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As she stepped onto the weathered surface, the barrels that supported it pitched beneath her weight. She gave herself a moment to adjust to the rolling movement, then walked slowly to the opposite end, casting her gaze from side to side. Long strands of slimy-looking vegetation swayed beneath the surface of the murky water, tugged by the current. She stifled a shudder. She loved swimming, but preferred man-made pools with concrete bottoms and chlorine-treated water over lakes, with all their aquatic vegetation and muddy base.
At the end of the dock, she squatted down and looked over the edge, trying to imagine the murderer’s movements if he’d chosen this particular method to dispose of the body. Several feet beneath the water’s surface, she caught a glimpse of a scrap of fabric snagged on one of the support posts.
Though she knew the chances of the fabric being torn from Lost Fortune’s clothing were slim, she pushed up a sleeve and reached to retrieve it. Just short of touching the water, she jerked her hand back to fist against her thigh. She gulped as she stared into the murky water. She wasn’t a sissy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had a deathly fear of snakes, and water moccasins, one of Texas’s most poisonous snakes, made their homes in lakes and ponds.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced Gabe’s way, thinking she’d ask him to retrieve the piece of cloth.
But if she did, she knew she would be exposing her fear of snakes and setting herself up to be on the receiving end of practical jokes from not only Gabe, but every guy on the force. Rubber snakes in her desk. Curled on the seat of her car. Stuffed into her mail slot. The possibilities were endless.
With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged off her blazer, leaving her arms bare, then drew in a deep breath and thrust her hand into the water. She shuddered in revulsion as long strands of weeds brushed against her fingers and wound around her arm. The colorful bit of fabric swayed inches from her fingertips, and she leaned farther over, straining to reach it.
“Just a little bit more,” she encouraged under her breath.
She heard a sharp popping sound and, at the same moment, felt the plank beneath her right knee give way. She only had time to draw in one shocked breath before the board broke and she was pitched headfirst into the water.
As she plunged downward, vegetation grabbed at her and slapped at her face. In her mind, each tendril was a snake, slithering over her skin. She wanted to scream, but the thought of swallowing even a teaspoon of the vile water kept the sound lodged in her throat.
Fear had her kicking hard and fighting her way back to the top. As she broke through the surface, she released the scream that burned in her throat. Sobbing, she clawed at the slime that clung to her arms and chest, while trying to remain afloat.
Something hard and flat slammed against the top of her head—a pressure she realized was Gabe’s hand a split second before he shoved her down under the water. She came up sputtering and slapping at him, blinded by the water in her eyes.
“Andi!” he shouted. “Relax! I’ve got you.”
Before she could tell him she wasn’t drowning, he hooked an arm beneath her chin and began to drag her toward shore. Once on the bank, he released her, dumping her unceremoniously in the mud and moss on the concrete boat ramp.
He dropped down next to her and blew out a long breath. “Lucky thing I was here,” he said. “Otherwise you might’ve drowned.”
Sprawled in mud and slime, she pushed up to her elbows and scowled at his back. “I wasn’t drowning, you idiot.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Then why the scream?”
Embarrassed that he’d heard that, she sat up and brushed at the weeds that clung to her slacks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m scared of snakes,” she admitted reluctantly.
He stared a moment, then hooted a laugh. “Hell, if there was a snake within a mile of you, you would’ve scared it away with all that flapping around you were doing.”
“Oh, right,” she snapped irritably. “I forget. You’re an Indian. You probably would’ve killed it with your tomahawk and made a headband or something out of its skin.”
She knew immediately by the stiffening of his shoulders that she’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said with real regret. “I didn’t mean that.”
He pushed to his feet. “We better get out of these wet clothes.”
“Gabe, really. It was a stupid thing to say. I was just mad because I fell in the lake, and I took it out on you.”
“Forget it.” He offered her a hand. “Come on. Let’s go to my place and get cleaned up. I’ve got a washer and dryer.”
Though she’d have preferred a long soak in her own tub, the thought of the thirty-odd-minute drive back to town in muddy clothes made her reconsider. “All right,” she agreed and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “But I’m getting that piece of fabric off the post before I go anywhere.”
