Losing Control - By Robyn Grady Page 0,19

know a newbie when she'd be history next week anyway?

That half dozen at the cooler spotted Taryn moving from her office down the corridor. She sent them a friendly smile. When all but two looked away, pretending not to see, Cole's chest squeezed and the back of his neck went hot. Then the mob saw the boss strolling toward them. Women's eyes rounded, men cleared their throats, and one or two muttered a hasty hello.

Cole strode right past and up to Taryn. Loud enough for all to hear, he asked, "When are you booking this location survey?"

Taryn looked sideways, as if he might be drunk or fevered. Then she shook herself and replied.

"I was thinking weekend after this."

Feeling six pairs of eyes and ears upon them, Cole nodded. "Sort out expenses with accounts."

Taryn took a few seconds to respond with a shaky smile. "Sure. I'll do it straightaway."

"That's expenses for two."

"A cameraman?"

"You and me."

Some of the color drained from her cheeks. "You really want to go?"

His reply was a curt nod. Then he headed off toward his office, but at a reduced pace. He wanted to hear the introductions as Taryn met with that watercooler crowd. There was even a smattering of laughter.

He wouldn't think about the potential mess he'd gotten himself into or the hope he'd given Taryn Quinn. He couldn't remember the last time he'd acted impulsively like that. If he didn't feel so good about it, if he couldn't imagine Taryn's smile right now, he'd be disappointed in himself.
Chapter Seven
"It's a mistake."

Leaning against the garage pylon, Cole crossed his arms and responded to Brandon's statement. "Duly noted."

And dismissed.

This morning, Cole had dropped in to this double-story bayside home to find his friend lavishing time and attention on his pride and joy - a vintage Harley-Davidson. He would have offered to help but Cole knew from old. Brandon didn't let anyone near his bike. That the showroom-quality cruiser ever made it out onto the street was a miracle. Guess everyone had their passions. Their weaknesses.

Cole's thoughts veered to Taryn Quinn and her exuberant expression the day he'd given the go-ahead for her location survey. He'd be a liar not to admit he was looking forward to spending time alone with her. And who knew? What she had organized might surprise him. If he'd planned to be away from the station longer, he'd have asked Roman Lyons to take the reins. But he'd only be gone from work Friday. Three days in all. And two nights. Brandon's conversation brought him back. He wanted out from Cole's request that he investigate Eloise.

"From what you tell me," Brandon said, polishing a handlebar as if it were a shapely female limb, "the guy responsible for the attempts on your father's life has gone to his maker."

"So it would seem."

"A death certificate's pretty final."

"What if this guy was a patsy?"

"It's possible. Has your father's man mentioned anything about inconsistencies with regard to Eloise's loyalties?"

"Not as yet."

"Like I said." In a white tee and faded jeans, Brandon straightened his linebacker shoulders and snapped the polishing rag at the air. "You want her tailed? Big mistake."

"That's my call." Cole wanted Eloise cleared of all suspicion, if only for his own peace of mind. "Tell me what you know so far."

Since their phone call five days ago, Brandon had dug around Eloise Hunter nee Warren's background. Born in Atlanta. Current age, thirty-five. Father a political figure. Mother a close friend of Cole's mom. Busted for soft drugs in high school. No conviction.

Polishing the other handlebar now, Brandon confirmed that Guthrie had met Eloise when she was much younger. They caught up again when he flew out to visit his late wife's remaining relatives some months after her death. The subsequent contact between the two gave "consoling the bereaved" a whole new nauseating meaning.

Cole pushed off the pylon. "Stick with it. And can you look into my father's new housekeeper while you're at it? Nancy Someone-or-other. She's far too creepy to be actually guilty of anything. Still..."

Brandon chuckled. "Not your type?"

Remembering the mustache, Cole shuddered. "Not by any stretch."

Brandon ran a palm over the gleaming crimson fuel tank. "So what is happening with your love life?"

"What love life?"

"That's what I figured."

"I'm busy."

"Remember that sweet thing you dated in our Navy Cadet days? Don't think you've had a steady relationship since."

"A year-long crush on a lieutenant's daughter isn't a steady relationship."

"Dear, sweet Meredith McReedy. She broke your heart."

"Like an egg in a skillet," Cole confirmed with a grin,