Praise for Peggy Moreland:

“…overflowing with tender characters, emotional scenes and an intense, thrilling premise.”

—Romantic Times on Groom of Fortune

“Peggy Moreland deftly handles a sensitive subject, while adding mystery to this fine romance.”

—Romantic Times on Her Lone Star Protector

“…a charming tale with a wonderful cast of characters, great development and an engaging premise.”

—Romantic Times on Millionaire Boss

“For outstanding authenticity in western-influenced, Texas-based romances, one only has to look for the name Peggy Moreland on the cover.”

—Sharon Galliger Chance

In the Arms of the Law
Peggy Moreland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Writing is often a challenge, but never more so than when writing a continuity series with over a dozen other authors! Inevitably, there are facts to double-check, dates and time lines to coordinate and character traits to verify. But, oh, what fun it is to work with such a talented and creative group of ladies!

Normally the heroes I write about are ranchers or cowboys and the women who steal their hearts, so writing about a police officer, who also happened to be a Native American, required quite a bit of research. I found the entire process fascinating and discovered along the way that law enforcement officers and Native Americans aren’t really all that different from my cowboys. Both groups represent men of integrity who are willing to fight for what they believe in, and who are prepared to defend those whom they love. What more could a woman ask for in a man?

I hope you enjoy reading my contribution to THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION series and sharing in Gabe Thunderhawk and Andrea Matthews’s romantic adventures as they find love. I hope, too, that you enjoy your vicarious visit to my home state of Texas, where romance is always waiting for you just around the next bend in the road.

Best wishes,

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Bonus Features

Prologue

The glare of the midday sun and lack of wind had turned Lake Mondo into a mirror, its surface reflecting the cedars and outcropping of rocks that lined its shore. A long wooden dock—bleached a dull gray by weather and time—stretched out over the water and bobbed lazily in the slow-moving current. On any other day, swimmers and fishermen alike would be vying for position on the planked walkway, as well as along the lake’s shore. But today both the dock and the shoreline were empty…except for the lone body lying faceup beneath a white sheet.

Yellow crime-scene tape sectioned off a large portion of the area surrounding the dock, holding back the curious and morbid who had gathered. The few officials allowed beyond the tape huddled in a loose group, their expressions grim, as they watched the police photographer digitally record the scene.

Quickly assessing the area as she approached, Detective Andrea Matthews ducked beneath the tape and headed straight for the body. The stench that grew stronger with each step was her first clue that this wasn’t a recent drowning.

In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of Red Rock Police Officer Gabe Thunderhawk breaking away from the group and heading her way. She swallowed a groan when he stopped in front of her and braced his hands on his hips, successfully blocking her progress, as well as her view of the corpse. Since he had about five inches on her five foot seven inch frame, she was forced to look up at him, a form of intimidation she was sure he intended. Though he was as handsome as the devil himself and a lot easier to look at than a corpse, she had a job to do and wasn’t interested in getting into a verbal sparring match over who was in charge of this investigation, which was what she figured he had in mind.

Hoping to avoid an altercation, she lifted her chin, indicating the body behind him. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a floater.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to hers. “Good deduction, Detective.”

Though his expression remained bland, his sarcasm set her teeth on edge. Rather than respond to it, she stepped around him, planning to ignore him.

He quickly shifted to block her way. “No need for you to concern yourself with this one. I’ve got everything under control.”

At the end of her patience, she squared off with him. “You know damn good and well that when there’s a body involved, it’s my job to investigate it. Now, you can either assist in the investigation or get the hell out of my way, because I intend to do my job, with or without your cooperation.”

He met her gaze a full ten seconds, making her think he was going to force the issue, but finally stepped aside.

Pulling a mask from her blazer pocket, she nodded to the police photographer, before slipping it over her head to cover her nose and mouth. With her gaze on the body, she tugged on a pair of protective gloves and hunkered down beside it. Careful not to disturb any evidence, she lifted the sheet to expose the victim’s face. Finding him lying facedown, she dropped the sheet back over him.

“Help me turn him over,” she instructed Gabe.

Keeping the cover in place, they worked together to roll the victim to his back, then Andrea lifted the sheet again. Although this wasn’t the first drowning she’d investigated, she had to swallow back the nausea that burned the back of her throat. Blank eyes stared up at her from a bloated and distorted face. The victim’s skin, blanched a sickly blue-white, was pitted where bits of flesh were missing, probably due to predators he’d encountered during the time he’d spent in the water.

There was also what appeared to be a bullet hole between his eyes.

Aware that Gabe was watching for her reaction, she set her jaw and dropped the sheet back over the victim’s face. Pulling the mask down, she stood to face the officer. “So what have you got?”