“I’ll get it.”
She knew she should insist upon retrieving it herself, to prove to him she wasn’t a coward. But the thought of going anywhere near that pier kept her lips sealed tight.
She watched him drop down on his stomach at the end of the pier and reach into the water. “Can you tell what it is?” she called as he pulled his arm out.
He stood and lifted the scrap of fabric for her to see. “Orange canvas from a life preserver. Judging by its rotted state, I’d say it’s been here for years.”
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment.
Another dead end.
Gabe seldom brought women to his house—and it wasn’t because he was ashamed of the place. The cedar-framed cabin might be rustic in design, but it had every modern convenience the tract homes in town offered, plus a few. It was owned by an elderly politician from Austin, who had used the place to entertain constituents and fellow legislators. Now that his failing health had bound him to a wheelchair, he no longer had need for the place and had leased it to Gabe. Since the deal they’d cut had included fishing rights to the lake on the property and hunting rights on the three thousand acres surrounding it, the cabin suited Gabe just fine.
But as he pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt for Andi to wear while her clothes were washed, he found himself wondering what she thought of his home. He snorted a breath, remembering her remark about his Indian heritage. Hell, she was probably relieved to discover that he didn’t live in a teepee!
He gave his head a woeful shake. Ordinarily comments about his heritage didn’t bother him, but for some reason Andi’s had stung. Maybe it was because he wanted and needed her approval so badly. He had a strong feeling that she was one of the reasons he hadn’t made detective yet, and he’d hoped that by working with her on this case he could win her endorsement.
Or maybe it was because he had a serious case of the hots for her.
He choked a laugh. Yeah, like he had a snowball’s chance in hell of scoring with Detective Andrea Matthews. Though he’d prefer to blame department policy on her refusal to go out with him, Andi lived by her own set of rules. From day one, she’d made it clear to every single guy on the force—fellow sufferers with Gabe, who’d like nothing better than to get in the detective’s pants—that she didn’t date co-workers.
But Gabe wasn’t a man to give up easily.
She had become a challenge to him…and an attractive one at that. Triweekly workouts at the gym kept her body firm and toned. And she had the most gorgeous mane of curly brown hair she insisted on hiding by twisting it into a bun on top of her head or pulling it back into a ponytail. He’d imagined himself freeing that wild mass of hair, knotting his fingers in it and kissing her senseless, until she was putty in his hands.
He shoved a knee against the dresser drawer, closing it. Not a bad fantasy for a man to savor while out fishing alone or waiting for sleep to take him at night, he told himself.
But if fantasizing about her distracted him from his fishing or kept him awake too long, all he had to do was remind himself of her faults. She had a tendency to speak her mind, which bugged the hell out of him. And her tomboy reputation around the station certainly couldn’t be considered an asset. Not to a man who preferred his women soft, feminine and willing.
But lately he’d begun to suspect that beneath that tomboyish facade lay a sensual woman. It would simply take the right man to peel off the layers to reveal her.
And he figured he was just the man for the job.
So far he was batting zero, but patience was one of his strongest virtues—although the lady was definitely putting a strain on it. She stiff-armed anyone who tried to get too close. The only two people on the force who could claim any type of relationship with her were her partner Leo, an overweight, grouchy old man with thinning hair, who happened to be married, and Deirdre, a female officer with whom Gabe had shared a brief and regrettable fling.
Which was Deirdre’s fault, he thought, silently absolving himself of any guilt over the end of his relationship with her. She was the one who had turned what he’d hoped would be a sexually satisfying relationship into a nightmare, thanks to her possessiveness. And if she didn’t ease up on the harassing phone calls and quit tailing him around town, he was going to add stalker to that list.
“Gabe?”
Startled by the sound of Andi’s voice, he snapped his head around and found her peeking through a narrow crack in the bathroom door. That mass of wild, curly hair he enjoyed fantasizing about was tamed now by water and hung well past her shoulders in wet, dark tendrils. He could see just enough of the rest of her body to know that she was wearing nothing but a towel, evidenced by the swell of flesh above the terry fabric that bound her chest and the length of bare thigh visible below it. The sight was enough to make his mouth water and his groin ache.
