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Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion
Beth Cornelison
He’s trying to solve a murder, but the greatest danger he faces is losing his heart. Private Investigator Summer Davies joins forces with FBI Agent on leave, Nolan Colton to catch a killer. They haven’t seen each other in years but the chemistry is still dangerously high. Can they solve the puzzle before they lose their hearts… or their lives?
Two friends track a lethal murderer
As a childhood bond is put on the line
Disgraced FBI agent Nolan Colton returns home to lick his wounds…only to find death on his doorstep. After a woman’s body is dug up in a parking lot, his longtime friend PI Summer Davies enlists his crime-solving expertise. Nolan can’t help but admire all-grown-up Summer’s tenacity, but new leads take their case in a killer direction—one that threatens the future of their entire case…and their own lives.
BETH CORNELISON began working in public relations before pursuing her love of writing romance. She has won numerous honours for her work, including a nomination for the RWA RITA® Award for The Christmas Stranger. She enjoys featuring her cats (or friends’ pets) in her stories and always has another book in the pipeline! She currently lives in Louisiana with her husband, one son and three spoiled cats. Contact her via her website, bethcornelison.com (http://bethcornelison.com)
Also by Beth Cornelison (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Rancher’s Deadly Reunion
Rancher’s High-Stakes Rescue
Rancher’s Covert Christmas
Rancher’s Hostage Rescue
Cowboy Christmas Rescue
“Rescuing the Witness”
Rock-a-Bye Rescue
“Guarding Eve”
The Return of Connor Mansfield
Protecting Her Royal Baby
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion
Beth Cornelison
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09444-3
COLTON 911: DEADLY TEXAS REUNION
В© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
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To Paul—my best friend for
more than thirty-four years!
Contents
Cover (#u72f57ae9-44cd-5e24-9117-ef90abd54030)
Back Cover Text (#u503302dd-bd4c-5443-b102-1052d5309b2d)
About the Author (#uff85ba7b-fdd1-51c3-924e-42a68753bc14)
Booklist (#u35719b45-d056-5587-8208-7c4765717579)
Title Page (#ud9a20389-a548-50b1-a6c4-e50a869b06fc)
Copyright (#u22ec096e-7efd-5ba7-ace5-1d9535907458)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u1cab093b-35fc-50bd-9450-005ce234dfdb)
Prologue (#u4737bf56-449b-5bb1-9fae-97a1fed6a2d4)
Chapter 1 (#u7c780a8d-b84a-5538-b877-c892228c1592)
Chapter 2 (#ufd5835fe-36c7-5025-9a1e-4aa5ffd4adaa)
Chapter 3 (#ub7ab069a-fc48-5e37-be46-5896fbf49867)
Chapter 4 (#u7213cdee-be7d-53f0-a539-21fa02917546)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Chicago FBI field office
FBI Special Agent Nolan Colton hated suits almost as much as he hated today’s unexpected summons to his boss’s office. As he waited to be called back, he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt and readjusted the tie that threatened to strangle him. His knee bounced while he waited. Patience had never been his forte. What the hell could have happened to warrant this urgent confab with the special agent in charge? Nothing good.
Nolan reached in his coat pocket for an antacid and chewed it. His gut had been torn up with dread all night. His boss’s tone of voice when he’d called last night instructing Nolan to report to this meeting had been grave and terse.
When the SAC’s administrative assistant finally called him to the inner office, he took a deep breath, tugged his shirtsleeves to straighten them and strode into his boss’s domain with his head high and his back ramrod straight.
The first thing Nolan noticed when he entered Special Agent in Charge Dean Humboldt’s office was that they weren’t alone. Deputy Assistant Director Jim Greenley sat in one of the chairs opposite Humboldt, and a man Nolan didn’t know but who seemed vaguely familiar occupied the seat to the left of Humboldt’s desk. The second thing Nolan noticed was he wasn’t invited to take a seat.
He assumed a rigid stance, feet slightly apart, shoulders back, hands clasped behind him. “Good morning, sirs.”
“Special Agent Colton,” the deputy assistant director said by way of greeting, adding a quick dip of his chin.
The SAC’s administrative assistant left, closing the door behind her, and Nolan experienced a brief moment of claustrophobia. His tie seemed to tighten like a noose.
“Thank you for coming this morning, Special Agent Colton,” Humboldt said.
“I didn’t get the impression when you called me last night that I had a choice.”
Humboldt cleared his throat. “No. A rather serious matter has been brought to my attention, and we need to address it.”