“Nine-one-one call came in about an hour ago. Placed by the fishing guide who found the body. The guy’s sitting in the back seat of my patrol car. Still pretty shook up.”

She nodded grimly. “I would imagine he is.” Frowning, she circled the body, examining it from different angles. “Any ID?”

“Checked his pockets. No wallet or any kind of ID, although I did notice what appears to be a birthmark on his hip. Looks like we’ve got a John Doe.”

“The M.E.’s report will detail any identifying marks.” She stopped and hunkered down beside the body again, lifting the sheet away from the lower extremities. “He wasn’t dressed for fishing or swimming,” she commented, noting the slacks he wore.

“Judging by the three holes in his head, I’d say his visit to the lake wasn’t recreational.”

She snapped her gaze up to Gabe’s, her brows drawn together in question. “Three?”

“Bullet entered here, here and here,” he said, indicating each by pointing them out on his own head. “I’m no expert, but I’d say he was dead before he hit the water.”

Irritated with herself that he’d found three bullet holes, when she’d only seen one, she looked at the corpse again. Her frown deepening, she slowly lowered the sheet and pushed to her feet. “Has the M.E. been here?”

“Here and gone about half an hour ago. Left as soon as he proclaimed him dead. When the photographer finishes up, we’re transporting the body to the lab for autopsy.”

Andrea nodded. “I’ll drop by and get the M.E.’s preliminary findings.”

“I plan on doing the same. Want a ride? We can have dinner afterward.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give up, Thunderhawk?”

“Do I look like a quitter?”

“Are we ready to transport?”

Startled by the sound of Chief Prater’s voice, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was headed their way. As usual, he had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Although he’d quit smoking five years before, he refused to give up his cigars completely.

“We’re transporting as soon as the photographer finishes up,” she replied, then looked at him curiously. “What are you doing way out here? You don’t usually visit crime scenes.”

“Got a call from the M.E. He says our victim has an unusual birthmark. A crown shape on the right hip, same as Ryan Fortune.”

Familiar with the wealthy Fortune and his philanthropic work to many of the charitable organizations in the state, Andi glanced back at the body in confusion. “Are you saying the floater is Ryan Fortune?”

“No, I’m saying the crown-shaped birthmark is a Fortune trademark, which means he’s probably related.” He shifted his gaze to Gabe. “I want you working this case with Andi.”

Andi’s eyes shot wide in alarm. “Leo and I can handle this. We don’t need Gabe’s help.”

The chief dragged the cigar from his mouth and set his lips in a grim line. “Leo isn’t going to be handling anything for a while.”

A knot of fear twisted in her gut. “But…why? Has something happened to him?”

He tapped a finger against his chest. “Heart attack. Happened early this morning. His wife says it was caused by a blockage. Gonna need a quadruple bypass. He’ll be out on medical leave for at least a month. Maybe longer.”

Stunned, Andi could only stare at her boss, her concern for her partner obliterating all other thought. She’d worked with Leo for nine years. Heck, he was like a father to her!

She swallowed hard, trying to force back the paralyzing fear, the memory of her own father’s heart attack that had resulted in his death.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” she asked uneasily.

The chief shrugged. “If he takes care of himself and follows the doctor’s orders, he should be fine.” He narrowed an eye at her. “But until he’s back, Gabe’s working with you. Understood?”

Though Andi wanted to argue, beg the chief to assign someone else as her partner, anyone other than Thunderhawk, she gave her chin a jerk of assent. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

He clamped the unlit cigar between his teeth again and took a slow look around. “Looks like y’all’ve done what you can do here. Go on over to Ryan’s ranch, inform him of what’s happened, then escort him to the M.E.’s office and see if he can identify the body.”

“Do you really think our floater is a Fortune?” she asked doubtfully.

He looked down his nose at her. “Until someone proves otherwise, that’s exactly what I think.”

One

Two months later

Andi Matthews was no stranger to murder. She’d focused her entire college career on studying the profiles of killers and perfecting the procedures for gathering the evidence needed to win convictions. For the past nine years she’d worked for the Red Rock Police Department, had personally investigated close to fifty murders and put nearly that same number of criminals behind bars. She knew how a murderer’s mind worked, what fueled their need to kill and what mistakes they might make that would lead to their arrests.

But she’d never considered committing murder herself.

Until today.

From the moment Chief Prater had assigned Gabe Thunderhawk to work with her to identify the body of the Lost Fortune—the tag given to the floater discovered at Lake Mondo—she’d known she was in for trouble. Everyone on the force knew that Gabe wanted a promotion to detective, and this was the perfect chance for him to prove he was qualified to handle the job.

