Читать книгу Small-Town Secrets - Linda Randall Wisdom - Страница 8

There was too much blood for one person. It covered her hands and clothing. No one could lose this much blood and survive. She looked down at the man lying lifeless in her arms.

“Fitz!” She sat upright in bed, positive her screams echoed off the walls.

There was no pounding on her door. No demands to know if she was all right. At least the scream remained in her head. This time.

Bree’s fingers trembled as she pushed a damp lock of hair away from her face.

She’d thought the dream had finally left her. It was bad enough, dreaming of Fitz’s death, but having each episode detail it differently only made it worse. In reality she hadn’t held his dying body in her arms. His blood hadn’t covered her hands. When she fell after being shot, only her fingertips had been able to touch him before she lost consciousness.

The dream was her punishment for not being able to save him. From the first time she’d had it, she saw it that way.

Fitz dying in her arms. Fitz never having a chance to say a word to her nor Bree given the chance to say anything to him. No goodbye. No “I love you.”

She pulled her pillow around, holding it tight against her chest as she rocked back and forth. She ignored the voices that screamed inside her head. After all this time, it was getting easier to overlook them.

“Dammit, Fitz, you weren’t supposed to die that night,” she whispered, feeling the anger build up as it had so many other nights. Anger that didn’t exactly override the pain but merely accompanied it. “You were supposed to be here when David graduated from high school. I need you to help keep the boys away from Sara and just watch…” she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling “…just watch Cody grow up.”

She knew she had to be up in three hours, but didn’t bother trying to fall back to sleep. Past experience taught her it would only mean a return to her dream. Instead, she lay back with the pillow nestled in her arms. It was a poor substitute.

“I knew we shouldn’t have moved here. I couldn’t sleep all night because of all the horrible noises I heard,” Sara Fitzpatrick announced in the dramatic tone only a fifteen-year-old girl could adopt. “Either we have ghosts in this house or there’s rats in the wall.”

“Rats?” six-year-old Cody asked, wide-eyed with horror. He swiveled to face his mother. “Big rats like in that movie?”

Bree shot her stepdaughter a silent warning. “According to the inspector who went through the house for me before we moved in, there are no rats in this house,” she said. “You have to remember this is an old house. Old houses make noises.”

“Right,” David muttered, as he spooned raspberry jam onto a slice of toast. “The Addams family would love this wreck.”

“Enough,” Bree said firmly, noting her youngest son’s distress. She cut the omelette she’d made in two and slid half on another plate, placing it in front of Sara.

Sara recoiled as if the plate held a nest of vipers.

“That is loaded with cholesterol and fat!” She pushed the offending plate toward David. He shrugged and picked up his fork.

If time hadn’t been running against her, Bree would have confronted her daughter on her eating habits. Or lack of. She knew she would have to have a long, heartfelt talk with Sara that evening. But now she had to get them all out of the house and off to school. She also couldn’t afford to be late her first day on the job.

She still resented her superior for giving her the choice of either taking a desk job or finding a position in a smaller town. Bree knew the lieutenant had her best interests in mind. He’d told her that enough times. She’d fought it as long as she could, just as she fought the tension that took over anytime she approached the scene of a violent crime.

She felt she would have worked through it if it hadn’t been for that last crime scene. She’d walked into a living room that would have been warm and homey if it hadn’t been for the blood staining the walls and furniture. A man brutally murdered by a former business associate and a wife sitting in the kitchen, silent from the shock of coming home to find her husband dead.

The memories had flooded Bree’s mind so swiftly she’d almost shut down functioning. Lieutenant Carlson took one look at her when she returned to the station and knew what had happened. Twenty-four hours later, she was called into his office and given a choice: take a desk job, or better yet, take a post where she wouldn’t have so much pressure.

Bree hated him for forcing her to make the decision. He knew she wouldn’t like being chained to a desk. He knew her so well that he had already called in favors and found her a detective’s position in Warm Springs, a small inland town northeast of San Diego. His reason for choosing the community was the low crime rate in the area. San Diego was an hour’s drive away for times when the family wanted more sophisticated entertainment, he told her. And Bree should expect him and his wife down there in a few years when he retired.

She resented Lieutenant Carlson for pretty much accepting the position on her behalf.

And the kids resented her for going along with it.

From the day they moved out of their home in Woodland Hills, they’d made sure she knew they weren’t happy with her decision.

Bree bolted down her breakfast and set the plate in the dishwasher. “You don’t think you’ll have any problem finding the high school?” she asked David. “Or the grade school when you go to pick up Cody?”

Instead of the good humor he usually displayed, his expression was almost sullen. “Oh yeah, I’ll have a tough time finding two schools that are all of two blocks apart in a town that’s, what? Three blocks total?” he muttered, taking his own dishes over to the dishwasher. He may have been angry with his stepmother for the move, but he was responsible enough to not ignore his chores.