“I’ve never known the Bureau to handle anything that wasn’t serious.” He twitched a grin, but his attempt at humor fell flat. Humboldt scowled, and Greenley exchanged a look with the third man, who had yet to be introduced. “Sorry. What matter is that, sir?”
Humboldt opened a manila file folder and slid a large black-and-white photograph across the desk. “This.”
Nolan stepped forward to look at the picture, and what he saw there shot adrenaline to his marrow. A shot of himself. In an erotic and compromising position with a fellow special agent.
Well, hell. He’d thought the ill-advised, one-time tryst with his partner had been discreet, something he could bury. They’d been alone in her hotel room. So where had the picture come from? The obvious answer rattled him. Angered him.
“Um.” Nolan blinked. “Where did you get this?”
“We’re asking the questions today, Special Agent Colton,” DAD Greenley said.
“You recognize the woman in the photo, Special Agent?”
He jerked a nod. “Special Agent Charlotte O’Toole. We worked a case together last year in Portland.” He drew a slow breath, deciding honesty was his best policy. “Obviously, things got out of control one night. It was a mistake, but it was just a one-time thing.”
Humboldt divided a glance between the other two men. Greenley arched one graying eyebrow.
When Humboldt slid another picture toward him with much the same content, Nolan gritted his back teeth.
“What is it you say happened that night, Special Agent Colton?” Humboldt asked. His boss’s continued formal use of Nolan’s official title rather than his first name unsettled Nolan.
He frowned and tilted his head in confusion. “I’d think that was pretty clear. Are you asking for scurrilous details? Because, I have to say, sir, I find it crass of a man to kiss and tell.”
Humboldt folded his hands on his desk. “Generally, I do, too. But considering the allegations Special Agent O’Toole has made against you, I think you’d be wise to share your side of the events of that night.”
A chill raced down Nolan’s spine. “Allegations?” He could barely choke the word out. His pulse thundered in his ears as he looked from one grim face to another. “Wh-what is she alleging?”
“She claims you assaulted her.”
Nolan’s blood froze, and he had the very real, very scary sense of his career, his reputation, slipping away like a wild mustang jerking the reins from his hands. He struggled for a breath. “What?”
“Special Agent O’Toole came forward last week with claims that you made advances toward her over a period of several days while you two were on assignment. She claims she consistently rebuffed your advances and reminded you such behavior was both unprofessional and unwelcome by her.”
Disbelief clogged Nolan’s throat. He made sputtering noises, but shock rendered him mute.
“Believing she would need evidence of your behavior to substantiate her claim, she hid a camera to capture further incidents as proof.”
More like she wanted to frame me. Nolan’s hands fisted. He’d been set up. But why?
Humboldt tapped the file folder. “There are more if you’d like to see them, but they are much alike and tell the same story.”
Nolan glanced at the incriminating picture again, noting this time that the shot showed him bowing Charlotte back, as if the aggressor, while her hands were against his chest as if pushing him away. Her head was turned as if avoiding his kiss instead of providing access to her slim neck and bared shoulder.
Fighting for composure, Nolan said gruffly, “I’d like to see the other pictures, just the same.”
His boss handed him the file.
Beside Humboldt’s desk, the third man huffed irritably, but Nolan ignored him as he thumbed through the rest of the snapshots. Every one of the images gave the impression that Nolan had been an assailant and Charlotte his unwilling victim. Which was far from the truth. Missing from the file were dozens of other moments in which Charlotte had seduced him, pressured him, ravaged him. He saw now that she’d made a point of staging plenty of poses providing evidence to the contrary. But still he wondered, why?
He and Charlotte had worked well together. He’d liked her—obviously—and thought they had a good professional and personal relationship. So what had made her turn on him? No. Not turn on him. That indicated a change of heart. For her to plant the camera, pose the pictures and pursue him with the fervor that she had—because she had, in fact, been the instigator, pushing him to violate his professional ethics for the one-night stand—this whole situation had to have been premeditated. Charlotte had used him. Betrayed him.
“That bitch,” Nolan muttered under his breath.
The third man puffed up and growled, “I’ll thank you not to speak that way about my wife.”
Freshly stunned, Nolan jerked his gaze to the older man. “Your wife?”
“You didn’t know?” Greenley asked.
Nolan snorted, no longer caring about comportment or respect for his superiors. “Obviously not.”
He was being railroaded with false charges, and he’d defend himself with everything he had.
Greenley turned up a palm. “Special Agent O’Toole married the senator five years ago.”
“Six years ago,” the third man corrected.
Nolan gave his head a small shake as if he’d heard wrong. “I’m sorry…the senator?”
Humboldt nodded toward the man in question. “Yes. US Senator George Dell of Nebraska.”