Intellectually she understood what a boon the successful closing of the case would be to his career. Because of the crown-shaped birthmark on the floater’s right hip that linked the body with the Fortune family, solving the case would give him a level of publicity and notoriety that no other case could offer.

But understanding his motive in no way excused his behavior. Not in Andi’s opinion. She was the primary on this case and she was sick and tired of him working independently from her. They were supposed to be partners, a team, a fact that she intended to remind him of the moment he showed up…if he ever did.

She stopped her agitated pacing in front of the police station and shoved up the sleeve of her blazer to check the time. Her frown deepened, as she noted that he was now over thirty minutes late.

“Okay, Thunderhawk,” she muttered under her breath. “What are you up to now?”

While playing the possibilities through her mind, she recalled mentioning the day before that they should re-question the fishing guide who had found the body. Figuring Gabe had taken it upon himself to do the job alone—and upstaging her should he get lucky—she headed for her unmarked, city-issue Ford sedan.

The twenty-minute drive to Lake Mondo gave her ample time to work up a pretty good head of steam. By the time she arrived at Hook ’n Go, the bait shop where the fishing guide usually hung out, and found Gabe’s truck parked out front, she was a slash mark beyond the boiling point. Prepared to read him the riot act for his traitorous behavior the moment he showed his double-crossing face, she braced a hip against the hood of his truck, folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Her timing was perfect, as moments later the door of the bait shop opened and Gabe appeared. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he paused in the doorway, conversing with someone inside. He didn’t appear rushed or harried, a fact that grated on her already raw nerves, since he’d kept her cooling her heels for almost an hour. But Gabe never seemed to get in a hurry, a trait the guys on the force attributed to his Native American heritage. That same heritage was evidenced by his high slash of cheekbones, the bronze tint of his skin, his dark hair and eyes. Most women considered him drop-dead handsome. Normally Andi would’ve agreed.

Today she considered him nothing but a royal pain in the ass.

“I appreciate your time,” she heard him say to the person inside. “If you think of anything, you’ve got my card.” The slap of the screen door closing was followed by the scrape of his boot soles on the worn wooden steps as he headed for his truck.

When he spotted Andi, he slowed slightly, then strode on, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought we were supposed to meet at the station.”

“Oh, we were,” she replied, then pushed away from his truck, with a scowl, and leveled a warning finger at his nose. “Listen up, Thunderhawk, and listen good. Whether you like it or not, I’m the primary on this investigation, and nothing is done outside of my presence or without my prior knowledge, including interviewing individuals associated with this case.”

He held up a hand. “Now, wait a minute. You’re the one who said we should talk to the fishing guide again.”

“Yes, I did. But we didn’t talk to him, you did, and after being told repeatedly that we work as a team.” She narrowed an eye. “I’m warning you, Gabe, if you continue to undermine my authority, I’ll request that Chief Prater remove you from the case.”

He hitched his hands on his hips in frustration. “What is it with you, anyway? You act like I’m sneaking around behind your back.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“What I was trying to do was save us both some time.”

“And how did you plan to do that, when I’ve been sitting on my hands at the station for over an hour waiting for you?”

“My place is a couple of miles from here. I figured I’d stop by on my way into town, question the guide, then meet you at the station and report my findings. Is it my fault the fishing guide is a Chatty Cathy?”

Though his explanation made sense, she didn’t trust him. Not for a minute. This wasn’t the first time he’d struck out on his own without first discussing his plans with her. But to continue to debate his insubordination would be unproductive and a waste of more of her time.

She released a breath and, along with it, some of her anger. “All right,” she said, grudgingly. “But next time check with me first or I swear I’ll file a complaint with the chief.”

“Fine.”

Determined to focus her mind on the investigation and away from her irritation with her so-called partner, she asked, “Did the guide have anything new to say?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Same story he gave the day he found the body.”

She hadn’t expected the man would remember anything new. But after two months with no new leads on the case, there was nothing left to do but backtrack, in hopes of finding something they’d missed the first time through.

Frustrated by the lack of evidence they had to work with, she frowned at the lake that had regurgitated the Lost Fortune, washing its bloated body up on shore. Thanks to the southeasterly wind currently blowing, the lake’s surface was choppy. Not a fishing or pleasure boat in sight. A lone heron sailed low over the water, trolling for his next meal. The shoreline itself was empty of humanity, but dotted with litter. Aluminum cans, plastic bags and a length of frayed synthetic rope, probably discarded from some ski boat. It was a scavenger’s dream.

As she watched a wave wash the litter higher onto shore, an idea began to grow in her mind.

“What was the weather like the day before the body was discovered?”

He gave her an impatient look. “How the hell would I know?”