Bree took whatever small favors she could get. She looked at her stepson and saw her husband in the handsome features that she knew would one day be stamped with his sire’s character. All these months, they’d dealt with anger over Fitz’s death. Then they’d moved from a city they’d lived in all their lives. Abandoned friends, familiar places. She told herself the old cliché about time healing all wounds. She was learning about patience.

Although David never said a word, she knew he had to be hurt and angry that he left behind his football team during his all-important year. And he registered at his present school too late to try out for football. He’d muttered he’d try out for the baseball team and she hoped he would.

She handed Cody’s backpack to him, verified that all three children had lunch money, and herded Cody into her Expedition, with Jinx, her K-9, hopping into the back seat. The German shepherd sat down with his tongue lolling happily in anticipation of the ride.

“If I stayed in my old school I would have Mrs. Allen for my teacher,” Cody said with a sigh. “She lets her class do really neat things. And her class has a hamster and two guinea pigs.”

Bree hurt because she knew Cody hurt. She was aware this move was the hardest on her youngest, who was just beginning first grade. She’d hoped that moving here a couple weeks before the beginning of the school year would help. Instead she’d battled with three kids who constantly complained that their new house wasn’t like their old house and there was no one to hang out with. Since his older brother and sister weren’t interested in doing anything he wanted to do, Cody was on his own most of the time, and suffered the most.

Bree wasn’t worried about Sara and David getting along in school. The two siblings never had a problem making friends. They’d complain about the area, but in time she knew they’d easily fit into a group. It was Cody, quiet and shy, who had difficulty in new situations. Even more so since his father’s death.

“I understand that your teacher here, Miss Lancaster, is very nice,” she said. “I also heard that her class does a lot of neat things. They take a lot of field trips. Maybe she has a hamster in her room, too.”

“Not like Harry Hamster,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

He still didn’t look convinced things were great by the time Bree stopped the vehicle in front of the sprawling building that housed classrooms for kindergarten through the sixth grade.

“Do you remember where your classroom is? Would you like me to walk in with you?” she asked.

He looked out the window at the kids milling about. When he turned back to her, his small face was set in a determined look she wryly recalled seeing on her own at times. His rusty-colored hair had been combed before they left the house, but it was already unruly. She tamped down the urge to smooth it back with her hand.

“I’m not a little kid, Mom,” he replied with little-boy dignity. “I go to room 108.”

She didn’t dare sniff, much less cry, the way she had on Cody’s first day in kindergarten. It would mortify him.

“Don’t forget that David will pick you up after school,” Bree reminded him.

“Don’t talk to strangers. If anyone tries to talk to me, run to a teacher and tell ’em,” he recited. “Or yell really loud. And stand by the front door of the school until I see David.”

Bree swallowed the lump in her throat. And swallowed the need to hug him tightly and kiss him. Which he would only rebuff for fear that his classmates would see her display of affection.

She settled on a basic mom statement. “Be good.”

For all of Cody’s bravado, he was still exceedingly slow in opening the door and climbing out of the SUV. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he paused long enough to turn and offer a brave smile and wave.

Bree waited until Cody was safely inside the building. Then it was her turn, and she headed for the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.

“Hope you’re ready, fella,” she told her K-9 partner as she parked in the department’s parking lot. She paused long enough to loop his chain collar around his neck, complete with a deputy’s shield attached to it.

Since detectives weren’t required to wear a uniform, she had chosen coffee-colored linen pants and a matching vest, paired with a cream-colored, short-sleeved blouse. Her detective’s shield was clipped to her waistband, and her weapon, settled in a holster against the small of her back, was hidden by the three-quarter-length-sleeve, coffee-colored linen jacket. For easy care, she kept her bright auburn hair layered in short waves, tucked behind her ears. Jinx walked regally at her side.

“Good morning, Detective Fitzpatrick.” The office receptionist greeted her with a small smile. The nameplate pinned on her chest revealed her name to be Irene. Like the deputies in the station, she wore a navy polo shirt and khaki pants. “I’ll let Sheriff Holloway know you’re here.” She eyed Jinx warily, as if she wasn’t sure Bree’s four-footed partner was safe. “We’ve never had a dog here before.”

“Jinx is a full-fledged sheriff’s deputy,” Bree reminded her.

“Detective Fitzpatrick?”

Bree turned and faced her superior. He, too, was dressed in a navy polo shirt, and his khaki pants had a razor-sharp crease. His dark brown boots were so highly polished she imagined he could use the surface as a mirror. She’d say Roy Holloway was a man who valued his image. She’d even say he was good-looking, with his broad smile, his blue eyes holding a touch of humor. She doubted he was a pushover, though. He looked like he had what it took to keep his people in line. He held out his hand.

“Sheriff Holloway.” She smiled as she put her hand in his. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet the last time I was here. I understand you and your family were on vacation then.”

“Relaxing at my favorite fishing hole,” he admitted. His eyes dropped to the dog sitting by her side, and again he grinned. “I’m not used to seeing a deputy with four legs.”