Holy crap. He’d slept with the wife of a US senator? And Charlotte had said nothing about a husband—certainly not a husband with so much power.
The bad vibe he’d had even before entering Humboldt’s office had cranked up by a factor of ten. A hundred.
Nolan’s entire body tensed. Fire flashed through his veins. He thought his heart might pound right through his chest. A kaleidoscope of emotions battled for dominance as his brain numbly processed the accusation and ramifications. He had to lock his knees to keep his shaking legs under him. “Th-this is all, uh…a big misunderstanding.”
“You’re denying her claims?” Humboldt asked.
He jerked a stunned gaze to his boss. Humboldt had worked with him long enough to know Nolan’s character better than that. How could his boss even think he was capable of such a heinous thing?
He threw the folder of photos back on Humboldt’s desk. “Hell yes, I deny it! I’m not a sexual assailant!”
The senator shoved to his feet, his hands balled. “So you’re calling my wife a liar?”
Nolan reeled in the curt reply on his tongue at the last possible moment. He needed to be careful what he said, how he said it. He didn’t want his accusers to have any more rope to hang him with. As it was, defending himself from charges of sexual assault would be tricky at best.
He struggled for a calm tone as he faced the senator, but a throbbing pulse pounded at his temples. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t know Charlotte was married, and what happened between us was not assault. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it was one hundred percent consensual.”
Nolan stood his ground as the senator took two aggressive steps toward him, the man’s teeth gritted and bared, his face florid. “You son of a—”
Greenley caught the senator’s arm. “Sir, please. Have a seat.”
Turning back to Humboldt, Nolan scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sir, you know me. You know these charges are preposterous. I would never…could never…”
“My personal opinion doesn’t matter.” Humboldt’s expression was stern but apologetic. “A matter of this magnitude requires an internal investigation.”
An investigation. Somehow knowing the incident would be explored gave Nolan a seed of hope. Surely the investigation would uncover the truth. He’d be exonerated and his name cleared, his reputation—
“Until the investigation is complete, you’re hereby suspended without pay—”
“What!” he shouted, gut punched.
“Effective immediately.” Humboldt stuck his hand out. “I need your badge and your service weapon.”
Nolan gaped at his boss. This couldn’t be happening. His career was everything to him. This smear to his character and reputation, even if found innocent, would follow him forever.
He cut a glance to Greenley, praying for reprieve, but met a stony countenance.
“I swear I didn’t… I’d never…” He shook his head, and his chest contracted so hard he couldn’t catch his breath.
Humboldt’s hand was still extended to him, but Nolan refused to let the senator, whose smug grin gnawed at Nolan, see him surrender his weapon.
“This is bullshit!” Nolan turned on his heel and marched out of the office.
He’d made it as far as the elevator when Humboldt caught up to him. “Nolan, wait!”
Whirling around, he jabbed a finger toward his boss—ex-boss?—and growled, “You know I didn’t do what she’s accusing me of. I would never take advantage of a woman that way! Hell, man, you trusted me to drive your daughter to her apartment after the barbecue back in July!”
“I have no choice,” Humboldt said, holding out his hand, palm up, again. “Damn it, Nolan. My hands are tied. It’s your word against hers, and she has incriminating photographs.”
Seething, Nolan unfastened his holster and slapped his service weapon into his boss’s hand. “Yeah, well-selected photos. But where are the ones of the times in between the posed shots? She was all over me, Dean. It was her idea, and she took the lead, no matter what the pictures say.”
“Your badge and ID.”
Nolan groaned his frustration as he fished in his pocket for his credentials. “We’ve had this discussion before—how much we both abhor the sort of man who harasses and demeans women. God, it makes me sick to be lumped in the same category with scum like that!” He smacked his FBI shield and ID wallet into Humboldt’s hand. “I have no idea what’s behind all this. But, please, Dean, don’t let them railroad me. This has to be political, or… I don’t know. But it’s a load of crap. I swear!”
To his credit, Humboldt looked grief stricken as he shook his head. “Go home, Nolan. Use the time to…go fishing or see old friends.”
He scoffed. “Fishing? That’s all you have for me?”
His boss lifted a shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Nolan jabbed the elevator button before deciding to take the stairs. He had adrenaline to burn off. Stalking away, he fisted his hands at his sides. The injustice clawed at him. After so many years working to get where he was within the Bureau, it had been snatched away in a heartbeat. And the best his boss had was “Go fishing or see old friends”?
As he slammed through the stairwell door and descended the steps two at a time, an image came to him, fixed itself in his head. And he knew where he’d go until this nightmare was resolved.
Whisperwood.
