Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5) Read Free

its intermittent gusts. Over her thin frame hung a surprisingly fashionable coat, a deep navy double-breasted, knee-length affair with dual columns of shiny brass buttons and a flare over her negligible hips. She’d paired the ensemble with a set of black leggings and mid-calf suede boots.
    Though I’d never understood the appeal of Cairny’s monochromatic look, I had to admit, she looked good. But being me, I couldn’t compliment her in anything but a backhanded manner.
    “Hey, Cairny,” I said. “Nice coat. Vampire couture, or military surplus?”
    Cairny blinked her big doe eyes at me and tilted her head in confusion. “Neither. I picked it up last week at Beale’s.”
    “Don’t mind him,” said Steele. “You look great.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’m just pulling your leg. It’s a haute look.”
    “That’s one of the reasons I bought it,” said Cairny. “With winter here, I needed something warm.”
    “Not hot. Haute,” I said.
    Cairny looked to Steele for guidance, who in turn looked to me. “You mean high-class? If so, it’s pronounced ‘oht.’”
    “Really?” I asked.
    Everyone nodded—even Rodgers with his mouth full of scone, though there’s no way he could’ve known what the word meant, much less how it was spoken.
    “If it’s pronounced ‘oat,’ then why in the world does it start with an ‘h?’” I said. “See, this is the problem with my reading habit. I’ve seen that word in print, and so I thought myself an expert, but apparently I’ve been saying it wrong this whole time.”
    Steele lifted her eyebrow. “What books are you reading that deal in high fashion?”
    I opened my mouth to answer, but a big, rumbling voice reminiscent of a bass drum responded for me. “Oh, Daggers might talk a good game about liking mysteries and thrillers, but I suspect he dabbles in his fair share of historical romances, too.”
    Quinto stepped from behind the lumber pile, flashing his mismatched buckteeth in a smile as he joined Cairny. He dwarfed his coroner girlfriend by about ten inches and at least two hundred pounds, and in the wan morning sunlight, his skin shimmered with an unhealthy gray pallor—a byproduct of his alleged part-troll heritage. Whereas Cairny radiated an awkward charm, Quinto’s wide frame and battered, buzz cut-topped melon produced a more terrifying response—at least until you got to know the snuggly teddy bear beneath.
    “Hey, even historical romances are better than whatever you read,” I said. “What gets you off? Actuarial tables?”
    “Hey, now,” said Rodgers as he swallowed. “Quinto knows how to have fun. He’s neglected to take work home with him, what? Two whole days this week?”
    The big guy stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned. “I get caught up in cases. So sue me.”
    Cairny shot her beau a warm smile. “Well, I like that he’s so committed. Besides, he sets his work aside when other things draw his attention.”
    Quinto’s frown disappeared. He chuckled and gave Cairny a hungry glance. “Indeed.”
    I grimaced and sent a finger to loosen my collar—except I wasn’t wearing one. One of the few perks of detective work was the lax dress code, which I took full advantage of with a varied collection of dark cotton shirts and an ancient leather jacket I’d worn down to the bone. Virtually everyone at the precinct had urged me to retire the thing, going so far as to claim it was attracting vultures, but I still felt it had a few good years left in it.
    “How about I make you two a deal?” I said. “Keep the smoochie smoochie and mooneyes to a minimum, and I’ll feed you breakfast.” I held up my white paper bag as evidence.
    Quinto eyed the offering. “Seems like a raw deal, as I can’t imagine you intended all those scones for Rodgers alone.”
    “Is that a challenge?” said Rodgers. “Because I think I could plow through at least three more of those. Or I could if someone had brought me coffee.”
    “You’re still