“Did you find me something to wear?” she asked hesitantly.
He considered a moment the proximity of his bed, imagining the two of them rolling around on it, then gave himself a shake and lifted a hand, indicating the sweatpants and T-shirt he held. “Best I could do.” He tossed the clothes onto the bed and turned for the door. “When you’re dressed, come on down to the den. I’ll fire up my computer and we can run a check on the database for missing persons.”
As he jogged down the stairs, he blew out a long, slow breath, telling himself he had to possess the willpower of a monk for being able to walk away from all that bare flesh. But he had his reasons. The one conclusion he’d drawn after two months of working closely with Andi was that she preferred to be appreciated for her mind rather than her body. Personally, Gabe didn’t understand why a man couldn’t do both…or at least pretend to, when the ultimate reward was her body.
By the time Andi made it to the den, he had a phone tucked between shoulder and ear and had signed on to his e-mail account. Though he heard the pad of her bare feet on the wooden floor behind him, he didn’t glance her way, yet another way he hoped to prove to her he had no physical designs on her.
“Drag up a chair,” he told her. “I’ve got Reynolds on the phone. He’s going to check the national database for missing persons for us.”
He heard the scrape of wood against wood as she shifted a chair into position, then caught the scent of his own bath soap on her skin as she settled beside him. He had to fight the temptation to lean close and inhale the fragrance of her freshly washed hair.
He tipped the phone away from his mouth. “Reynolds says there are three new names in our region. Twenty-four nationwide. Slow day, I guess. Do you want to narrow the search first by gender or identifying marks?”
“Gender. There’s always the chance that whoever filed the report failed to mention the birthmark.”
He relayed the information to Reynolds, then sat back and waited, keeping the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that Andi had her arms folded over her breasts. Probably to disguise the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. But he didn’t plan for her to hold that pose for long.
After listening to Reynolds’s report, he said to Andi, “That narrows it to two in our region and eleven nationwide. Want to try identifying marks or would you prefer Reynolds do an age-range search?”
“Age-range,” she replied. “Same reason as before.”
With a nod of confirmation, he passed the parameters of their search on to Reynolds, then sat back, mimicking her posture by folding his arms over his chest. He purposefully bumped her elbow with his in the process, and she quickly dropped her arms and shifted out of his way.
Bingo, he thought, hiding a smile. He dropped his arms to bring the receiver closer to his ear and listened to Reynolds’s report. “That reduces the number to zero in our region,” he told Andi, “and three nationwide.”
“Tell him to pull up all three,” she replied. “Let’s see what information has been posted about them.”
“Pull up all three,” Gabe repeated to Reynolds. “Copy what’s posted and shoot them to me in an e-mail, all right?”
After thanking Reynolds for his help, he disconnected the call and set the phone aside. Seconds later his computer beeped, signaling the receipt of an e-mail. Gabe quickly opened the message and began to scan it, but managed to keep one eye on Andi. She was leaning forward in her chair now, reading the message on the screen. The T-shirt he had loaned her looked more like a tent on her small frame, but he could see the slight impressions of her nipples on the fabric. Thanks to her fall into the lake and the wet shirt it had left her with, he already had a pretty good idea of the size and shape of her breasts, which he would sum up as small but firm and having dark brown centers. The thrust of her nipples against the T-shirt added yet another level of dimension to the image he’d previously filed away, one that would probably drive him crazy later that night when he was alone in his bed.
She sank back in the chair with a sigh of defeat. “Nothing.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. “Hey. Don’t look so blue. We’ll identify the guy eventually.”
She turned her head slowly and gave his arm a pointed look.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was just trying to cheer you up.”
“When I feel I need cheering up, I’ll let you know.” Scowling, she rose and paced away, hugging her arms over her breasts again. “How much longer before my clothes are ready?”
He bit back a smile, as he closed the screen and shut down his computer. “Twenty minutes or so. They’re in the dryer now. Would you like something to eat while we wait?”
