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The next instant, Quinn glanced his way, spotted Andy, and smiled.

The quick, unguarded smile caught Andy off-guard. He felt the warmth of it bloom in his chest like the first kiss of spring.

He smiled back.

The next thing he knew, Quinn was in front of him. “Perfect timing. I think our table’s ready.”

Sure enough, the waitress was there, leading the way to one of the garland-festooned booths in the back. Andy was weirdly conscious of Quinn walking behind him. He found himself wondering if his collar was straight and his cowlick smoothed down. What the hell? Why was he suddenly so self-conscious?

His collar wasalwaysstraight. His cowlick wasalwayssmoothed.

And why would he care if they weren’t?

This wasnota date.

Just two friends having dinner.

He slid into the long, wide booth, feeling defensive and on edge. He shrugged out of his coat. The waitress took their drink orders, withdrew, and Quinn smiled across at Andy.

“You look nice.”

That was probably about as neutral a compliment as there was, but when matched with the gleam in Quinn’s eyes and that smile, somehow felt like so much more.

Andy said, “I thought the least I could do was shower.”

Quinn’s grin widened. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”

Andy tore his gaze away from Quinn’s smiling appreciation, and studied the long room with its open beams and stone fireplace. Glittery red and gold holiday wreaths studded the dark paneling over each booth. Andy kept forgetting Christmas was just a few days away, but everyone else in the bar seemed in a celebratory mood.

“I had to look this place up on Google maps. It wasn’t here the last time I visited Uncle C.”

“They’ve only been open a couple of years. What’s the latest on Cutty?”

Andy shook his head. “Same. No change.”

Quinn’s eyes darkened. “Hey,” he said softly, then broke off as the waitress returned with their drinks: Sazerac for Quinn and an Old Fashioned for Andy.

Hilton, their waitress, turned out to have been in chemistry class with Andy the year he had attended the regional high school in Camden. She asked about Uncle C., asked Quinn how the house was coming along, and chatted a few minutes more before she continued on her mission of mercy.

As she moved out of earshot, Andy said, “Ruthanne seemed to think I should warn you that Chief Millard has asked the FBI to run a background check on you.”

Quinn, alert and silent, stared at Andy for a long moment, and then he laughed. “I wish I could see his face when he getsthat report.” He took a swallow of his drink, laughed again. There was a hard edge to that laugh.

Before Andy could ask the obvious question, Quinn changed the subject. “Let’s talk about Bok.”

Every nerve in Andy’s body tightened. He tried to keep his tone neutral. “I’m assuming he hasn’t left town.”

“I think we can take it for granted Bok isn’t leaving of his own free will.”

Well, with no job, it wasn’t like anyone needed Marcus to be in a certain place at a certain time. His funds were limited to whatever room was left on his credit cards, but he had a lot of cards, and he was surprisingly good at getting people to extend him credit.

“I guess we start with the restraining order.”

Quinn said, “He’s holed up at the Bay Leaf in Lincolnville.”

In other words, less than nine minutes away. Andy nodded, sipped his bourbon and Angostura, reminded himself that this was to be expected.

“He’s staying in one of the guest cottages, so it’s hard for anyone to keep track of his comings and goings.”