She grinned back. “He would have been perfect if I could have trained him to drive.”

Roy chuckled. “Come on back to my office and we’ll talk.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the building.

Bree murmured a command to Jinx, who moved smoothly alongside her. As they walked toward the sheriff’s office, she noticed that the men seated at desks were watching her with undisguised interest.

“Have a chair,” Roy invited, as he settled behind his desk.

Bree took the one opposite, with Jinx sitting sedately on his haunches beside her.

“I’m going to be up front with you,” her boss said crisply, all-business now. “I didn’t think we needed another detective. This county is growing, but I wasn’t thinking of adding anyone to the force just yet.”

“Token female detective?” she said lightly.

“Probably. They’ve gotten on the politically correct bandwagon with a vengeance lately,” he admitted. “I’ll be honest with you, Fitzpatrick—I’m not one for surprises. I like to know what’s going on in my department. I like to do my own hiring.”

“I had no idea,” Bree said honestly.

“You’ve got some heavy hitters in your corner, however.” He glanced at the file folder lying open on his desk. “A kennel has been set up near the parking lot for the dog.” He fixed her with a piercing stare. “It’s your job to keep it clean.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

Lieutenant Carlson had said she would be better off in a small town, where she wouldn’t be up against the kinds of violent cases she’d handled in L.A. He hadn’t said anything about her new boss not being entirely happy with her arrival there. Still, he was friendlier than most would be in this situation.

“Since you’ve already got the training, I’ll just throw you into the shark pool,” he told her. “Fine by you?”

“The only way to do it,” she replied.

Roy nodded. “But let me tell you. You screw up and I come down hard. I don’t care if you do have a dog that can eat me for breakfast.” He warily eyed the German shepherd. “Literally.”

“Jinx hasn’t bitten an officer in, oh, at least a month,” she said, matching his tone.

He chuckled. “How’d a deputy K-9 end up with a name like Jinx?”

“He comes from a distinguished line of police dogs,” she replied. “His sire is Ace, as in Ace of Spades. His dam is Allie, as in Poker Alice. The litter Jinx was in was born on Friday the thirteenth. Each puppy received a similar name. The breeder’s twisted logic.”

“And he left L.A. when you did.”

“It happens a lot. When you work with a dog as your partner, you develop as close a relationship as you do with a human partner. In many ways, closer.”

Roy’s eyes tracked her every feature. “Then you’ll understand that we’re a close unit here, Detective. We’ve all worked together a long time.”

“And new people have to prove their worth before they can hope to be accepted,” she stated, finishing his thought. “I understand that. I believe in pulling my weight.”

“Good.” He stood up. “I’ll show you your desk.”

Bree didn’t say a word when she was led to a battered desk stuck in a corner. Roy rattled off names as he passed each desk. She nodded and offered each deputy a brief smile. She wasn’t surprised to receive speculative looks in return.

It was a good thing she hadn’t expected an open-armed welcome.

Jinx lay down next to her desk and rested his chin on his paws. She idly scratched the top of his head.

“It’s only the first day, boy,” she murmured.

“Tell me, oh powerful one, do you plan to do anything useful today or just sit there and look cute?”

Tipped back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, Cole Becker looked up at his assistant. This was his favorite position when he needed to proofread the advertisements for that week.

When his uncle died, leaving him the newspaper, Cole took it over. He became not only the owner of the Warm Springs Bulletin, but reporter and staff photographer. He wore many hats in the office.

“I am doing something useful.” He gestured to the sheaf of papers he held in one hand. “I’m making sure Whitman’s name is spelled correctly. I don’t think he’d be so amiable if it happened again.”

Mamie Eichorn chuckled. “I don’t know. Substituting an S for the W told everyone what the mean old coot is really like.”

“Maybe so, but that mean old coot pays his bills on time,” Cole reminded her.

“And each time acts as if we’re bleeding him dry.” She rolled her eyes.

“I hear there’s a new cop in town,” he commented. “A story about her would make a good human interest piece. Nothing better than a mom with kids. And there’s even a dog. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?”

“I heard the dog is her partner,” Mamie noted.

“Even better on the human interest angle.” Cole picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He believed in doing his homework ahead of time. By talking to a couple of contacts in L.A., he’d been able to pick up a lot of information about the former Los Angeles Sheriff’s Detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. He’d even had a photograph faxed to him—of the widow standing tall at her husband’s funeral. Cole had heard an impressive listing of the woman’s accomplishments.

Unlike the proper widow, Cole was a complete contradiction. He looked like one of those guys who didn’t move a muscle unless it was absolutely necessary. Only those who knew him well understood that his body and mind could move swift as lightning when he needed to.

“I called over to the station, but the new detective is in with Roy.” He spoke in a low rumble that slid like warm lotion over a woman’s skin. “Think you could find out the new detective’s home telephone number for me?”

Even Mamie, who’d been happily married for the past fifty-six years, wasn’t immune to Cole’s lethal charm.