“If we can find out which direction the wind was blowing prior to the body being found, we might be able to pinpoint the area where it was dumped.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly, “and if we had a crystal ball we could probably look inside and see who dumped it.”

She burned him with a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

He turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” she asked in frustration.

“Inside,” he called over his shoulder. “Ten-to-one the owner of the bait shop keeps a weather journal.”

Kicking herself for not having thought of that herself, she watched Gabe walk toward the bait house—and wished she’d kept her eyes on the lake. Seeing his backside reminded her of the discussion she’d overheard in the women’s restroom that morning. Several of the female employees had decided that Gabe deserved the “Cutest Butt on the Force” award. She let her gaze slide to his hips. Even though she hadn’t offered a comment on the subject, she had to agree. He did have a fine-looking tush.

Unfortunately, his butt wasn’t his only outstanding feature. Wide shoulders; slim waist; muscled chest, arms and legs. He was the only man she knew who could make a department-issue khaki uniform look as if it was custom-tailored for him by Armani.

Too bad he’d let his physical attributes go to his head. He had an ego the size of Texas and was a playboy to boot. Two traits that, in her mind at least, nullified his finer points.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze to the lake and waited. To pass the time she counted the waves that rushed onto shore.

“Wind was from the northwest,” Gabe reported moments later as he rejoined her. “Gusts up to seventy-two miles per hour.”

She glanced at the sun, seeking a point of reference, then across the span of white-capped water toward the northwest quadrant of the lake. “Do you know what’s over there?”

“A few private homes, a public boat ramp and acres of undeveloped land.”

“I say we start with the public ramp,” she said and turned for her car.

He fell into step beside her. “We can take my truck.”

“No way. I value my life too much to climb into a vehicle with you behind the wheel.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding insulted. “There’s nothing wrong with my driving.” He stopped at the side of his truck and opened the passenger door. “Besides, my truck’s got four-wheel drive. Depending on how far you want to explore, we might need it.”

She hesitated a moment, considering, then heaved a sigh and climbed inside, knowing he was right.

“No speeding,” she warned as he slid behind the wheel. “And none of those fancy one-eighties they teach at the police academy.”

He put the truck in gear, shot her a grin, then spun the wheel and stomped on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires, they were headed in the opposite direction. Andi grabbed for the chicken bar above the passenger window and hung on, silently vowing to kill him later.

By the time they reached the turnoff for the boat ramp, her knuckles were white and her feet burned from pressing the imaginary brake on the floorboard. Thankfully, the road that led to the ramp was full of potholes, which forced him to slow down. It was also bordered by shoulder-high weeds and even taller cedars, the perfect cover for someone who had something—or someone—to hide. As they neared the lake, the road widened, with parking space available to both sides of a long, weathered dock.

As soon as he pulled to a stop, Andi opened her door and jumped to the ground. “Next time I drive,” she muttered irritably.

Gabe met her at the hood. “You shouldn’t have said anything about my driving. It was like a dare.” He lifted a brow and looked down his nose at her. “And I’ve never been able to walk away from a dare.”

“I’ll remember that in the future,” she said dryly, then pushed up her sleeves, eager to get to work. “Okay. Here’s how we’re going to play this. We’ll assume that the murder took place somewhere other than at the lake.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Mainly because none of the residents who live around the lake reported hearing gunshots.”

“He could have used a silencer.”

“True, but my gut tells me the murder took place somewhere else and the killer used the lake as a depository, hoping the body would never be discovered.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You’re the boss.”

“We’re also going to assume that the murderer dumped the body at night. Otherwise, he’d risk being seen.”

“I can buy that,” he agreed.

She stepped to the edge of the water and frowned as she studied the moss-covered concrete ramp that stretched beyond the surface. “So what would he do?” she asked, thinking aloud, as she tried to slip into the mind of the perp. “Back his vehicle to the edge, as if he was going to put a boat into the water, then dump the body?” She cut her gaze to the pier. “Or would he carry it onto the dock and drop it over the side?”

“Depends on his physical condition. If our perp is in good shape, he’d probably carry the body to the end of the dock. The water’s deeper there. It would also save him from getting wet.”

She nodded her agreement.

“There’s also the possibility that he used a boat,” he reminded her. “He could have concealed the body in the hull prior to driving to the lake, put in here at the ramp, then shoved the body overboard once he was far enough away from the shoreline to avoid detection.”

“Yes, but we’ve already checked with the owners of the boats known to be on the water that night. Each was aware of the others’ presence and all agreed that theirs were the only boats on the lake. All three owners were questioned individually and their stories matched.”

“Then we go with the theory that the murderer dumped the body from the dock or shore.”