Chapter 1 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Whisperwood, Texas
“It’s been a nightmare. My daughter, my precious girl, was murdered, and I need you to find out who did it.”
Summer Davies held the haunted gaze of the man seated across from her, and her first thought after his pronouncement was, The poor man. How he must be suffering! Her second thought was Finally, a real case!
Since opening Davies Investigations LLC in Whisperwood, Texas, Summer had scrounged for work, taking more lost dog cases than she wanted to admit. All too often, when a potential client walked into her small, spare office, they assumed she was the secretary and gave her reluctant consideration when they learned she was the owner and sole private investigator.
Even Atticus and his son, Ian, who currently sat across from her, had exchanged hesitant looks when she’d informed them she would be the one handling any investigative work done by her office. But, used to the sexism, she’d smiled and asked for the details of the job. And Atticus dropped his bomb. A murder case.
Summer divided a concerned glance between the two men. “You’re sure she was murdered? She’s not just missing?”
Ian sat taller in the wooden ladder-back chair, which was all she could currently afford for her clients, and snapped, “Of course we’re sure. Her body was found in the Lone Star Pharma parking lot. What rock have you been living under?”
Summer let the snide comment pass as she narrowed her gaze on her visitors. “Wait. Lone Star Pharma? Are you Patrice Eccleston’s family?”
The discovery of the young woman’s body during repairs to the Lone Star Pharma parking lot had been a hot topic of gossip and speculation in town. Solving the much-discussed murder case would prove her mettle to the town and give her fledgling PI office the boost it needed.
And give Patrice’s family the peace of mind and closure they were seeking, she mentally amended with a self-conscious pang.
Atticus blinked and dabbed at his eye, clearly fighting tears. “Yes. Patrice is my daughter.” A pained look crossed his face, and he amended, “Was my daughter. I…” He heaved a shuddering sigh full of pain, and Summer’s heart twisted. The grief etched in his face was heartbreaking.
“Is,” Summer said, leaning toward Atticus and flattening a hand on her desk as she reached toward him. “Patrice will always be your daughter. No matter what. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I would love to be able to help bring in the person responsible for her murder.”
Atticus met her gaze, hope lighting his eyes. “Thank you. It rips me apart knowing that the cretin who did this to her is still out there. She deserves justice!”
Summer nodded. “She absolutely does.”
While she was considering how to proceed and mulling the ramifications of taking the case, her dark gray feline companion hopped up on her desk and flopped on the paperwork she’d been reviewing earlier.
Ian’s face reflected surprise then affront at the cat’s appearance, as if Summer having her pet in the office with her was the height of unprofessionalism.
“Not now, Yossi.” Summer lifted her cat to the floor and brushed stray fur from her desk. Continuing as if nothing had happened she asked, “Isn’t the police investigation still open? While I’m happy to take your case, I don’t want to step on any toes at the police department.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, “the police say they are looking into it, but we’re not getting many answers outta them.”
“Chief Thompson is a good man. I like him, and I know he’s doin’ what he can. But…we want answers. Right now, we just aren’t getting anything with the cops.” Atticus used his sleeve to wipe his face. “We figure, maybe people who know something are scared to talk to the cops. Maybe you could learn something Chief Thompson hasn’t.”
“Fresh eyes on the case and all that.” Ian waved a hand toward her. “Maybe you’ll see something they missed?”
Summer leaned back in her squeaky desk chair and nibbled a fingernail. It wouldn’t do to get on the police chief’s bad side. She couldn’t appear to be second-guessing Chief Thompson’s efforts in the case. She glanced out her office window, which had a view of downtown Whisperwood, and watched the pedestrians and pigeons ambling along the small-town street. Embarrassing the chief of police wasn’t her worst consideration. If it looked like she was trying to interfere in his investigation, hinder his collection of evidence or—
And just like that her brain short-circuited. Her train of thought derailed, and her full attention snagged on a man in jeans and a snug T-shirt striding down the sidewalk at a brisk clip. His latte-brown hair, broad shoulders and loose-limbed stride tickled the back of her neck, stirring long-ago memories.
“Come on, Tadpole. Show these guys you’re not scared!”
Surging forward, she grabbed the cord to the blinds and yanked them higher for a clearer view of the street. Yossi took this as an invitation to jump onto the wide windowsill, and her cat settled down to bird-watch. She squinted, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face, but his back was to her.
“Ms. Davies? Is there a problem?”
The man on the street placed a paper cup from JoJo’s Java on the roof of his car, opened the driver’s door, retrieved the coffee cup, climbed in and drove away. She continued to stare out the window at the empty parking spot for several heartbeats after the man’s vehicle disappeared down the street.
