Читать книгу Fully Committed - Janie Crouch - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Sherry was just as lovely in her photo as she had been in real life. It was just a head shot, so unfortunately those legs he’d seen yesterday in the hospital weren’t in it, but her long blond hair and clear blue eyes were.

Although Jon could appreciate her attractiveness, he was damn well ticked off at the woman.

How could she have stood there in the hallway yesterday and let Frank Spangler interview the victim? Not say a word about her profession?

And evidently she was stellar at it. If this file was anything to go by, Sherry Mitchell was considered by her supervisor at the FBI to be one of the best forensic artists in Texas, if not the entire Southwest. Her track record was impressive, and it seemed she had a particularly good case history with rape victims.

That just led Jon back to his original question: How could someone who obviously had a talent—having received numerous written commendations from some people pretty damn high up in the Bureau—just choose to do nothing yesterday?

Okay, she’d had dinner plans with Caroline. As trite as that sounded, Jon could actually understand that maybe Sherry hadn’t wanted to break her reservation or whatever. But at the very least she could’ve offered to help at a later time, diffused the situation.

Not just stand there in the hallway shivering as though she’d never seen a trauma victim before.

Somewhere in his mind Jon knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t care. He was damn well tired of every law-enforcement agent in the state having some sort of problem with him just because he was outside their don’t-mess-with-Texas inner circle. Sherry Mitchell was the last straw.

He intended to let her know that.

The final part of Steve’s message stated that although Sherry generally worked for the Houston Bureau field office, she was currently on vacation and her supervisor wasn’t sure exactly where.

Jon knew, although not the exact place where she was staying.

But he knew how to get that info, too.

Jon grabbed his phone and called the number from the text he’d received yesterday notifying him of the new rape victim. He knew Caroline Gill would know where Sherry was staying.

“Hello?”

Caroline’s voice sounded sleepy. Jon cringed. As a paramedic, Caroline probably worked odd hours. She might have been asleep.

“Hi, Caroline. It’s Jon Hatton. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I’m fine. I have a shift in a couple of hours. Has something else happened?”

He could hear the concern in her voice. She was definitely wide-awake now. “No, no. Nothing new since Jasmine Houze. Actually, I was calling to ask you about your friend Sherry Mitchell.”

“Oh. What about her?”

“I just thought I might stop by to talk to her, if you didn’t mind?”

“You found out.”

“Found out what?”

“About her being a forensic artist. She’s on vacation, Jon. She needs a break.”

Was Sherry really so selfish that she wouldn’t take a day out of her precious vacation to help the Corpus Christi PD and a woman who had been through a hideous trauma?

“I just want to talk to her, Caroline. I don’t want to push or cut into her time off. I’m sure she deserves it as much as anyone.”

Jon tried to throw lightness into his tone. Caroline was concerned about her friend. It was an admirable trait even if he didn’t see much about Sherry worth protecting if she was as shallow as her actions suggested. Obviously she was good at taking care of herself. She didn’t need her perky friend to do it.

Caroline sighed. “She just seems so tired. Maybe that’s not the right word, but I don’t know exactly what is. She’s just...she needs her vacation, Jon. Maybe you should leave her be.”

For just a second Sherry’s face—devoid of color, teeth almost chattering—flitted through his mind. Okay, yeah, maybe she was more tired or stressed or whatever than he was giving her credit for. But he had no intention of letting a forensic artist of her talent slip through his fingers when she was right in town and there was such a need.

Feeling bad, he shifted his tactics with Caroline.

“I do want to ask her professional opinion, but, really,” he chuckled in self-mock, “I’m a little embarrassed to admit this because it’s so middle-school-ish, but I was hoping to ask her out. Nothing serious or that would make her uncomfortable, just a meal or something.”

That was the truth. Last night, before he’d known how self-centered Sherry obviously was, he had been quite interested in asking her out.

Now he was just interested in Sherry getting past her selfishness and doing her job as a forensic artist.

“Oh.” Caroline hesitated, but then finally continued. “Well, that might be good for her. Just, like you said, keep it light.” She gave him the address of Sherry’s house on the beach. “If she doesn’t like you, don’t tell her I gave you her address.”

“Thanks, Caroline. Maybe we could all go out together. Sherry and I, you and Zane.”

Caroline guffawed. That was the only word for the sound that came over the phone. “Yeah, you work on that, Agent Hatton. Let me know how it goes.”

The call ended. Jon had no idea what had or hadn’t happened between Caroline and Zane Wales, but it was obviously complicated.

Jon had much more important things to worry about than romance between the detective and paramedic.

Right now he had a date of his own to get. And he didn’t plan to take no as an answer.

* * *

SHERRY SAT IN almost the exact same place she had sat the day before, umbrella up, blocking her from most of the late-afternoon sun’s rays.

She had her red bikini on again, but once again had clothes over it. This time at least it was lightweight linen capri pants rather than jeans. Much more appropriate for the beach. Her long-sleeved, button-down shirt was still a little conspicuous, but since it was unbuttoned, not too bad.

Sherry was determined not to let what she had seen—or rather heard—at the hospital yesterday cause her to have a complete setback. To do that, she just had to completely shut the entire incident out of her mind.