“For now.” She turned away. “You check the shoreline. I’ll take the dock.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her. “Any evidence left behind would’ve washed away or been destroyed by now.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Though she could tell by his expression that he considered the search a waste of time, he didn’t offer any more arguments. Surprised that he was cooperating with her for a change, she headed for the dock.

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.

“Couldn’t I just wear a regular suit?” he asked, hoping to avoid the torture.

“A tux,” the chief repeated sternly. “I don’t want you sticking out like a sore thumb.”

“There’s no need for him to go to the trouble of renting a tux,” Andi offered. “I can work the ball by myself.”

The chief shook his head. “If you show up alone, folks might wonder what you’re doing there. I don’t want anyone to suspect that you’re on police business.”

“He’s right, Andi,” Gabe said, siding with the chief. “We’d draw less attention together than either of us would on our own.”

Andi strode out of the chief’s office, her shoulders stiff with resentment, and Gabe trailing behind.

“Why’d you have to agree with him?” she muttered irritably. “If you’d kept your mouth shut, I could’ve talked him into letting me go alone.”

“And miss out on a chance for a date with you?”

“Hey, Andi!” a voice called from across the room. “How come you’ll go on a date with Gabe and not me?”

“Stuff it, Reynolds,” she growled, then flopped down on her chair and narrowed an eye at Gabe. “And this is not a date.”

Hiding a smile, he propped a hip on the edge of her desk. “Sure it is.”

“Not in my book.”

“A man and woman get all dolled up and go out for an evening at the country club?” He lifted a shoulder. “Sounds like a date to me.”

She balled her hands into fists against her thighs. “It’s not a date,” she repeated through clenched teeth. “We’re working on a case.”

“Call it what you want,” he said, then stood and shot her a wink. “But in my book it’s a date.”

She curled her lip in a snarl as he walked away, then snatched up her coffee mug and stomped from the patrol room. In the kitchen where the employees took their breaks, she filled her mug with coffee, gulped a swallow, then swore when the hot liquid burned her tongue.

“Careful,” a female voice warned from behind her. “Lawsuits have been fought and won over the scalding effects of hot coffee.”

She whipped her head around to find that Deirdre had entered the room. Grimacing, she dropped down onto a chair at the table. “Haven’t you heard? You can’t fight city hall.”

Chuckling, Deirdre took a seat opposite Andi. “You’ve got a point.”

“What are you doing here?” Andi asked in puzzlement. “I thought you were working graveyard this month.”

“I am, but I had to finish up an arrest report. A couple of teenagers decided to celebrate their newly earned high school senior status by spray painting the city water tower.”

Andi sank back against her chair with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, youth. Those were the days.”

“Yeah, then you grow up and find out that life sucks.”

Andi drew back to look at Deirdre in surprise. “My, but aren’t you the cynical one today.”

“Can’t argue with the facts. Things are easier when you’re young.”

Noticing the dark circles under her friend’s eyes, Andi attributed her current mood to exhaustion. She leaned forward and gave her hand a comforting pat. “You’re just tired. Go home and get some rest. You’ll feel differently after you’ve gotten a good eight hours sleep.”

Wearily, Deirdre pushed to her feet. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” At the door, she stopped and glanced back. “By the way, how are things going with you and Gabe? Are the two of you getting along all right?”

Andi snorted a breath. “Depends on your definition of ‘all right.’”

“He’s not coming on to you, is he?”

“Wouldn’t matter if he was,” Andi informed her. “I’m not interested in Gabe Thunderhawk.” She flapped a hand. “Even if I was, he’s too young for me.”

“Oh, come on. Seven years isn’t that big a gap.”

“That would depend on which side of the gap you’re standing on. Unfortunately, my view is from the far side.”

“Just be careful,” Deirdre warned. “Gabe can be charming when he wants to be, but he’s a user. Trust me. I know. I’ve got the footprints to prove it.” She flapped a hand. “But that’s old news. I’ve got a new guy in my sights.”

“Really?” Andi said, unaware that her friend had a new boyfriend. “Who?”

Deirdre shook her head as she walked out. “If I tell you, it might jinx it. And I don’t want to take a chance on blowing it with this guy.”

Andi frowned as Deirdre turned down the hall, puzzled by her friend’s refusal to share her new boyfriend’s name. She certainly hadn’t been hesitant to share the details of her past relationships, including the one with Gabe. Her frown deepened as she recalled Deirdre’s warning about Gabe. Odd, but she couldn’t remember her ever mentioning having any ill feelings toward Gabe. In fact, according to Deirdre, he all but hung the moon. So why had she warned Andi to be careful around him?

