The Art of Love and Murder Read Online Free Page A

switched to a brisk walk for the last block. Activity along her route had been minimal; a few cars pulled into what looked like a city building across from the park and the library on the west end. The shops along San Francisco Street hadn’t opened for business yet. She stopped at the far end of the Grand View and stretched. The air snapped with crispness while the San Francisco Peaks offered a breathtaking view.
    The run through pine-scented, chilly air had cleared the cobwebs left from sleep better than the caffeine offered at the Lacy Latte. She thought of Hazel opening the café this morning without her and hoped the Rendezvous, a bright, fifties era restaurant in the hotel, had chai as good as the tea offered at her café in Scottsdale.
    She waved to the morning desk clerk, mundanely dressed compared to his nighttime counterpart, before she veered out of the subdued lighting of the lobby and into the bright lighting of the Rendezvous. The coffee café by day and martini bar by night extended off the lobby and contrasted with the 1920 hotel decor. A pudgy-faced barista greeted her when she approached the counter.
    She scanned the menu, pleasantly surprised. “Let me have a large vanilla chai with skim and...” She looked into the glass-covered shelves of pastries. “...a low-fat berry muffin.”
    “For here or to go?”
    “To go, but...” She glanced over the area around her until spotting a shelf of mugs and accessories. She couldn’t stand drinking from paper. “I need to buy a mug.” She chose the largest one with a lid, a blue silhouette of the peaks and the Rendezvous name emblazoned below. “Could you rinse this out for me and put my chai in it?” She dug in her hoodie pocket for money.
    “Are you eating on the run, or running while you eat?”
    She glanced up into striking, coppery-brown eyes that had gone unnoticed in the dim light of the street lamp last night. “Oh, hello.”
    “There’s that startled look again. Am I so scary, even in the light?”
    Scary, no. Heart-stopping, maybe. If she’d seen him clearly last night, she might have been startled from attraction instead of from fear he could be the bad guy. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know anyone here, and I was, you know, concentrating on the money, so, um, I, um...” She hastily turned to the pudgy-faced young man. “How much did you say?” She handed over the money. “Keep the change.” With tea and paper bag in hand, she retreated away from the counter. “I’ll get out of your way.”
    “I don’t mind at all.” A hint of tease sparkled in his eyes before he turned his head toward the barista. “Coffee, black.”
    “Which blend, sir?”
    “Blend?” Her rescuer glanced at the menu over his head. “Hell, if I know. What’s good and strong in the morning?”
    Inwardly, she smiled. In the early morning light without the threat of a dark alley, he presented a much friendlier side. And yet, he still made her nervous, but in a good way.
    The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I like Sumatra.”
    “Okay, Sumatra.” He turned his gaze on her. “So, which is it?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Eating on the run or running while you eat?” The side of his mouth twitched and he shrugged. “Lame joke.”
    A part of her relaxed. Her gorgeous, stoic rescuer had a vulnerable side perhaps. She snickered. “I’ve had my morning run. I’m taking my chai and muffin to my room.”
    “Chai?”
    “Tea.”
    “Here you go, sir.” The barista set his coffee on the counter while her rescuer dug money from his pocket.
    She took in his broad shoulders beneath the navy T-shirt and his defined profile. Today, his hair hung loose and thick around his neck. A few strands fell forward onto his forehead. A scar marred his chin. Not a perfect face, but perfectly, ruggedly handsome. Her peripheral vision admired the way he filled out his jeans. Her reaction surprised her; it had been a long time since she’d noticed a man.
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