It was hard. She had picked up the phone a half-dozen times last night to call Caroline and get the number of the handsome Detective Hatton and tell him that she would at least try to help. But every time she did she’d been racked with a cold so vicious she’d felt paralyzed. There was no way she was going to be of any use to anyone.

Even the cold wasn’t as bad as reliving the scene of that poor woman crying as the jerk who called himself a police officer had tried to question her. That was heartbreaking. And knowing Sherry could’ve stepped in and taken over at any time, if she’d just been able to find the strength to do it, was agonizing.

So here she was, on the beach, putting it all out of her mind. It was her only option.

She had her pencil and sketch pad on her lap in the beach chair she sat in. She’d made random lines, nonsensical shapes to the rhythm of the gulf waves crashing a dozen yards away, but hadn’t been able to force herself to do anything beyond that.

At least she wasn’t shivering.

She was tempted to try to draw the face of Detective Hatton from last night, since it kept floating through her mind. She definitely remembered his exact features. Dark brown hair, cut short. Hazel eyes. Chiseled, clean-shaved jaw. Confidence permeated how he held himself; intelligence how he studied everyone around him to understand their motives and actions before he responded. The guardedness of his features probably wasn’t let down very often.

Even without her talents as an artist she’d be able to remember him clearly. It wasn’t a face one was likely to forget. And, Sherry could admit, it was the first time she had felt any heat by looking at a stranger in a long time. Months. Maybe longer.

Then that guy in the hospital room had started belittling the woman and the cold had swamped Sherry again. She’d been almost paralyzed with iciness. It was coming back again now, so she pushed all thoughts of yesterday, even of handsome Detective Hatton, out of her head. She kept her hand on the pencil, but nothing was coming from it.

A few moments later a larger shadow showed up next to her umbrella. Sherry looked over from the drawing she wasn’t really drawing and saw casual brown oxfords coupled with dark khakis. Definitely not a bad style, but also not beach wear.

She shaded her face to allow her eyes to travel farther up and found a blue polo shirt neatly tucked into the pants and then the face of Detective Jon Hatton.

Speak of the devil.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for the beach?” he asked by way of greeting.

“No more so than you, Detective Hatton,” Sherry responded. She felt at a distinct disadvantage being so far down near the ground with him towering over her. She couldn’t see his face well because of the sun, but her brain was more than happy to fill in from memory whatever she couldn’t physically see.

“Yeah, well, I’m not on vacation, as you so definitely are,” he said.

The use of the word vacation seemed almost venomous. His entire frame radiated tension.

“Is that a problem?” she asked.

“Evidently not to you.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that the detective was mad. And his anger seemed to be directed at her.

“Is there something I can do for you, Detective Hatton? Some sort of problem?”

She could feel her fingers moving with the pencil over the paper, real shapes taking form this time, but she didn’t pay it any mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d drawn something without giving the paper her direct attention.

Her focus was on Hatton, who was still standing so she had to crane her neck to look up at him. No doubt it was on purpose. The man was too intelligent, too insightful, for it to be anything but a deliberate measure on his part.

It was kind of making her mad. And...hot.

Not a sexual hot, but a regular, healthy, overheated hot because she was sitting on a Texas beach in the late-afternoon June sun in long pants and sleeves.

“Really?” he said. “You can’t figure it out?”

God, it felt good not to be icy. Even if it took being around a jerk to do it. Evidently her attraction, or whatever she’d had for him in the first few moments she’d seen him yesterday, was way off base.

Sherry sat straighter in her chair. She wasn’t just going to sit here and let him talk down to her, literally and figuratively. She got up from under her umbrella, tucking her pencil behind her ear, sketch pad down at her side.

At nearly five foot eight, Sherry was used to being pretty close to eye to eye with a lot of men, but not to Hatton. She hadn’t realized how tall he really was. He had to be at least six foot three, because she still had to crane her neck to look up at him. Not something she was used to.

“What is it that you want, Detective Hatton?”

She studiously ignored how the blue in his shirt brought out the blue specks in his eyes, especially in the late-afternoon golden sun.

“What I want is to know why you didn’t let me know about that.” He pointed toward her waist.

She looked down at herself. Was he still talking about her clothes? “I get cold, okay? It’s no crime to have on long sleeves at the beach.”

“No.” He closed the few feet between them and took the sketch pad that she held in her hand. “This.”

He was studying the sketch pad. Sherry felt a flush creep across her cheeks. She didn’t want to explain the random lines and doodles that covered her sketch pad. Didn’t want to go into the whole story about her drawings or lack thereof. Whether he knew she was an artist or not, she didn’t want to have to explain the lack of talent evident on that pad.

“Give it back to me.” She reached for the pad, but he took a step backward so she couldn’t reach it, still studying it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?” He briefly shook the pad in his hand.

That she’d lost her ability to draw?

“Look, it’s difficult to explain...”

“Really? What’s so difficult about saying, ‘I’m a forensic artist. Maybe I can help with the situation’?”

He turned the sketch pad around so what she had drawn was facing her. Sherry was already cringing, preparing to explain, until she got a glimpse of the drawing.

She had drawn Detective Hatton in almost perfect likeness.