With a sigh, she pushed away from the table. Doesn’t matter, she told herself as she headed back to the patrol room. She didn’t need to be warned away from Gabe Thunderhawk. Unlike Deirdre, who slipped from one bad relationship to another in her almost desperate search for Mr. Right, Andi didn’t want or need a man in her life. She’d come to that conclusion her senior year in college. And it wasn’t from something she’d learned in the classroom. She’d been taught that particular lesson in a bedroom.

Deirdre unlocked her apartment, then stooped to pick up the morning paper and scanned the headlines as she stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her and she whirled, her hand going instinctively to the gun holstered at her waist.

“You’re late.”

Laughing weakly, she dropped her hand from the gun. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

He lifted a brow. “I can leave, if you want.”

Dropping the newspaper, she wound her arms around his neck and smiled coyly up at him as she rubbed her body against his. “No way, buster. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“Thinking about what?” he asked as he slipped a hand between her legs. “This?” He cupped her mound and lifted, drawing her to her toes.

“Oh, yes,” she moaned as he dug his fingers into her center.

“Damn, you’re already wet.” Keeping his hand cupped on her mound, he urged her backward.

She closed her eyes and focused her mind on the increasing pressure of his fingers.

The back of her knees hit the edge of the sofa and she fell back, letting her legs sprawl wide. He planted a knee into the V, then ripped open her shirt and filled his hands with her breasts.

She dropped her head back on a moan.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered as he kneaded the soft flesh.

She dragged a bra strap down her shoulder, baring a breast. “Suck me.”

She groaned as he opened his mouth over her breast, then clamped her legs against his knee and arched hard against it as he drew her nipple in.

“Touch me,” she begged as she stripped off her holster and opened her slacks.

He pushed her hand aside and slid his hand inside her panties.

“Yes,” she whispered as he pushed a knuckle along her folds. “Oh, yes!” she cried, wincing as he drove a finger inside.

He slowly pulled it out, then spread the moisture around her opening. “You like it rough, don’t you, baby?”

She fought her slacks down her hips and spread her legs wider, offering herself to him.

He stabbed his finger inside. “Nobody can please you the way I can, can they?”

Nearly crazy with need, she dropped her head back against the sofa, willing to agree to almost anything if he’d make her climax. “Nobody.”

“Not even that Indian?”

“No. Not even him.”

He pulled his hand out and ripped down his zipper, freed his sex.

Taking it in his hand, he waved it back and forth, teasing her with it. “Want this, baby?”

She stared, her eyes glazed with passion, her body on fire. “Yes,” she whispered and reached for it.

He drew back. “If you want it, you have to ask really nice.”

“Please,” she sobbed.

“Where do you want it?” He stroked it along her folds. “Here?”

She filled her hands with her breasts and squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes, there. Please. There.”

He pressed his erection against her opening. “Here?”

She arched high, straining. “Yes!” she sobbed. “Oh, please. Give it to me. Now!”

He drove deep and she opened her mouth to cry out her pleasure, but he clamped a hand over her lips, smothering the sound.

“Shh,” he soothed. “You don’t want your neighbors to hear, do you?”

Her eyes wild and fixed on his, she shook her head.

Smiling, he dragged his hand from her mouth and closed it over her breast. “I didn’t think you did.” He caught her nipple between finger and thumb, and she closed her eyes again, moaning low in her throat as he pinched them together.

Nobody understood her the way he did, she thought as pain and pleasure lanced her womb.

Nobody.

Andi unlocked the back door of her house and pushed it open, eager to change her clothes and get back outside and to work. If she hustled, she figured she had enough time to scrape the paint off at least half the rear of her house before the sun set. Maybe all of it, if the light held out long enough. She’d originally planned to tackle the job on Saturday, but the chief had thrown a wrench into her plans with his insistence that she and Gabe go to the charity ball.

But she wasn’t going to think about that now, she told herself, feeling the irritation rising. If she did, it would put her in a bad mood.

Mentally listing the tools she’d need, she quickly stripped out of her clothes and tugged on a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt. As she retraced her steps to the kitchen, she wrapped a bandana around her head to keep paint chips from matting in her hair, then stopped to check the messages on her answering machine.

“Hi, this is Melissa from Dr. Andrews’s office calling to remind you of your dental appointment tomorrow morning at nine. If you’re unable to make the appointment, please call our office and reschedule.”

She shuddered at the reminder of her annual dental exam, then deleted the message and waited for the next one to play. But no voice came through the speaker. Only the hum of recorded silence, then a click. Frowning, she hit the back button and checked the caller ID. Unknown. Her frown deepening, she punched the delete button. That was the third hang-up she’d received that week. One a month was rare.

When she’d moved into her house, she’d requested an unlisted telephone number, a precaution that most officers on the force took to protect their privacy, as well as their safety. There were a select few with whom she had entrusted her number. The dispatcher at the station, her dentist, her doctor, a couple of friends, a few distant relatives. So why so many hang-ups? she asked herself.