“The woman hasn’t even settled in and you’re already calling her up for a date? She has children, Cole. I thought you drew the line at women with families.”

He agreed. “I do. Too much trouble. This is business, Mamie.”

“Like I’ll believe that,” she retorted. “You’re not getting any younger, Cole. Finding someone with a ready-made family is a good way for you to go. Saves a lot of time.”

“You make it sound like my sperm’s in some retirement home. Herb Dickinson became a father last year, and he’s in his late seventies,” Cole pointed out in his defense.

Mamie shook her head. “Herb needs new glasses. That baby looks more like their pool man than he looks like Herb, even if the kid’s as bald as his alleged daddy.”

“There you go.” He grinned. “Herb doesn’t care who the baby looks like. He’s just happy everyone’s calling him a stud.”

“Some stud,” she snorted with disdain. “Herb has an artificial hip, a glass eye and high blood pressure.”

“And a twenty-eight-year-old wife. I’d say the man did something right.”

Mamie blithely ignored him as she continued. “If you don’t do something about your social life, you’ll be worse off than him.”

“That’s why I go out of town.”

Mamie shook her head. “So what’s next on your agenda?”

Cole flashed her a warm smile. “I guess I’ll just have to call over to the sheriff’s station again. See about setting up an interview with our new sheriff’s detective.”

His assistant shot him a knowing look. “And you say it’s business only.”

Cole played it cool. “You got it.”

Mamie started to leave the room, then paused. She stared at him for several moments. “What’s really going on, Cole?”

He gave her a bland look. “Working on next week’s edition.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but I have a feeling it might not be good.”

Cole flashed a smile that had warmed many a woman’s heart. “Just doin’ my job.”

This time she wasn’t fooled.

Bree hated first days. Cody’s first day of first grade. Sara’s first day as a high school sophomore. David’s first day as a high school senior. Her own first day with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.

While Sheriff Roy Holloway was helpful, her peers weren’t. They didn’t make it difficult for her, but they didn’t make it easy, either.

She arrived home to find Cody almost in tears. He looked at her and declared he hated school.

“We only have a dumb parakeet,” he muttered, with a slight whine to his voice.

“I’ve heard of some smart parakeets,” she offered.

“Not this one.” His eyes plaintively beseeched her. “I want to go back to my old school, Mom.”

“Sweetie, it’s only your first day,” she murmured. “You have to give it time.”

He shook his head.

Bree looked at her stepson and stepdaughter. They didn’t look all that happy, either.

“Don’t tell me you only have parakeets in your class, too,” she said lightly. Her joke fell flat.

David was tight-lipped about his day. Sara announced she was going to her room.

“And how was your day, Bree?” she asked herself as she checked the casserole she’d popped in the oven as soon as she got home. “Just fine. Thank you for asking. The sheriff is an okay guy, but I can’t say much for everyone else. The deputies treat me as if I carry the dreaded plague, and the dispatcher informed me she’s allergic to dogs.” Bree pulled out makings for a salad and began tearing a head of lettuce into pieces. “Now I learn that Cody’s convinced everyone hates him. David hates his school and Sara is positive she won’t make any new friends. How do I know that’s how they’re feeling, when they haven’t said a word to me? Easy. I’m a detective. I read minds.” Her movements were almost violent as she tossed a variety of vegetables into the bowl.

When the phone rang, she snagged it before the first ring faded away.

She glanced at her caller ID and noticed it listed Warm Springs Bulletin as the caller.

“Fitzpatrick.”

“Detective Fitzpatrick? I’m Cole Becker with the Warm Springs Bulletin.” A man’s lazy drawl drifted across her mind the way a soft comforter covered her body. “Welcome to our fair town.”

Bree felt a tingle begin deep inside her body and move upward. She wasn’t sure if it was warm in the kitchen or just her. She feared it was all her.

“Thank you,” she said warily.

“I was wondering if there was any possibility we could get together?”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’d like to interview you for the newspaper. See how you feel being Warm Springs’s first female detective. What prompted you to move to Warm Springs. Human interest stuff,” he explained.

Stuff? He didn’t sound like any reporter she’d ever come across.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Becker.” She didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “But right now, I’m in the midst of fixing dinner.”

“How about we talk over breakfast tomorrow?”

“I like to have breakfast with my kids.”

“Lunch? They’ll be in school then, right?”

She gave him points for figuring that one out.

“This isn’t a good time, Mr. Becker. I’m still settling in.” She wasn’t about to tell him she hated interviews. People usually spelled her name wrong or made her sound as if she was an avenging angel with PMS. “No free time at all.”

“I’m sure you are busy, Detective. But wouldn’t you want the people to know about the woman behind the badge? Show them that while you’re wearing that badge and carrying a gun, you’re still a mom and a human being?”

“Not my style,” she retorted.

“Then why don’t we talk about something that is your style,” he suggested. “Something I think you’d like to know.”

