“That’s nice of you to take the time. Give me a moment, and I’m sure I’ll come up with a question or two.”
“Actually, I thought we might meet for a drink tonight. I’m doing some shopping. We could meet up after you finish work.”
“Why not? There’s a bar on the embankment called Happy Joe’s. How about that?”
“I’ll find it.”
After putting the phone down slowly, she glanced up at the colonel’s door, half expecting him to pop out and officially assign her to spy on Tara Roth.
When nothing happened, the tension seeped out of her. She was getting paranoid. The colonel wouldn’t be monitoring her calls—would he?
There were no more calls, despite her constant glare at the phone. She was being pathetic. Time to be proactive. She picked it up and punched in a number.
“Hi, Pete. It’s Faith Connelly. I wondered whether you like to meet me for lunch.”
Chapter Nine
Faith was already seated at a table when Tara walked in. She recognized her from the other night. Small, her blond hair cut into a shoulder-length bob with a green baseball cap on top, and startling green eyes. She also recognized the woman with her, just as short but with spiky dark brown hair, an orange cap, and brown eyes. Rosamund Fairfax was pretty and perky and not a wart in sight—nothing like a witch.
In fact, they both appeared so normal and sort of wholesome that Faith winced. She’d been on the police force since she’d left school fourteen years ago, and she spent a lot of time mixing with lower forms of life. People who looked like this didn’t tend to get mixed up with the police.
She stood as they approached; she was a good six inches taller than either of them. Tara wore jeans, high-heeled sandals, and a pink T-shirt. Roz was dressed the same but her T-shirt was crimson and cropped at the waist baring her midriff with a matching ruby belly-button ring. They made Faith feel dull by comparison in her sensible black pantsuit and very conscious of the pistol shoved in the holster at the small of her back. She should have left it at the office, but she’d been severely reprimanded by the colonel when he’d realized she wasn’t wearing it on her second day and informed her it was compulsory at all times.
Nice to know he was worried—probably scared the vamps or witches would get her. Though could you stop vamps and witches with bullets? She grinned at the thought.
The two women had come to a halt in front of her, and both smiled. They appeared so open and friendly that she smiled back automatically.
“Hi, Detective Connolly,” Tara said. “I brought Roz along, I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course, and call me Faith.” The waiter was hovering behind them. “Would you like a drink?”
“Scotch for me,” Roz said taking the seat closest to her.
“And I’ll have a Coke.” Tara sat opposite Faith, and she sat back down.
“Are you sure?” she asked. She was drinking a glass of Rioja, rich, full-bodied, and nearly empty. “I’ll have another of these.”
“Tara doesn’t drink,” Roz said as the waiter moved away. “Except on special occasions and when all the doors are locked.” She sounded amused and Faith glanced at the blonde, who was scowling good-naturedly.
“Alcohol has a weird effect on me,” she said. “And I like coke.”
Faith sat for a minute sipping her wine and wondering how to proceed. She didn’t have many women friends and she wasn’t good at small talk. Her job took all her time and her energy and even today, when there were more woman on the force, her level was still dominated by men.
Tara wore a pendant hanging on a chain around her neck. Faith found her eyes drawn to the stone. At first, it appeared matte black, but when she peered closer, the black was inlaid with an intricate pattern in dark crimson.
“I love your necklace,” she said. “It’s unusual.”
“It is that,” Roz replied a grin on her face.
Tara touched her finger lightly to the stone and shrugged. “My father gave it to me.”
The waiter brought their drinks and still Faith couldn’t think how to begin. She had a list of questions, but it might be better to get the meeting off on a more friendly footing than treating Tara like a suspect in an interrogation.
Roz relaxed in her seat sipping her scotch and looking vaguely entertained. Faith suspected that while she might not be a witch there was a good chance she was a bitch.
“Have you two known each other long?” Faith asked. Maybe this was what connected Roz to Christian Roth; a little tingle of excitement ran through her.
“No, not long. A month or so. We actually met through your friend, Ryan. Although it turns out we’re sort of distantly related.”
Bugger. There went another theory. If they’d only known each other a month, they couldn’t be the connection that tied Christian Roth to the murder.
“I’ve known Ryan a few years,” Roz offered.