From Mission To Marriage. Lyn Stone
change in his new temporary partner grow even more marked as they approached her place of work. So marked that he felt compelled to ask “Is something wrong?”
“Agent Roan sent me to pick you up but he’ll offer you one of the guys to work with instead of me. Count on it.”
“Because you’re female? That’s ridiculous,” Clay said vehemently. Vehement only because he had already entertained some reservations about her himself since meeting her. Her size, her flagrant optimism, her lack of broader experience in law enforcement. But she was a well-trained agent, and according to her record, beyond simply capable. He hated any kind of discrimination and would not be a party to it. Walker was getting her chance.
He had to work with her. How else would he determine whether she would fit in COMPASS? Even if she wasn’t quite ready, she would have months of extra training to prepare her for that job if he did recruit her. As for her boss trying to edge her out of this investigation, Clay set her mind at rest. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
She shot him a wry glance. “It’s not the boy-girl thing if that’s what you’re thinking,” she admitted. “See, I sort of overstepped my bounds by conferring with the chief out at Qualla about the case. It was hard not to since we’re related. The boss is still ticked off that I discussed it. We butt heads pretty regularly.”
Clay smiled at her moxie. “Nothing scares you, I guess.”
She treated him to a blinding white smile that showed dimples. “Not much, no, but I have to admit, you’re a little scary. I’m glad you’re on my side. You got a wife?”
Damn, she kept throwing him curveballs. “No,” he said. “No wife.”
“Not surprised,” she commented just as they parked. She popped her seat belt and hopped out of the car, energy crackling around her like static electricity. “You’re the best-looking man I’ve seen in a long time, but that scowl of yours would terrify the bejesus out of most women.”
But not her, obviously. Clay could only shake his head in wonder. The girl was outrageous, without a smidgen of diplomacy, and sort of exhausting to be around. He imagined the local Bureau would be delighted, or at least a little relieved, if he did steal her away from them.
“Agent Walker?” he called as she started up the steps, intending to advise her to let him do the talking when they went inside.
She stopped to wait for him at the top. “Might as well call me Van,” she said, pausing with her hand on the door. “Everyone else here does. I think they like to pretend I’m a guy.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Then they must have excellent imaginations,” Clay said, without thinking that the comment sounded sexist until it was already out there.
“Thanks. May I call you Clay? Not in there, of course,” she assured him, gesturing at the door with a quick lift of her chin.
“No problem.” What else could he say without sounding unfriendly, even pretentious?
A glance at his watch told him it was nearly four o’clock. “Let’s get this out of the way and then get busy. If that informant of yours is not jerking us all around, we don’t need to lose any time on useless networking.”
Her smile flashed again. “Hey, my kind of man.” She swept open the door and indicated he should precede her.
A quarter hour later, Van cradled her coffee cup and sat with one hip hitched up on her desk, trying to hear what was going on in the boss’s office. The walls were thin, but not thin enough to catch the words, only to hear that the argument to replace her was subtle, noncombative, but intense.
Two of her fellow agents, Buddy Dean and Joe Middle-brooks, listened with her unabashedly, watching for her reactions.
In defense of her boss, Vanessa knew half his reasons for disliking her were probably valid. He would be telling Agent Senate how she was too outspoken, too ambitious and that she tried entirely too hard. How those things caused resentment.
Dammit, she had to be an overachiever. How else could she prove herself? Everybody in the world knew that a woman had to work twice as hard to prove herself in a male-dominated field. In a same-case scenario, a man was applauded for his initiative while a woman was labeled overly aggressive and presumptuous.
Not that they meant to be chauvinistic around here. The men she worked with were good people, dedicated and conscientious. They worked hard and made a difference. All she wanted was to keep up with them and gain their respect.
She tried to keep a low profile. Not that she was all that modest and certainly not lacking in ambition, but Van was afraid the boss would think she was trying to beef up her participation into something that might get her promoted. This time she was going all out, begging for the lead on the case, even if it meant working with another agency on it. This threat was very real.
Hightower wasn’t finished. But even with that considered, it had been a homemade bomb, not even a large one. Even she knew it was a local problem, technically not warranting FBI intervention. She wouldn’t be in on it if Lisa hadn’t called her directly and gotten her involved. So Van had to wonder why the powers-that-be had sent Agent Senate down here to assist. Scary as it was, this was not a national threat.
The door opened and Clay came out wearing that scary frown she hoped to have a chance to get used to. Vanessa stood and put down her coffee cup, ready to bow out gracefully if Roan had changed Senate’s mind. Buddy and Joe stood, too, fully expecting to be called to duty in her place.
“We’re burning daylight, Agent Walker. Let’s go,” Senate said, looking straight at her. She caught the almost undetectable hint of a smile in his eyes.
Van gave herself a mental high five and barely contained a whoop. Instead, she calmly picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
The urge to wink at Buddy and Joe almost overwhelmed her, but she refrained. Decorum had suddenly become important, at least until she was outside the building.
On the way to the car, she gave him a pat on the arm and thanked him. He cut those steely gray eyes at her and Van got the distinct feeling she had overstepped again. Maybe he didn’t like to be touched.
On the sixty-mile drive to Cool Spring, she kept her mouth shut except to thank him again, briefly and more circumspectly, for going to bat for her. He muttered that she was welcome and then concentrated on studying the written report of her interview with Lisa Yellowhorse that the chief had provided. Man, could this guy focus.
He had great hair, wore it long and tied back neatly. Though he looked better than presentable in a business suit, she could easily imagine him on horseback, flying like the wind, dressed in feathers, loincloth, leggings and moccasins. She’d seen way too many movies. This guy could definitely play a Hollywood Indian.
His features looked less Iroquois than Plains—sharp angles, square jaw, high cheekbones and a very slight hook to the nose. As large as he was, at least six-two and heavily muscled, he might even have Viking blood for all she knew. His size, height and those cool, gray eyes of his didn’t come out of the Indian gene pool. Neither did the five o’clock shadow he was wearing.
She realized all of a sudden that she was physically attracted to him. Okay, more like bowled over. No point revealing that to him, however. He didn’t like her much and she was definitely not interested in mixing it up with a superior who probably could burn her career if she made a wrong move.
Oh well, he was great to look at and she could enjoy that without feeling bad about it. She kept stealing glances while he was busy reading the report.
He thumped the page with the back of his fingers. “Very detailed. Good work.”
“Thanks.” Van enjoyed the unaccustomed thrill that came with praise, not something she had basked in very often since her college days. “Any questions?”
“Your AIC isn’t convinced Hightower’s behind this. Are you certain Ms. Yellowhorse is being