Bree felt a familiar tingle at the base of her neck. She’d never ignored the warning signal before, and a few times it had even saved her life.

How could something happen in this small town when she was barely unpacked? She could feel her jaw tightening. She didn’t know what was going on, but felt this was more than a request for an interview.

“Tomorrow. Lunch. One o’clock,” she rattled. “I’ll leave the choice of restaurant up to you. I haven’t learned which ones are better than others.”

“Then I’ll make it easy for you. Two doors down from you is The Eatery. I’ll see you there at one.” He hung up.

Bree stared at her phone before she set it back in the cradle. “It’s not as if you’re marrying the man, Bree. Just think of it as a free meal,” she murmured as she turned to the oven when the timer dinged. “Dinner!” she called out.

Instead of the clatter of three sets of feet that normally followed her announcement, three quiet souls marched into the kitchen. They started to take their seats, then instantly rose up in response to their mom’s telling stare.

Sara headed for the refrigerator and pulled out the bottles of salad dressing. Cody filled glasses with iced tea and milk, while David carried the casserole dish over to the table.

Bree pasted on a bright smile as she sat down. “So, tell me about your day,” she urged in her best June Cleaver voice.

They all looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“So Cole Becker’s going to interview you today?” Roy grinned at Bree’s look of astonishment. “No secrecy in this town, Fitzpatrick. Someone asked about you when I stopped for coffee. You’ll have to get used to everyone knowing your business.”

“I should have cleared it with you first,” she said uneasily, silently damning Cole Becker to hell. “He said it’s purely a human interest type story about the new arrival in town.”

“Don’t worry about it, Fitzpatrick,” the sheriff replied. “Becker’s like one of those bloodhounds who refuses to give up. Believe me, if you hadn’t agreed to the interview, he would have found another way. He’s one persistent son of a bitch,” he said without rancor.

“You don’t need to worry about my saying anything I shouldn’t. I’ve dealt with the press in the past without any dire consequences,” she assured him. Her stomach was already roiling at the thought of sharing a meal with a man who sounded like the devil incarnate. “I can tell him I can’t make it.”

Roy shook his head. “I can tell you haven’t dealt with this man. Don’t worry about it. Take advantage of him picking up the tab. Sit there and smile at the guy. Tell him you came out here so your kids would grow up breathing clean air.”

Bree grimaced. “I really prefer not talking about my children to the media,” she told him. “I think you can realize why.”

Her superior looked at her and nodded in understanding. As police officers, they were fully aware of just how vulnerable kids today were.

“Bree, you’re living in a small town now. Everyone knew everything there was to know about you within ten minutes of you moving in. I’ll be the first to tell you your kids are safer here than they would have been in L.A. I’m not saying we haven’t seen problems with drugs, but we’ve been pretty successful in keeping the gangs out, and any kid caught with drugs finds out just how stupid he or she is. Cole’s looking for human interest fluff for his readers. Give him what he wants and he’ll go away. Trust me,” he told her in a soothing voice.

“If it was my choice I’d rather have a root canal without anesthesia,” she muttered, rising to her feet.

Roy laughed out loud. “Yeah, but you don’t get a free meal out of a root canal.”

“Then maybe you should do the interview,” she murmured, leaving the office.

Bree’s first alert that something was wrong was the way Jinx stood by her desk. His entire body vibrated with the need for action.

“So what did they do, huh, boy?” she whispered, sitting at her desk. She didn’t have to look around to notice everyone’s attention was centered on her, even if no one looked in her direction. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

She didn’t miss the sound of Frank Robert’s malicious chuckle from the other side of the room.

She swiftly reviewed past misdeeds thought up by co-workers. The flour bomb left in a desk drawer. Her picture pasted on top of a Playboy centerfold. Fake vomit placed under her desk chair. She affectionately called the perpetrators her own juvenile delinquents. And she did her own damage when the occasion arose.

She found what she was looking for in the second drawer. As soon as she opened it, a triangular head slid upward and a narrow, forked tongue flicked out to test the air. Bree leaned back a bit as a long, sinuous column swept toward her, seeking the heat of her body.

“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” she cooed, picking up the snake, which immediately wrapped itself around her arm. “And what did they arrest you for?” She glanced at Jinx, who whined in displeasure at having such a creature invade his partner’s private space. She had no doubt every eye was on her. “A rosy boa, isn’t he?” she said to no one in particular. She stroked the reptile’s head. “My oldest son has one.”

Keith, one of the deputies, rose to his feet. He looked a little uneasy as he approached her. “So that’s where he got to,” he chuckled, but the sound came out forced. “Mabel’s my son’s snake,” he explained, walking over with his hand outstretched, ready to take the boa from her.

“Mabel,” Bree murmured as she studied the reptile, which seemed content to remain wrapped around her arm. “Interesting name. Ours is named David Boa.” She grinned.

This time Keith’s chuckle was more natural as he understood the twist on words. As he turned, he caught sight of Frank’s dark expression. He turned away immediately.

