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“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?”
