters.”
“Even if you lose your job?”
“Even if.”
“That’s very Secret Service of you, video or no video.”
“I’ll survive. There are other jobs for someone who can leap tall buildings and run after bad guys.” Jo smiled at her sister. “The Vermont State Police might take me.”
Beth almost spit out her coffee. “Scott would just die, wouldn’t he?”
A muffled sob back toward the glass case drew their attention, and they both turned as Nora Asher burst from the café kitchen, whipping off a dark green apron and charging for the front door.
Jo started to