“Keith, do you have some place for Mabel or should I just put her back in my desk?” Bree asked. “She seemed to have made herself at home there.”

His face reddened even more. “Ah, I’ve got a box in my locker.”

“She can stay here until you get back.” She set the snake back in the drawer.

Bree noticed some of the men looked wary, but a few still appeared hostile. She sensed this was just the beginning of pranks meant to test a new colleague.

But Bree wasn’t easily intimidated.

Since it was getting close to the time for her lunch meeting, she walked Jinx outside to the small fenced enclosure fixed up for him. She made sure he had plenty of water before she closed the gate after him.

“Can you believe those guys thought they could scare me with a measly snake?” she asked her canine partner. “As if that would do it. I have teenagers, for God’s sake!”

She went back inside and stopped in the ladies’ room long enough to freshen her lipstick and cologne. She knew her outfit was professional looking, with a touch of femininity—a square of lace peeking out of the pocket on her navy houndstooth vest, topping navy linen pants. She made sure her pager was switched on, then grabbed her purse and left.

Now to see if the man looked as good as he sounded.

The man looked even better than he sounded.

Bree might not have met Cole Becker before, but when she stepped inside the restaurant, she had no problem targeting her quarry.

He sat in the last booth, his back against the wall. Long jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him. Neatly shorn black hair flecked with silver framed a blatantly male face, whose signs of wear and tear only accented his rough good looks. A faded gray, cotton button-down shirt matched the equally faded jeans.

He looked like a man who had all the time in the world. As if nothing mattered except what he was going to order for lunch.

Bree knew better. There was something in that deceptively lazy gaze wandering over her that said this man probably knew everything about her down to her bra size. Just from that look.

An energetic Beatles tune boomed out of a jukebox near the front door. The first thing that hit the people who entered the restaurant was the black and hot-pink decor. Hot-pink vinyl bench seats framed black tables of the booths, and pink and black vinyl alternated on stools at the counter. Most of them were occupied, Bree noted. Chatter momentarily halted as the occupants paused and identified the newcomer.

Her gaze returned to the man sitting in the booth at the rear of the room.

Oh my God. No man should look this good.

She resolutely kept her jaw up off the floor as she walked toward him. This man didn’t need to worry that the lines by his eyes and mouth had been stamped there by time and the sun. They only intensified his good looks. He watched her with an expression that also betrayed a hint of amusement, as if he was aware of her thoughts.

He has to be used to lots of feminine appreciation.

Storm-gray eyes that matched his shirt tracked her movements. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and held out his hand.

He had to be a good six feet two inches to her five feet eight. She wasn’t used to men towering over her, and it had been a long time since a man looked at her the way Cole Becker was. As if she was today’s blue plate special.

“Detective Fitzpatrick, I’m Cole Becker.” He spoke in that kind of supremely masculine voice that wouldn’t sound out of place in a woman’s bedroom.

Where did that thought come from? She firmly shook it off before it gathered too much momentum.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the bench across from his, then looked past her. “Did you leave your partner back at the station?”

She mentally gave him points for knowing about Jinx. But then, as Roy had told her, there’s no privacy in a small town.

“His table manners can’t always be trusted,” she replied, sliding across the hot-pink vinyl seat.

“Too bad. I was hoping to meet him.” Cole sat down. “I can guarantee everything they serve here is fantastic,” he added, nodding toward the menu. “And it’s on me.”

Bree arched an eyebrow. “Some might see that as bribing a police officer.”

“I don’t think Holloway would consider a $5.95 hamburger a bribe,” Cole murmured with amusement. “But if you order the steak sandwich, favors will be asked for.”

“Hey there, hon.” A waitress stopped by the table. Her gaze was filled with unabashed curiosity as she stared down at Bree.

“Annie, this is the town’s new detective, Bree Fitzpatrick,” Cole introduced. “Detective, this is Annie, the love of my life who keeps me well fed.”

Annie shot him her “get out of here” look.

“Nice to meet you, hon,” she said warmly. “What can I get you to drink?”

Bree smiled back. “Iced tea, please.”

She nodded and started to walk away.

“Hey, Annie, I don’t get asked?” Cole said with mock hurt.

She laughed. “Oh, hon, the day you don’t drink black coffee is the day the sky will turn plaid.” She wiggled ample hips encased in denim. “I’ll get your drinks now. That’ll give the detective time to figure out what she wants to eat.” She pointed her finger at Cole. “You, I already know.”

“Eat here often, do you?” Bree asked, entertained by the waitress’s lively chatter.

“Only two times a day, seven days a week,” he admitted. “But we’re here to talk about you. I understand you have three kids. Two from your husband’s first marriage, the third yours and your husband’s.”

The light in Bree’s eyes dimmed a bit. As if obeying a command from within, she pasted on her professional expression.

“I consider all three mine,” she replied, pausing long enough to murmur her thanks as the waitress deposited her drink in front of her. “But I really prefer we not discuss my children. I like to keep my work and personal life separate.”

