Inner Harbor by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

into a wobbly table as far away from the amps as humanly possible. The smoke and noise didn’t bother her, nor did the sticky floor or the jittery table. Her choice of seating afforded her the clearest view of the occupants.
    She’d been desperate to escape her hotel room for a couple of hours. Now she was set to sit back, enjoy a glass of wine, and observe the natives.
    The waitress who approached was a petite brunette with an enviable bustline and a cheery smile. “Hi. What can I get you?”
    â€œA glass of Chardonnay and a side of ice.”
    â€œComing right up.” She set a black plastic bowl filled with pretzels on the table and picked her way back to the bar, taking orders as she went.
    Sybill wondered if she’d just had her first encounter with Ethan’s wife. Her information was that Grace Quinn worked at this bar. But there had been no wedding ring on the little brunette’s finger, and Sybill assumed that a new bride would certainly wear one.
    The other waitress? That one looked dangerous, she decided. Blond, built, and brooding. She was certainly attractive, in an obvious way. Still, nothing about her shouted newlywed either, particularly the way she leaned over an appreciative customer’s table to give him the full benefit of her cleavage.
    Sybill frowned and nibbled on a pretzel. If that was Grace Quinn, she would definitely be scratched from mother-figure status.
    Something happened in the ball game, Sybill assumed, asthe three men began to shout, cheering on someone named Eddie.
    Out of habit she took out her notebook and began to record observations. The backslapping and arm punching of male companions. The body language of the females, leaning in for intimacy. The hair flipping, the eye shifting, hand gesturing. And of course, the mating ritual of the contemporary couple through the dance.
    That was how Phillip saw her when he came in. She was smiling to herself, her gaze roaming, her hand scribbling. She looked, he thought, very cool, very remote. She might have been behind a thin sheet of one-way glass.
    She’d pulled her hair back so that it lay in a sleek tail on her neck and left her face unframed. Gold drops studded with single colored stones swung at her ears. He watched her put her pen down to shrug out of a suede jacket of pale yellow.
    He had driven in on impulse, giving in to restlessness. Now he blessed that vaguely dissatisfied mood that had dogged him all evening. She was, he decided, exactly what he’d been looking for.
    â€œSybill, right?” He saw the quick surprise flicker in her eyes when she glanced up. And he saw that those eyes were as clear and pure as lake water.
    â€œThat’s right.” Recovering, she closed her notebook and smiled. “Phillip, of Boats by Quinn.”
    â€œYou here alone?”
    â€œYes . . . unless you’d like to sit down and have a drink.”
    â€œI’d love to.” He pulled out a chair, nodding toward her notebook. “Did I interrupt you?”
    â€œNot really.” She shifted her smile to the waitress when her wine was served.
    â€œHey, Phil, want a draft?”
    â€œMarsha, you read my mind.”
    Marsha, Sybill thought. That eliminated the perky brunette. “It’s unusual music.”
    â€œThe music here consistently sucks.” He flashed a smile, quick, charming, and amused. “It’s a tradition.”
    â€œHere’s to tradition, then.” She lifted her glass, sipped, then with a little hmmm began transferring ice into the wine.
    â€œHow would you rate the wine?”
    â€œWell, it’s basic, elemental, primitive.” She sipped again, smiled winningly. “It sucks.”
    â€œThat’s also a proud Shiney’s tradition. He’s got Sam Adams on draft. It’s a better bet.”
    â€œI’ll remember that.” Lips curved, she tilted her head. “Since you know the local traditions, I take it you’ve