The look he continued to give Rod promised the guy he’d deal with him later.
“Yeah. Right.” Rod said slowly with a nod. “I should be going. It was good meeting you.”
The last was said quickly before Rod turned and made a hasty exit. Yes, Ethan was definitely paying his friend a visit after his shift.
“So, do you have a few moments to answer a couple of questions about Ms. Merin?” Reardon asked when he and Ethan were alone.
“No. I don’t.” Ethan’s response was curt, but he wasn’t going to retract it, nor was he going to apologize.
“I just want to know what she was like growing up. What type of childhood leads to a phenomenal career in the adult entertainment industry?” he continued.
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I’m not in the adult entertainment industry.”
“No. I heard. You and your friends opened this bar a year ago. You all come from different careers, one of the Greer twins—Delancey—was with the police department in D.C. while, the older one, Delano, went a step above to work for the DEA. Noah Jordan was a Hollywood stuntman. I was a huge fan of Rock Patterson when he was on the wrestling circuit. And Jeret McCoy’s an ex-Army Ranger.”
“You did your research,” Ethan said. He didn’t like that at all.
“I did,” Reardon admitted with a nod. “You were with the Secret Service, so I couldn’t find out too much about you. But that’s cool. I’m really looking for your insights on Portia. Was she abused as a child? Is that what turned her into a sex goddess? Her father’s in politics. I plan on speaking to him next.”
“Don’t!” Ethan snapped.
Reardon tilted his head and Ethan knew he’d just moved Wayne Merin’s name up to the top of people this jerk was going to contact.
“Are the two of you involved in a romantic relationship?” Reardon asked next.
“I don’t have any comments,” Ethan told him.
Reardon nodded. “You drive a silver Yukon Denali, right?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
“I’ve seen it a few times, parked in front of that bright house where I was told Portia is staying,” the nosy reporter said. “A few times.”
A muscle twitched in Ethan’s jaw as he glared at the man.
“It’s cool, man. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Reardon said with a slow grin spreading. “Providence is a nice little town. And if there’s one thing I know about small towns, it’s that there’s no shortage of people willing to give you all the details of everyone who lives around them.”
“That’s not what you want to do,” Ethan warned. “Your best bet is to turn around and head out of town. Leave the people of Providence and Portia Merin alone.”
Reardon took a step back and folded his arms over his scrawny chest. “Is that a threat, former Agent Ethan Henley?”
Ethan kept eye contact and never wavered as he replied, “That’s the best and the last piece of advice I’m going to offer you, Brent Reardon from The Wire.”
* * *
It was too early in the day for pink colored shots, so Portia had made a pitcher of lemonade and baked some of Sunny’s famous chocolate chip cookies. She carried a tray with two glasses and a plate of cookies out to the porch where Camy sat waiting for her.
“Oh. My. Goodness!” Camy exclaimed when Portia sat the tray down on the small stained-glass topped table that sat between the porch swing and two white Adirondack chairs.
Portia met with Cynthia yesterday and since the repairs to the house were just about complete, the realtor had suggested Portia work on curb appeal to help boost the price for the house. Sunny had scoffed at the idea but gave Portia the go ahead to access one of her many bank accounts to do whatever was needed to get the place sold. Portia had accepted her godmother’s approval, but used her own money to pay for landscaping and the new porch furniture, just as she’d paid for all the additional repairs after the storm.
“This smell brings back so many memories,” Camy was saying as she grabbed a napkin and three still-warm cookies. “Rylan and I used to walk all the way over here after school. She lived just down that block and was my excuse for getting a closer look at Sunnydale and these fabulous cookies.”
Portia bit into a cookie and had to moan herself. All of Sunny’s recipes were scribbled in a tattered book she’d kept in the kitchen drawer. Portia now had that book in her bag.
“Cookies and lemonade,” she said. “That’s what she always served while I did my homework. Of course, she had Caribbean rum in her glass, but she would eat just as many cookies as I did.”
Camy laughed. “Those were the good ‘ole days.”
