“So who’s the hottie out back with Grandpa?” Morgan stood in the hall. A red power suit hugged her tall frame. Totally put together, from her nude pumps to her pearl necklace, her older sister always made Stella feel like the tomboy she’d been in grammar school. While Morgan had jumped rope and practiced her cheers, Stella had played kickball in the street.

“Mac Barrett. I’m sort of working with him.” Stella shook her hair out. “Did you get Gianna to the station?”

“No. She wasn’t at the dialysis center when I got there.” Morgan leaned on the doorframe.

Alarmed, Stella froze. “She’s always there.”

“I was there early and I waited outside until fifteen minutes after you said she’d be done. I went inside. The waiting area was empty, and the nurse behind the counter refused to talk to me.”

“Damn it.” Stella moved faster now, maneuvering around Morgan and speeding to the bathroom. She coiled her damp hair in front of the mirror. “She was hesitant last night when I asked her. I should have known she’d be skittish.”

“You could hardly plan for a flood. Let me do that.” Morgan took over the bun-making. They were polar opposites. Morgan, with her refined silks and polished locks, had always known how to wear a scarf and which earrings complemented each outfit, while Stella was far happier in jeans.

“I’ll swing by her apartment on my way to the station.” Stella reached for her toothbrush.

Morgan did some twisty thing and pinned it into place.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing fancy. A simple chignon.” Morgan tucked a lock into place. “It’s no harder than that same old bun you wear every day.”

“I’m a detective, not a cover model. No one, including me, cares how my hair looks, only that it’s neat and out of my way.”

Morgan’s exhale was filled with disgust. “But honey, that man is really hot.”

“I’ve been working with him for days. He knows what I look like.” After last night, he knew every inch of her.

Morgan sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

“You’re bossy.” Stella echoed their childhood.

“I’m the older sister. I’m supposed to be bossy.” Morgan flashed a quick grin.

Since her husband died, Morgan’s smiles were rare.

“How was the job interview?” Stella waited for an answer. Swigging some mouthwash, Stella studied her sister in the mirror.

“This is Saturday. It wasn’t an interview. It was lunch.” Morgan shrugged.

Stella spit in the sink. “With a guy who wants to hire you. You’re not exactly dressed for running errands.”

“It was a nice restaurant.” Morgan said, but her voice lacked conviction. “And I’m not even sure I want the job. He kept talking about his win of the Simmons case.”