The lines fanning out from his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You’ve never lived in a small town before, have you? The favorite entertainment around here is learning everything you can about your neighbor. Once the residents know all the little details, they consider you one of their own. It’s already common knowledge you bought Mrs. McGyver’s place. As for your job, the city council liked your credentials, which I have to say were impressive, and your hire was almost immediate. Detectives with your credentials don’t usually come to a place like Warm Springs,” he told her. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt when you’ve got some city politicians on your side.”

Bree’s gaze could have cut through him like a hot knife through butter. He didn’t look the least bit cowed. If anything, he smiled more.

She looked up when Annie returned to take her order. Bree quickly examined the menu and asked for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.

“I’ll have my usual,” Cole said.

Annie gave an unladylike snort. “Like I didn’t already know.” She moved away.

“One day I’ll order something different,” he called after her.

“Sure, and tomorrow Harrison Ford is going to show up and take me away from all this grandeur,” the waitress snickered.

Bree smothered her chuckle. “Stand in line.”

Cole looked at Bree and decided she was one fine-looking woman, even if she did carry a gun and could probably pin him up against a wall with a minimum of effort.

He’d never thought of freckles as sexy until he noticed them lightly dusted across her nose. They went with the red hair tucked behind her ears and wisped across her forehead. Her tailored clothing stated she was no-nonsense. Probably had to give that impression because of her occupation. But the citron studs in her ears, gold filigreed chain around her neck and the hint of perfume proclaimed her femininity to anyone who cared to look for it. His gaze flicked downward. She wore no wedding ring, so she must have laid her husband to rest even in her heart.

Cole was positive she’d deck him if he told her she was cute.

Besides, she was not his type. Law enforcement officials he’d met in the past were pretty regimented in their thinking. And the woman had three kids.

No, not his type. Even if just looking at her made his day.

This meeting was purely business, however. He’d dangled a little mystery in front of the lady to get her here. After all, who was more qualified to solve a murder than a homicide detective?

He wondered if he could trust her.

“How about if I start off with some humor,” he suggested. “What was one of the funniest things to happen to you on the job?”

Bree thought for a moment. “The first year I worked patrol, we were called to a carjacking scene. We were only a block away and arrived in time to see the suspect take off. We wasted no time in going after him. We apprehended the suspect and told him we were bringing him back for an ID. The minute we pulled him out of the car to face the woman, he said, ‘Yep, that’s the lady I robbed.’ He was dead serious when he said it, too. My partner and I couldn’t stop laughing. Good thing we’d Mirandized him the minute we grabbed him. There was no way his confession could be thrown out. That good enough for you?”

Cole chuckled. “Definitely. You gotta love an easy confession like that.”

“It did make it a lot easier for us,” she admitted.

“I would think Warm Springs would seem pretty quiet after the fast pace in L.A.,” he commented, looking up to smile at Annie as she set their plates in front of them. As always, his hamburger was grilled to perfection, the sauteed mushrooms on top of the meat finishing the work of art. The onion rings were golden brown and crispy. “Marry me, Annie,” he begged.

“The day I say yes is the day you’ll hotfoot it out of town,” she hooted.

“That’s what you eat every day?” Bree asked curiously, as she sprinkled salt on her French fries.

He shook his head. “Only on Wednesdays. I believe in a varied diet. So tell me, how long did you work for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department?”

“I was with the department for twelve years, the last three in homicide.”

“I guess Warm Springs seems pretty tame after all the excitement you had in L.A.,” he commented.

Her smile rivaled that of a shark moving in for the kill. “Sometimes what looks tame on the surface isn’t. I’ve heard that can happen in small towns.”

Damn, he should have known better than to underestimate the lady. It was as if she knew exactly what he was leading up to. But would she accuse him of chasing shadows that weren’t there?

She pushed her plate to one side so she could rest her arms on the tabletop. She fixed him with a steely gaze that had prompted more than one suspect to confess all. “Cut to the chase, Becker. Why are we sitting here having this conversation? No BS, either.”

“I’m just making conversation,” he drawled, falling back into the good-ole-boy routine that had lulled more than one subject he’d interviewed in the past. And gotten him some good quotes in the process. “I like to write up an accurate article. There’s nothing worse than a sheriff’s detective ticked off because I spelled her name wrong.”

Her verbal rejoinder to his glib reply was succinct and to the point.

Cole’s grin was slow to appear, but earth-shattering to the senses. “Damn, woman, I like your style. Something tells me you’re going to give this town the kind of shake-up it needs.” He leaned back, resting one arm across the back of the bench seat. He cocked his head to the side, watching her with piercing eyes that seemed to probe past any defenses she might erect.

Her return smile would have scared off a great white shark. “Lordy, Becker. Compliments like that will only go to my head,” she purred.

Cole looked stunned, but quickly recovered. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but waited until after Annie paused by the table to see if they needed anything.