“Probably an overzealous telemarketer,” she told herself and headed out the door.

Once in the backyard, she dragged the ladder from the patio, propped it against the side of the house and plugged in the electric sander. Armed with a paint scraper to use on the tight spots the sander couldn’t reach and a pair of safety goggles, she climbed the ladder and set to work. Paint chips flew around her face and speckled her arms and legs. She slowly made her way down the ladder, moving the sander over the wood. When she reached the bottom, she repositioned the ladder, then set to work again.

Not that she considered this work.

To her, the improvements she made on her home, whether they were made weeding her flower beds or re-finishing the old wood flooring inside, were nothing but true pleasure. She’d purchased the house two years prior and had spent every spare moment since remodeling and redecorating it, both inside and out. The bonus she’d discovered was that it was the perfect way to relieve the stress associated with her job.

She was level with her bedroom window when she noticed the scratches along the lower edge of the screen. She quickly switched off the sander and shifted on the ladder in order to examine them more closely. Judging by the depth of the cuts along the aluminum frame, it appeared someone had attempted to pry off the screen. Whoever it was had failed in his mission, since the screen was still securely latched.

Most women would’ve panicked at the thought of a prowler trying to break into their house and would’ve run for the nearest phone to call the police. Not Andi. She was the police. Her only emotion at the moment was anger, and it was a toss-up as to what made her more mad: the damage done to her screen or the fact that someone had attempted to break into her house.

With her mouth set in an angry line, she climbed down from the ladder and set aside the sander. Sinking to a knee, she examined the ground beneath the window. The mulch spread around the shrubs and flowers in the bed that lined the back wall was over three inches thick and well packed, which negated any chance of finding a clear footprint.

Frustrated, she stood, bracing her hands on her hips as she looked around, trying to figure out how the prowler might have gained entry. The privacy fence that enclosed her backyard on three sides was covered in flowering vines she’d planted during the two years she’d owned the home, which made scaling the fence difficult, if not impossible.

Beyond the fence were her neighbors—the Huckabees at the rear, whom she knew only in passing; Mr. and Mrs. Brown on the right, a dear, elderly couple with whom she enjoyed visiting when she was out working in her yard or on her house; and Richard Givens on the left, a fiftysomething divorcé, who considered himself God’s gift to women.

She shuddered in revulsion at the thought of Richard, with his bleached-blond hair, fake-bake tan and thick gold rope chain he wore around his neck, a throw-back from the disco era, no doubt. He’d made more passes at her than a professional quarterback and continued to do so even after she’d repeatedly told him she wasn’t interested. But the man had an ego the size of Dallas and a hide as thick as a rhinoceros, which obviously made him impervious to her refusals.

Frowning, she peered at the iron gate that opened from the side yard that ran between her house and Richard’s, the only other means of gaining entry to her backyard. She kept the gate locked at all times, unless she was outside. But she supposed a person could climb over it, if they wanted to badly enough. Richard was certainly physically capable of scaling the gate, but she couldn’t imagine why he would want to get inside her house.

She heard the familiar squeal of tires on the driveway next door and groaned, knowing it was Richard arriving home. A red Corvette braked to a stop in front of his garage. Yesterday he’d been driving a BMW coupe. An unending supply of cars to choose from was one of the many perks he enjoyed as the owner of a used-car lot.

Hoping to escape before he saw her, she grabbed her sander and started up the ladder.

“Hi, Andrea! Working on the house again?”

Stifling another groan, she stopped and forced a polite smile. “Yeah. I’m trying to get the rear wall scraped before it gets too dark to see.”

He wagged a stern finger. “All work and no play makes Andrea a dull girl.” Grinning, he motioned for her to join him. “Come on over and I’ll mix us up a batch of martinis.”

“Sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check.” She hefted the sander for him to see. “Duty calls.”

“Ah, come on,” he wheedled. “Surely you’ve got time for one of my famous dry martinis.”

She set her jaw to keep from screaming her frustration. “No, Richard, I really don’t.”

His smile slipped a bit at her refusal, then he shrugged and turned away. “Your loss.”

Staring, she choked a laugh. My loss? Shaking her head, she started up the ladder again. The guy was crazy. Certifiably insane. She stopped, her smile fading as she remembered the attempted break-in. No, she told herself, and resumed her climbing. Richard was a nuisance, but he wasn’t a criminal.

Or at least she didn’t think he was.

Shaking off the thought, she flipped on the sander. At the same moment, her cell phone rang. Muttering a curse, she shut off the machine and tugged the phone from the clip at her waist. “Matthews,” she snapped into the receiver.

