Read Online Whiskey Island by Emilie Richards - Free Book Online

okay. Let him go.”
    The man shook his head. He had short dark hair, which contrasted with Earl’s pseudopompadour and sideburns. He had appealing but unremarkable features, the perfect face for a man who wanted to go undercover.
    “I think he needs to say it. It’ll be good for his conscience. Right?” He addressed the last to Earl.
    “Get out of my way.” Earl was snarling now, Elvis in his final years.
    “Not much chance.”
    “Do I know you?” Casey asked.
    Earl charged before the stranger could answer. The stranger stepped back and lifted an arm to deflect Earl’s weight, shifting his own weight forward as he did. Earl lurched and reeled 180 degrees, and the stranger twisted Earl’s arm behind his back and held it there.
    “Ex-cuse me….” The stranger spaced the syllables evenly. He was demonstrating, not apologizing.
    Earl was facing Casey now. She wasn’t sure which of them was the more surprised. “Just say it,” she said softly. Because the bar was crowded, so far they hadn’t attracted much attention, but that could change quickly. “For Pete’s sake, Earl. Say it and get out of here.”
    Earl mumbled something that sounded enough like “excuse me” to satisfy the stranger. The stranger released him, but Casey noticed he didn’t shift his weight from the balls of his feet. He was ready if Earl whirled and attacked.
    “You just missed the best sex you’d have had in a decade, baby.” Earl straightened his T-shirt. As a gesture of rebellion, it fell flat.
    “Have it without me,” Casey said wearily. “You won’t even notice.”
    Earl sidestepped the stranger, taking care not to touch him, and took the straightest path to the exit. Casey watched until the door closed behind him. Then she switched her gaze to the stranger.
    “Do I know you?” she repeated.
    “Still hanging out with the losers, Casey? The dropouts and the druggies?”
    She bristled at that. “I don’t do drugs. Never did, and I choose my friends accordingly.”
    “Yeah, I guess that’s right. The kids you hung out with always looked tougher on the outside than they were. But not many of them won academic prizes, either.”
    “What’s this, a slam at every man who doesn’t wear a suit?”
    “Not at all. I know a lot of men in suits with fewer brains than your friend Earl. Some of them are running this county. It’s more of an introduction. A memory jog. I was one of those losers.” He smiled gravely, and when he did, she knew him.
    “Jon Kovats.” She cocked her head, as if a different angle might give her new information. “God, we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”
    “A long time ago.”
    The conversation in question had been more of a longstanding dialogue than one blowout extravaganza. She and Jon had attended the same high school, an overcrowded public institution roughly divided between the kids who hoped to make something out of their lives and the ones who were looking for easy answers. They had been tracked in the same gifted classes, thrown together because of high IQs and a dollop of motivation to go with them. They had rebelled together, cut classes whenever they could, and studied together when they couldn’t.
    Over the years they had become close friends and academic rivals.
    “You always were a sucker for lost causes.” Jon lowered himself to the stool that Earl had vacated and looked up at her. But he didn’t have to look far, because sitting, he was still nearly as tall as she was.
    “No, I just wasn’t the snob that you were.” Casey noted the things about him that hadn’t seemed important before. The deep-set hazel eyes, the square jut of his jaw, the fact that a scrawny teenage rebel had morphed into a broad-shouldered man in a suit.
    “Me? I wasn’t a snob. I come from a long line of Hungarian peasants. I was born with dirt under my fingernails.”
    She lifted one of his hands to examine it. She rested it in the palm of hers. “You’ve scrubbed