“During your time in homicide, did you ever have a funny feeling about a case? Something that just didn’t feel right?” Cole asked when they were alone again. “A feeling that what was in front of you wasn’t what it should be? That while everyone else said it was fine, you knew deep down it wasn’t?”

Good. The lady looked intrigued.

“That’s not unusual for any good cop,” she said with a hint of caution in her voice. “When you’ve been on the job long enough, you learn to follow your instincts.”

“Even if it means stirring up trouble?” he pressed. “What if there’s an excellent chance that there’s someone from your own department involved in something illegal?”

She returned his gaze with an equally bold one of her own. “Then you do what you have to do. Just because somebody wears a shield doesn’t mean they’re exempt. Your job is to arrest the bad guys,” she said candidly.

“No matter who it is?”

“No matter who it is,” she repeated.

Cole shrugged. “The mind-set of a police officer is interesting. You not only have hard and fast rules to follow, but you need to follow your instincts, too.”

He noticed she absently placed her hand against the back of her neck, as if something bothered her.

“So what are you not telling me, Becker? What conspiracy do you believe has cropped up in Warm Springs?” Her emerald eyes glittered. “I’m sorry, I haven’t read your newspaper long enough to know what your views are—if you think aliens are landing in the desert or a wild coyote boy is living out there.”

Cole didn’t miss the mocking implication.

“Why don’t you eat your lunch first. Then we’ll talk.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean I don’t get dessert,” she murmured, as she picked up her sandwich.

Cole finished his hamburger in record time. With every bite he kept an eye on his companion, as she, too, ate with relish.

Bree Fitzpatrick wasn’t what he’d expected. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met more than his share of female detectives, some of them downright gorgeous. But there was something about her that fascinated him.

When he’d learned the city council had hired a new detective, he’d been curious about what kind of officer they’d chosen. He hadn’t expected Detective Fitzpatrick to be a widowed mother of three, two of them teenagers. He thought he’d meet a hard-nosed cop who’d worked toward her twenty years on the force and looked every one of those years. A woman no one in his right mind would want to cross. He would hazard a guess that no one in his right mind would cross this woman, and for all Cole knew she was a hard-nosed cop. But there was more to her than that. He’d say Bree Fitzpatrick was made up of more than grit.

He also hoped she had good instincts.

“Dessert?” Annie asked cheerfully.

Bree looked past him so she could read the brightly marked board on a wall.

“Pink lemonade pie?”

Annie nodded. “You’ll love it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Coconut pie for me, my love,” Cole said.

Annie rolled her eyes. “As if you’d ever have anything different.” She moved away.

“It sounds as if you’ve dug yourself into a rut,” Bree commented. “Maybe you should shake things up a bit yourself by ordering something different next time.”

“Maybe I will.”

Bree looked at the chalkboard set next to the dessert board. She read the brightly colored words and laughed. Customers using cell phones in here will be treated with the same courtesy as anyone lighting up a cigarette.

Next to the board were two hooks. A squirt gun hung from the first and a waterfilled, clear plastic bucket hung from the second. A cell phone rested in the watery depths.

“The cell phone belongs to a businessman who’d stopped for lunch and didn’t believe the sign,” Cole said, noticing her interest. “He threatened to sue until he discovered he wouldn’t have a chance of winning, since the sign is up where everyone can see it.”

“I’ll remember to keep mine turned off,” she murmured, as the waitress dropped off their desserts.

Bree quickly discovered that pink lemonade pie was something very close to heaven even if there wasn’t one hint of chocolate in it. She finished the rich pie in no time and knew she’d be back for more.

Cole waited until she ate her last bite before he spoke. “Tell me something, Bree. Have you ever thought an accident or suicide could have been a homicide? Did you go even further and try to prove it?”

She looked intrigued by his question. “Any reason for asking?”

“Curiosity.”

Bree silently regarded him. He kept his expression blank.

“There have been times when something hasn’t seemed what it is,” she said finally.

“What if you were the only one who saw it? How do you handle that kind of situation? Do you go along with what’s already been determined, or try to make things right?”

Her expression tightened. “What’s important about any case is that it’s closed properly. I do whatever it takes. So why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re asking me this?”

Now it was Cole’s turn to regard her. “Some people get lost in the cracks.”

“Only if the investigator hasn’t done his or her job,” she retorted. “You’ve got sixty seconds to tell me exactly why you’re asking me these questions before I get up and walk out.”

Cole waited fifty-nine of those seconds before he leaned down and reached into his battered briefcase, which lay at his booted feet. He pulled out several sheets of paper and pushed them across the table.

“I’m trusting you with something I wouldn’t like to have get out, Detective,” he said quietly.

Bree picked them up and began reading. She noted the neatly aligned columns that listed names, dates and cause of death.

“Not very informative for an obituary,” she commented.

“These aren’t obits. These are not accidents or deaths by natural causes, either,” he said quietly, tapping the papers with his forefinger. “These are all murders.”