Romancing the Gravestone by Showalter Gena & Monroe Jill

Author:Showalter, Gena & Monroe, Jill [Showalter, Gena & Monroe, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Romance, Contemporary, Adult
Amazon: B098HXBN9Q
Goodreads: 58473358
Publisher: Author Talk Media LLC
Published: 2021-09-25T07:00:00+00:00

There he was. Anthony Miller. He hunched over the hotel bar, alone, swirling amber liquid in a short, round glass. Shadows and light twined over him. Mostly shadows. Dark gray walls and low-burn candles provided a dimming effect. Soft music played in the background. Only a few other people occupied the space.

He looked anywhere from forty to sixty. His mostly pepper hair was disheveled, some of the short strands like spikes. Strain etched lines around his eyes and mouth. A wrinkled shirt was half tucked and half untucked. He had only rolled up one sleeve.

Jane closed the distance before Beau attempted to talk her out of this. He remained close to her heels. At the bar, he darted ahead to pull out a chair for her—a chair two barstools over from Miller. Dang him. She’d hoped to snag the spot at the lawyer’s side. Nothing she could do now but accept.

Beau, the most terrible partner in non-crime ever, claimed the seat between them, putting himself closer to the man Jane would be questioning.

She leaned into her companion, breathing in a scent so different from Conrad’s but just as amazing, and whispered, “You are the best and worst friend of all time. You know that, right?”

He bent his head to hers and whispered back, “You are the oldest friend I have, and I will always put your safety first.”

Gah! How could she remain annoyed with him now?

Mr. Miller sneered at them. “You guys in love?” He slurred his words.

Already drunk? Perfect. Jane all but leaped over Beau to get closer to Mr. Miller. “Define love.”

“The biggest mistake anyone anywhere can make,” he grumbled, then tossed the rest of his drink down the hatch. He focused on her while swaying in his seat, frowned and pointed. “You’re familiar to me. Why are you familiar?”

Rather than admitting they lived in the same small town, she said, “Hi, I’m Jane.”

“Tony,” he muttered.

Beau urged her into her chair and ordered sweet teas for the two of them—teas she would be paying for.

“I gotta say, Tony, your definition of love is, um, unique,” she said. “Are you having relationship troubles?”

Beau arched a brow at her, all you did not just blurt that out. What? She’d cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“Oh, I’m having troubles all right.” Tony ordered himself another round. The dirtiest martinis they had. “My soon-to-be ex-wife cheated on me with her boss. Someone killed the guy. I hope they made it hurt.” His beverage arrived, and he downed it, too.

Okay. Wow. He’d answered so swiftly and eagerly, as if the words had been poised at the end of his tongue for ages and he’d only awaited a listening ear. Or he’d realized who she was and brilliantly laid a foundation to fit his innocence.

“You know what we should do for revenge?” she said. “Spray-paint something on your wife’s car.” She winced inside at her poor and abrupt delivery. Oh, well. Onward and upward. “Do you happen to have any cans of spray paint handy? We can help you.

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