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first,” he said. She wiped the butter off her fingers, slipped out of the booth, and dived into the sweater. It covered her skirt almost completely. She carefully folded up the cuffs until her wrists were visible and looked down at the effect.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” she said. “A bit large, but very warm and beautiful. It must look good on you.” She slipped back into the booth.
    â€œSo my stepmother says. She knit it, she claims, and the color is supposed to be the same as my eyes.” He picked up a piece of garlic bread and realized just how hungry he was.
    â€œI ordered lasagna and salad for both of us. She said it was the best thing on the menu.” She looked over at him, holding up her arm in the direction of her face. “Your stepmother’s right. It is the same color as your eyes. Wow. A beautiful cop. It doesn’t seem fair, somehow. How did you break your nose? And why didn’t you have it fixed?”
    To his horror, he felt himself blushing. “Playing rugger. And I felt it improved my face. You’ve never been a blue-eyed blond male with a cute little nose in a men’s washroom, or you wouldn’t ask me that.”
    â€œI can’t say I have been. You poor lamb,” she said with a grin of mock sympathy.
    He shrugged, as if her tone didn’t matter. “Anyway, life got a bit easier for me after the nose was smashed a couple of times.”
    â€œAt your size?” she asked, and then answered herself. “But of course—you weren’t always that size, were you?” She paused to tackle the beer and garlic bread again. “What’s your name? Besides Sergeant Lucas, that is. Since we’re having dinner together.”
    â€œRobert,” he said uncomfortably.
    â€œBut people don’t call you that,” she said. “Robert’s much too formal for someone who looks like you. And Bob is too casual. I bet they called you Robin at home. I shall call you Robin—unless you object violently.”
    He stared at her in amazement. “And how about you?” he countered with a flash of anger. “Why do you do this to yourself?” He picked up a lock of her hair. “And wear those clothes?”
    â€œOh, that’s nothing. Just part of my professional disguise, that’s all. People expect it. Here comes the lasagna. I hope it’s good.”
    He pulled up in front of a reasonable-looking motel a few blocks farther on. “I guess that’ll do,” she said. “I can look after myself from here. Thanks for the ride. And dinner.”
    â€œI’m coming in with you,” he said, abruptly remembering that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. “Just to make sure they’ve got a room. Besides, what about money? If you really did lose your purse—”
    â€œYou still think I’m lying, don’t you?” She laughed. “I did lose my purse, but I borrowed some money. Remember? I’ve got plenty.” She patted an area in the vicinity of the hipbone.
    â€œPlenty? I figured she lent you a ten.”
    â€œOh, no. Her friend was pretty generous, I reckon, and she’s easygoing about money. She must have thought there was more where that came from. Poor thing.”
    â€œOkay,” he said in a voice heavy with doubt. “I’m coming in anyway, though. Just in case. But I’ll stay in the background.”
    â€œOh, good,” she said dryly. “I wouldn’t want you to sully my reputation. Let’s go.”
    He concealed himself tactfully behind a rack of postcards on the other side of the lobby while she checked in. “Right,” said the man behind the desk, as a key hit the desk with a muted clang. “Room one-sixteen. Right along the corridor over there. You sure you don’t want something on the top floor? It’s quieter.” Lucas strolled over to the desk.
    She picked up her key and shook her head.