Just Pretending. Myrna Mackenzie
had been colleagues, some friends, some more. None of them had ever made him think of hot nights and tangled sheets and drinking champagne from a woman’s lips. Until this second, that is. This lady detective was definitely a very special case, and she was frowning at him right now. She made one last comment to the person she’d been conversing with and started walking his way.
“Detective Neal?” David asked the man standing next to him.
“Very definitely, Hannon. Have a care. Gretchen’s relatively new to the area, but she’s one of the best. Worked the streets of Miami for a while. She’s knowledgeable, she’s fair and caring, but she’s tough. You may be able to charm most women with a single crook of your finger, but Gretchen takes her work very seriously and if you don’t do the same, she bites.”
The man’s words were teasing, but David could hear the respect in his friend’s voice.
“I wouldn’t imagine the sheriff would give his biggest case to someone who didn’t know how to do the job. Rafe’s too smart for that,” he agreed.
“She know who and what you are?” the man asked.
“Could be. Or maybe not. Catch you later,” David said quietly as he strode toward Detective Neal.
He didn’t know what the lady knew about him other than that he’d sent a note asking to see her, and those killer green eyes told him nothing. She moved across the room with purpose and efficiency, studying him as she advanced.
“Mr. Hannon?” she asked, looking down at the note the officer at the desk had taken to her. She stepped up beside David and he noted that in spite of his six-footone-inch frame, she didn’t have to look up very far to stare into his eyes. “You must be related to Frannie, then?”
“My sister,” he agreed.
“Frannie was one of the first people I met when I arrived here,” the lady said with a carefully polite smile. “She made a stranger feel welcome. But you didn’t come here to talk about your family. You’re here on police business, I’m told. You know something of one of my cases? You have information you’d like to provide to the authorities, perhaps, Mr. Hannon?”
Her voice was the cool smoky kind that could make a man think about bed when he should be thinking about business. Her thick, honeyed hair moved as she spoke, brushing her jawline. David had an undeniable itch to reach out and sample the silky texture of the tempting shimmery stuff. Like a curious child, he mused. Or a man in the mood to get his face slapped. He tilted his lips up in a bemused grin.
“I’m here on a matter of public concern, Detective Neal,” he said, schooling his thoughts to the matter at hand. “You’re handling the Raven Hunter murder and the death of Peter Cook. I understand that both bodies were found on the site of the future resort/casino being built in the area and that Peter Cook was one of the employees on the site. I’m here to look into those cases.”
She raised one brow. “What reason would you have for doing that, Mr. Hannon?” she asked, that boudoir voice quiet but firm.
“David,” he said simply. “Special agent. FBI,” he added, removing his credentials from the pocket of his sports jacket and flashing them. “I have reason to believe I could be of service here.”
“I see.”
He doubted that very much, but he could see something. Those beautiful green eyes had narrowed. He’d at least gotten her complete attention.
“I haven’t heard anything from the Bureau indicating that you were on your way, Mr. Hannon,” she said, ignoring his suggestion that she call him by his first name. “You’re telling me you’ve been assigned to my case for some reason?”
“I don’t recall putting it that way.”
“Just what way would you put it, then? If you’re not here officially, why would you offer your services?”
“This is my home. I have an interest.”
“And Jeremiah Kincaid, the chief suspect in the Raven Hunter murder, was your uncle.”
David nodded his agreement. “We weren’t close.”
The lady took a deep breath. “There was animosity between you?”
The slight look of hope in her eyes had David smiling. “Nice try, Detective, but no, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t really know Jeremiah well. He didn’t take much interest in his sisters’ off spring. The man had…other interests.” The wary look that crossed the lady’s face told David that she knew exactly what he meant and that she was wondering if the family traits were passed down through the male bloodlines. His uncle had been an infamous womanizer.
As for David, he’d been blessed with more than his share of female companionship, and he hadn’t failed to notice that while Gretchen Neal did her best to shelve her femininity during working hours, she couldn’t hide that rose-and-cream complexion of hers. But just because he’d noticed the lady’s skin, that didn’t mean he was anything like his disreputable uncle.
David held out his hands in a gesture of surrender, but he arched one brow in obvious challenge.
“Look, Detective, I’ll be honest. I’m interested in this case because this is my hometown. It’s no secret that the people on the Laughing Horse Reservation have wanted to build this casino and resort for a while and that it will bring them much needed revenue. It’s also no secret that this deal has been made possible only because the people from the rez and a few private investors have joined forces to cross reservation lines and build some badly needed bridges between the town and the reservation. Like everyone else here, I want that to succeed. Finding bodies on the affected land has put a halt to that construction and those bridges for now, so, yes, I have an interest in that sense. But I’m also interested because all these ‘discoveries,’ these bodies, seem to have upset my aunt Celeste tremendously. Jeremiah was her brother, Raven was the father of her niece, Summer, and this brings back memories of her sister Blanche’s death, as well. She’s naturally upset, so much so that she isn’t sleeping. She isn’t eating right, I’m told. If I can help in any way, assist with the case and help move things more quickly, I’d want to do that.”
“There’s no reason for you to get involved. This is a homicide. Not an FBI matter. Raven Hunter’s remains weren’t found on the reservation, and the White horn force is an excellent one. We’re capable of handling this alone.” Gretchen Neal’s tone and her demeanor projected absolute calm. She was good, but not good enough to hide that trace element of annoyance in her eyes. She was in charge here and she didn’t like the implication that she needed outside help to do her job.
“I’m not implying that you’re not capable, Detective,” David said, keeping his voice cool and soothing. “That doesn’t mean that this department, just like any other law enforcement agency, couldn’t use a little assistance when it’s offered gratis. You can’t tell me that this special arrangement doesn’t follow standard procedure, because White horn has never really been known for doing that. You’ve got Rafe, a county sheriff, in charge of officers in the town and deputy sheriffs out into the rest of the county. Those jobs have always over lapped, and territories have been crossed when it was necessary to keep the citizens of the area safe. It’s a maverick setup that makes White horn special—and effective. Why not take it a step farther and get a little help from another agency, as well?”
The smallest of smiles lifted her lips and David had the feeling that he’d been given an unexpected gift. Her smile transformed her face, making her eyes light up. He had an urge to take a step closer. He squelched it, sure that this lady who was fighting so hard to keep him out of her investigation definitely wouldn’t want him in her personal space.
“You like to argue, don’t you, Mr. Hannon?” she asked with a touch of laughter in her voice. “Well, you’re right, I can’t debate the procedural issue, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to take on volunteer officers. We’ve had plenty of work trying to keep the site uncontaminated. People seem to want to flock to a murder scene for some