“No, but I’d take some coffee, if you have any.”
“None made, but won’t take me a minute to brew some.”
He led the way to the kitchen, with her trailing behind.
As he measured grounds, she wandered around.
“Nice place,” she said after a minute.
He lifted a shoulder. “Works for me.” He switched on the coffeemaker, then turned, bracing his hips on the counter behind him. “The drive to work is a pain, but two steps out my back door is all the fishing and hunting a man could want.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “I should’ve known you’d be a hunter.”
“What’s wrong with being a hunter?”
“It’s a coward’s sport! Give the animal a weapon and I’ll bet you’d lose your fondness for hunting pretty darn fast.”
“Assuming the animal was a good shot.” Amused by the sour look she sent him, he turned and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “But if it’ll make you feel any better, I don’t hunt for sport.”
“There’s another reason to sit in a deer blind?”
“I don’t sit in a deer blind, and yes, there’s another reason. Food.” He placed the mugs on the table between them, then sat opposite her and stretched out his legs. “Have you ever had a venison steak?”
She snorted a breath. “No, and I’m not interested in trying one.”
“You’re missing a treat. Venison sausage is good, too. As for fishing,” he went on, “I don’t do that for the sport of it, either. I eat what I catch. There’s a lake on the property, which keeps me supplied with fresh fish year round. Usually catfish and bass.”
“Do you grow your own vegetables, too?”
Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, he rose to fetch the carafe of coffee. “Some, though I don’t have a garden per se. Just a few pots of tomatoes and peppers on the deck.” He filled the mugs, then used one to gesture at the plants lining the sill above the kitchen sink. “And I keep a few herbs handy for cooking.”
She stared, as if he’d just confessed to being a cross-dresser.
He set a mug opposite her and sat down. “What?”
She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Nothing. I just can’t imagine you puttering around plants.”
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “What do you imagine me doing?”
She huffed and looked away. “I don’t think about you at all.”
He lifted his mug to hide his smile. “What about you? Do you have any hobbies?”
“If you’re asking if I have any interests other than my work, yes, I do.”
“What?”
“I happen to enjoy gardening myself.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she clamped her lips together, as if she’d just blurted out a closely guarded secret, which in effect she had, since he had no idea what she did when she wasn’t on duty.
“What do you grow?” he asked, hoping to keep her talking.
Grimacing, she dropped her gaze and pushed her fingertip through a drop of coffee that had dripped onto the table. “Nothing fancy,” she mumbled, smearing it around. “Tomatoes, onions, a few varieties of squash.”
“A friend gave me some seeds for a hybrid beefsteak tomato. Lots of meat, fewer seeds. I’ll give you some, if you want.”
He saw the spark of interest in her eyes, before she masked it by folding her arms over her breasts and looking away. “No thanks. It’s too late in the season to plant anything now.”
He searched his mind for another topic, something she might be open to discuss that would give him insight into her private life. “So how’s Leo doing?”
Her expression softened immediately at the mention of her partner. “Grouchy as ever. The doctor put him on a low-cholesterol, low-fat diet. He swears they’re trying to starve him to death.”
“It wouldn’t hurt him to miss a few meals. He’s got to be a good fifty or sixty pounds overweight.”
“Closer to seventy,” she said, then shrugged. “His wife’s been hounding him for years to lose some weight. His doctor, too. But Leo loves to eat.”
“Y’all seem to be pretty tight.”
She shrugged again. “We’ve been partners since I joined the force. Leo may have his faults, but he’s a good detective. Nose like a bloodhound. Tenacity of a bulldog. Eyes like a hawk. I’ve learned more from him than I ever did in a classroom.”
“Maybe when he gets back from his medical leave, I’ll have a chance to work with him.”
“When Leo returns,” she informed him, “you’ll be going back to your regular duties as an officer. Remember? This is only a temporary assignment.”
Though every muscle in his body stiffened in denial at the reminder, Gabe managed to keep the emotion from his face.
Lifting his coffee cup, he took a long drink, then replied with a vague, “Maybe.”
