know.”
Jordan smiled. “Then we all better look out.”
The thought seemed to perk Martin up. In good spirits, he headed off to the storage room for another case of the zinfandel while Jordan returned to the backroom to finish her lunch. It was after three o’clock, which meant that if she didn’t eat now she wouldn’t get another chance until the store closed at nine. Soon enough, they would have a steady stream of customers.
Wine was hot, one of the few industries continuing to do well despite the economic downturn. But Jordan liked to think her store’s success was based on more than just a trend. She’d searched for months for the perfect space: on a major street, where there would be plenty of foot traffic, and large enough to fit several tables and chairs in addition to the display space they would need for the wine. With its warm tones and exposed brick walls, her store had an intimate feel that drew customers in and invited them to stay awhile.
By far the smartest business decision she’d made had been to apply for an on-premise liquor license, which allowed them to pour and serve wine in the shop. She’d set up highboy tables and chairs along the front windows and tucked a few additional tables into cozy nooks between the wine bins. Starting around five o’clock on virtually every night they were open, the place was hopping with customers buying wines by the glass and taking note of the bottles they planned to purchase when leaving.
Today, however, was not one of those days.
Outside, the snow continued to fall steadily. By seven o’clock the weathermen amended their predictions and were now calling for a whopping eight to ten inches. In anticipation of the storm, people were staying inside. Jordan had an event booked at the store that evening, a wine tasting, but the party called to reschedule. Since Martin had a longer commute than she did, she sent him home early. At seven thirty, she began closing the shop, thinking it highly unlikely she’d get any customers.
When finished up front, Jordan went into the backroom to turn off the sound system. As always at closing, the store felt eerily quiet and empty without the eclectic mix of Billie Holiday, The Shins, Norah Jones, and Moby she’d put together for this week’s soundtrack. She grabbed her snow boots from behind the door, and had just sat down at her desk to replace the three-inch-heel black leather boots she wore, when the chime on the front door rang.
A customer. Surprising.
Jordan stood up and stepped out of the back room, thinking somebody had to be awfully desperate to come out for wine in this weather. “You’re in luck. I was just about to close for the . . .”
Her words trailed off as she stopped at the sight of the two men standing near the front of the store. For some reason, she felt tingles at the back of her neck. Perhaps it had something to do with the man closer to the door—he didn’t look like her typical customer.
He had chestnut brown hair, and scruff along his jaw that gave him a dark, bad-boy look. Right off the bat, something about his demeanor, the way he commanded one’s attention, made her think he was a man used to getting his way. He was tall, and wore a black wool coat over what appeared to be a well-built physique. He was good-looking, no doubt, but unlike Cal Kittredge, he seemed rather . . . rough. Unpolished. Except for his eyes. Green as emeralds, they stood out brilliantly against his dark hair and five o’clock shadow as he watched her intently.
He took a step forward.
She took a step back.
A slight grin played at the edges of his lips, as if he found this amusing.
She wondered how fast she could make it to the emergency panic button underneath the bar.
The shorter man, the one wearing glasses and a camel-colored trench coat, cleared his throat. “Are you Jordan Rhodes?”
She debated whether to answer this. But the blond man seemed safer than the tall, dark one. “I am.”
The blond man pulled a badge out of his jacket. “I’m Agent Seth Huxley, this is Agent Nick McCall. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
This caught her off guard. “The FBI?” The last time she’d seen anyone from the FBI had been at Kyle’s arraignment.
“We’d like to discuss a matter concerning your brother,” the blond man said. He seemed very serious