“We’ve got a stabbing out on Maynor Road. Pete’s Place.”

She frowned, surprised to hear Gabe’s voice and not that of the dispatcher on duty. “Why are you calling me and not Joe?”

“Because I’m at the station and Joe has his hands full.”

She glanced at her wristwatch, gauging the time. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“It’ll be faster if I swing by and pick you up.”

“No, I—” Before she could tell him she preferred to drive herself, there was a click and then the dial tone.

Furious that he’d hung up on her, she shoved the phone back onto its clip at her waist and stomped her way down the ladder.

She showered and changed clothes in record time and was locking her front door when Gabe pulled up in front of her house.

With her mouth set in a hard line, she climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “I don’t need a chauffeur,” she informed him tersely, “and if you hadn’t hung up on me, I could’ve told you that on the phone.”

He spared her a glance. “Are you this bitchy with everybody or do you reserve all your anger for me?”

Jutting her chin, she faced the windshield. “You rub me the wrong way.”

He put the truck in gear. “That’s odd. I don’t recall laying a hand on you.”

Before she could think of a smart comeback, he stomped the accelerator and the truck shot forward, thrusting Andi back against the seat. She wanted to demand that he slow down, but remembered the last time that she’d commented on his driving he’d considered it a dare, and decided not to push her luck.

“What’s the situation at Pete’s Place?” she asked, hoping if she distracted him, he’d slow down on his own.

“Stabbing. Jarrod, the new rookie, responded to the call.”

“Something’s always happening at Pete’s Place. Ten to one it’s over a woman.”

“As much as I’d like to accept your bet, it would be like taking candy from a baby.”

She gave him a droll look. “I take it you don’t think it started over a woman.”

He took a turn on two wheels, then shook his head. “No. Fights over women usually take place nearer to closing time, when folks start to pair off.”

She lifted a brow. “Is that the voice of experience speaking?”

“No. Common sense.”

“Okay, if not a woman, then what do you think started it?”

He made a sharp turn into the parking lot of Pete’s and braked to a rock-spitting stop behind the patrol car already at the scene. “Most of the men who hang out at Pete’s are construction workers. My guess is that it’s a disagreement they brought with them from the job.”

She reached for the door handle. “Well, let’s see which one of us is right.”

It appeared that the entire bar had emptied into the parking lot to watch the fight. Customers and employees alike formed a human wall that Gabe and Andi had to shoulder their way through before finding their victim. He sat on the ground beside a truck, his back propped against its rear tire, holding a blood-soaked cloth against his left arm. More blood was spattered on his shirt and jeans. Jarrod, the rookie cop, was standing off to the side, shooting the breeze with the ambulance driver.

Setting her jaw, Andi stalked toward him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The rookie jerked to attention. “Nothing, sir—I—I mean, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” she snapped, then pointed a stiff finger at the victim. “Do you realize that man might very well be bleeding to death while you’re over here flapping your jaws?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am. I tried to get him to let the paramedics load him up in the ambulance, but he won’t let anybody near him.”

Making a mental note to discuss later with the rookie his inability to control a scene, she turned for the victim, but found Gabe had beat her there. Judging by the conversation between the two, it appeared they knew each other.

“Hey, Dal,” she heard Gabe say. “How bad is it, buddy?”

“Pretty bad,” Dal said, then gulped and began to unwind the crude bandage he held on his arm. “He cut me deep.”

Andi winced as Dal exposed the gaping wound.

“It’s deep all right,” Gabe confirmed. “Looks like he sliced you clear to the bone. We need to get you to a hospital.”

Dal drew back against the tire and shook his head. “No. Ain’t got the money to ride in no ambulance. My brother Bill’ll be gettin’ off work soon. He’ll take me.”

“What time does Bill get off?”

“Works the four-to-eleven shift over at a convenience store in San Antonio.”

His expression grim, Gabe pushed his hands against his thighs. “I can’t let you sit here and bleed to death, while you wait on your brother.”

Dal kept his eyes fixed on Gabe, as Gabe stood. “I ain’t goin’ in no ambulance. I told you, I ain’t got the money to pay.”

“You’re not going in the ambulance,” Gabe informed him. “You’re going with me.”

Shocked, Andi watched as Gabe helped Dal to his feet. When he began guiding the man to his truck, she quickly fell in behind them.

“Who did this to you?” she heard Gabe asked Dal.

“Whitey. A guy on my crew. Had to fire him today. Can’t have a man on the payroll who thinks he can come and go whenever he pleases.”

Andi stifled a groan. Gabe didn’t so much as glance her way, but she heard his “I told you so” as clearly as if he’d shouted it at the top of his lungs.

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