Two
When Andi strode into the patrol room the next morning, Gabe wondered if she had a funeral to attend. Black skirt, black unstructured jacket, black closed-toe shoes. The only relief to her outfit was the stark white tailored blouse she wore tucked neatly into the waist of her skirt. Nothing in her choice of attire hinted at her femininity, yet she all but screamed sex as she crossed to her desk, drawing the eye of every male on duty, Gabe’s included.
Rather than the all-too-familiar ponytail, on this particular morning she’d twisted her hair up into a loose knot on the crown of her head. A pencil, honed dagger-sharp, pierced the knot’s center, holding it in place. He imagined himself sliding the pencil out and letting her hair tumble down around her slim shoulders. It was an intriguing image and one he’d mentally played through several times since the previous day when he’d seen her fresh from his shower, her hair down and dripping water onto her shoulders.
Frowning, he forced his gaze to the file he’d been reading before she’d arrived. He had no business indulging in sexual fantasies about Andi. Not when she stood between him and his chance of making detective. A bad word from her to Chief Prater could negatively impact his chance of promotion.
And why waste his time on her, anyway? he asked himself in frustration. She wasn’t his type. She was outspoken and bossy. What his oldest brother Zeb would call a ballbuster.
But, damn, if his blood didn’t run hot every time he so much as looked at her.
“Thunderhawk!”
He jumped, his carnal thoughts shattered by the chief’s bellowing roar.
“Yes, sir?” he said, rising.
“In my office.” The chief snatched the unlit cigar from his mouth, and added in a kinder voice, “You, too, Andi.”
Accustomed to the chief’s preferential treatment toward his partner, Gabe closed the file he’d been reading and headed across the room. He reached the chief’s door at the same time as Andi and stepped aside, letting her enter first. His gallantry earned him a scowl.
“Sit,” the chief instructed, indicating the two chairs opposite his desk. “Where are we on the McPherson case?”
Since the chief had directed the question at Andi, Gabe sat back and listened.
“We’re waiting on the results from the DNA test we ordered on the rapist’s semen,” she told him. “McPherson won’t walk this time. I can promise you that. The D.A. has assured me we’ve given him all he needs to win a conviction.”
The chief snorted a breath. “I’ll believe it when I see it. We’ve had that pervert up on rape charges before, and he’s walked every damn time. I don’t know who’s slicker—him or his lawyer.” Scowling, he rolled the cigar to the opposite side of his mouth and reared back in his chair. “What about the Fortune case? Anything new?”
“No, sir. We’re backtracking now to see if we missed anything the first time through.”
His scowl deepening, he snatched the cigar from his mouth and tossed it into the garbage can beside his desk. “I don’t like having an unsolved murder on my books, and this one’s been riding for over two months now.”
“I don’t like it any better than you do,” Andi assured him. “But without a murder weapon or a witness, we have little to work with. Once we identify the floater, I’m hoping we can establish probable cause and work it from that angle.”
Nodding his approval of her plan, the chief plucked a fresh cigar from the box on his desk and bit off one end. “There’s a charity ball Saturday night at the country club. It’s a given the Fortunes will be there. I’m going to finagle the two of you an invitation.”
Andi sat up straight in her chair, obviously not pleased with the assignment. “Why? We’ve interviewed every Fortune in the state of Texas and not a one of them was able to identify the body.”
“True,” the chief agreed, “but the only clue we have is the crown-shaped birthmark on the floater’s hip, and that keeps pointing us straight back to the Fortunes. Somebody in that family has to know something. I’d request DNA samples from the lot of them, but I don’t want to do that until we have something more substantial to base our suspicions on. In the meantime, I want y’all at that party. Mix and mingle. See what you can find out.”
He paused to run the cigar through his lips, wetting it, then shifted his gaze to Gabe. “You’re going to need a tux. It’s black tie.”
Gabe stifled a groan. He hated wearing a tuxedo. The last one he’d worn was three years ago at his brother Matt’s wedding, and he still remembered the hour-long battle he’d fought with the damn bow tie that had come with it.