Page 28 of Too Close To Home

Beside him, Brodie’s spine seemed to straighten of its own accord, every ounce of swagger draining away at the sight of authority. “Right. Aye. Sorry. Come in.”

A moment ago, Jake had been half a sentence away from telling Brodie exactly where he could shove his opinions. Now the irritation simply folded in on itself, still there but suddenly nowhere near as interesting as the man crossing the threshold.

And Jake became horribly aware of himself.

The stool he’d kicked. The half-drunk coffee on the bar. Brodie’s fucking comment hanging in the air like an accusation. His muddy work clothes. His hair, which he hadn’t done a thing with since dragging himself out of bed. Even the way he was standing.

Harrison’s gaze moved across the pub before settling on Jake again. Calm. Assessing. The sort of look that suggested very little got past him.

He didn’t comment on what he’d walked in on.

Somehow, that was worse.

“Mr Whitton.” Harrison slipped his warrant card back into his pocket. “We really must stop meeting like this.”

Jake snorted. “You’re the one following me.”

“Am I?” Harrison tilted his head, as if genuinely considering the possibility.

Jake said nothing.

Harrison reached into his blazer and drew out a small notebook. “For clarity, then, is there a reason you’re here this morning?”

“Cause I’m already two steps ahead of you.”

“Are you?” Harrison glanced up, hovering his pen over his tiny notepad. “If you have information regarding Miss Fisher’s movements that my officers don’t, it would be extremely helpful if you could share it.”

There was no accusation. Just a calm invitation.

Jake shook his head. “I don’t. But I heard she worked here, and I was here last night, too.”

Harrison frowned. “So you do know Emily Fisher?”

“No. I’m in a band. We played here last night. I didn’t meet her.” He gestured vaguely towards Pete. “I know him. Her boss. Figured I’d ask a few questions.”

“A few questions about what?”

“The girl.”

“Out of polite concern?”

“Aye. Course. What else would it be?”

Harris rubbed a finger across his eyebrow. “In my experience, Mr Whitton, people who insert themselves into an active investigation rarely do so because they’re entirely uninvolved.”

“You think I took her?”

“Did you?”

“No!” Jake snapped. “I didn’t.”

Harrison made a neat note. “What time did you arrive?”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Eight.”