The Witness

fact that everything about her at that precise moment struck him as grab-your-balls sexy.
    It just was—right down to the edgy annoyance on her face.
    He snagged the wine, slid out of the car.
    “Evening.” He strolled toward her as if she wasn’t packing a Glock, didn’t have a dog who could probably sink its teeth into the jugular before he cleared his own weapon from its holster.
    She eyed the bottle he carried. “What’s that?”
    “It’s a couple of things, actually. One, it’s a pretty nice wine. Second, it’s an apology.”
    “For what?”
    “My mother. I was over there for dinner the other night, and mentioned I’d been out here. She hopped right on that. So … sorry for the intrusion.”
    “So you’re intruding to apologize for an intrusion.”
    “Technically. But it’s a pretty nice wine. So, been out for a walk?”
    “Why?”
    “You got some mud on your boots. Some rain last night. It gets things greening up, but it brings the mud, too. Do you always carry a gun when you walk your dog?”
    She always carried a gun, period, but that wasn’t any of his business. “I was target shooting. The wine isn’t necessary.”
    “Wine’s not necessary, but it’s one of those enjoyable perks that comes along.” He turned it so the pretty straw-colored wine caught the light. “Where are you set up, for target practice?”
    “Why do you ask so many questions? Why do you keep coming here, with your wine and your pie? What is
wrong
with you people? What are you grinning at?”
    “Which question do you want me to answer first?” When she merelygave him a stony stare, he shrugged. “In order, then. I’m a naturally curious sort of man, plus cop. So questions are part of it. It’s likely I got some of that curious from my mother, who came out here, with pie, because she was. And because she’s a friendly sort of woman. I already explained about the wine. From my point of view, nothing’s wrong with us. We just are what we are. Your point of view might come in different. I was grinning because I’d wondered if there was any temper in there. It lights you up. It’s nice to see the light. Did I cover it?”
    His eyes were amber in the late-afternoon sun, and his smile appealing. She thought he owned that easy, conversational style the way other men owned socks. “You think you’re charming.”
    “Yeah. That’s probably a flaw, but who wants perfect? I answered your questions, but you didn’t answer mine. Where are you set up?”
    “Why do you want to know?”
    “A couple of reasons. One, that curiosity again. Second, as a cop, knowing I’ve got a woman who carries habitually? I’d like to know if she can handle what she carries.”
    “I’m an excellent shot.”
    “So you say. I could tell you I can tango like an Argentinean, but unless I demonstrate, I might be lying—or exaggerating.”
    “It’s doubtful every Argentinean can tango.”
    “Like one who can, then.”
    “If I demonstrate my shooting skills, will you leave me alone?”
    “Well, now, Abigail, I can’t make a deal like that. I may have to come back. What if a gang of extremists tried to abduct you? Or aliens. We’ve got any number of people around here who’ll swear about those aliens—the E.T. kind, I mean. In fact, Beau Mugsley claims he gets abducted twice a year like clockwork.”
    “That’s absurd.”
    “Not according to Beau Mugsley. Don’t get him started on anal probes. And putting that aside, you’re an intriguing woman.”
    “I don’t want to be intriguing.”
    “And see that? Now you’re just more intriguing.”
    “And if there’s intelligent life on other planets, I hardly think they’d spend their time attempting an abduction on someone who’s minding her own business.”
    “You never know, do you?”
    She simply didn’t know how to argue with someone like him, someone who made no
sense
and was so damn affable about it. Add in the tenacity and the cop curiosity, she determined she was stuck.
    “I’ll satisfy your misplaced concern about my target-shooting skills. Then you can go.”
    “That’s a good place to start.” He noted that she laid a hand on the dog’s head before she turned. “Ma tells me your dog speaks French,” Brooks said as he fell into step beside her. “I took two years in high school, mostly—okay, completely—because the French teacher was hot. Smoking. Not a lot stuck with me, but I had two years of gazing at the hotness of Ms.