“You’re moving?” he asked. “Where?”
Twelve-year-old Summer frowned, shrugged. “Wherever the Army sends us.”
He licked his lips and blinked hard, his eyes sad. “Will I ever see you again?”
No. As it turned out, she hadn’t seen her best childhood friend since that goodbye seventeen years ago. They’d written to each other for a while, but—
A loud thumping drew her out of her musing. She gave her head a small shake and turned to find Ian Eccleston slapping his hand on her desktop. “Hell-oooo? Ms. Davies, are you listening?”
Atticus tipped his head. “My dear, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I may have. Summer raked her hair back from her face. Gathering her thoughts after what—or rather whom—she’d just seen was a bit like chasing down a spilled bag of marbles as they rolled in every direction.
“I’m sorry. I thought I saw…someone from my past. Someone important…”
But he hadn’t been back to Whisperwood in years, to her knowledge. Why would he be here now?
“Can you help us with this case or not, Ms. Davies?” Ian asked. “I have to say, based on what I’ve seen so far of your operation…” He cast a disdainful look around her Spartan accommodations, allowing his disapproving glare to stop on Yossi, who crouched on the windowsill. “I’m not feeling especially confident in your ability to handle a matter as important as my sister’s murder.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I promise you, if I take your case, I will leave no stone unturned in searching for the truth. I provide the highest quality service to every client.”
“If you take the case?” Atticus frowned and cast a side glance to his son before pinning her with his rheumy eyes. “You’re not sure?”
“I want to take your case. I want to help you. But considering the circumstances, I think it would be wise for me to do a little preliminary groundwork before I make any promises.”
Ian rolled his eyes and grumbled to his father, “See, Dad. What did I tell you?”
“Hush, Ian. It may be a long shot, but Ms. Davies is our last best hope.”
Last best hope? She wasn’t sure if she should feel honored or insulted by the characterization. But being the grieving father’s last hope for peace and justice was the red flag waved in front of her. A challenge. A mission. More than anything, she wanted to prove to these men, prove to the town, prove to herself that she hadn’t made a mistake moving to Whisperwood three months ago. She was a good investigator—no, a great investigator—and she was determined to do what the naysayers and skeptics around her said she couldn’t. She’d prove them wrong.
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Here’s what I can do,” Summer said, pulling out a blank notepad and clicking open her favorite pen. “I can take down your information, have you give me some background and insights into Patrice’s life, and then I’ll do a preliminary evaluation. If it looks like I can contribute something to the case that the police haven’t covered, and that my efforts won’t hinder or interfere with Chief Thompson’s investigation, then we’ll proceed. Deal?”
“What do you want to know?”
“What I like to call the big Hs—her hobbies, hangouts, habits and homies.”
Atticus raised an eyebrow and sent her a puzzled look. “Homies?”
“Uh, you know, her friends. But homies starts with H, so…” She cleared her throat. “So what do you think?”
“I think I’ll do whatever it takes to put my daughter’s murderer behind bars.”
Nolan studied the storefronts along Main Street and reminisced about the summers he’d spent here in Whisperwood when he was younger. His cousins’ ranch, a thousand-acre spread near Austin, had been the perfect place for a restless boy to spend his summers learning to rope calves, find the best fishing holes and ride his assigned horse, Joker, alongside his cowboy cousins. Sometime between first grade and graduating from high school, he’d fallen in love with the small-town charm of Whisperwood, as well. In the years since his last summer at the Colton Ranch, he’d missed the hot days wrangling cattle, the sticky nights chasing lightning bugs—and a special girl who’d made his early years at the ranch especially memorable. Summer.
With hair the color of beach sand, a laugh as bubbly as the sodas they’d sip under the cottonwoods and a smile as bright as the sun, Summer had been every bit as warm and wonderful as the season she was named for. As unlikely as the match had seemed, his cousins’ neighbor had quickly become his best friend at the ranch. But then, she was no girly-girl like his sister, Emma, who preferred American Girl dolls and air-conditioning over the boys’ rough-and-tumble antics in the great outdoors. Tomboy Summer had easily kept up with him and his cousins as they climbed, raced, dug, swam, wrestled, fished, mucked and sweated away the hottest days in the Texas Hill Country.
And then Summer and her family had moved.
Nolan sighed, remembering the June day when he was thirteen, and he’d learned his best friend was leaving town. He’d arrived at the Colton Ranch, raring to saddle up and go get Summer for a long horseback ride in his cousins’ pastures.
“Dude, she’s moving to North Carolina this weekend,” his cousin Forrest had said. “Didn’t she write you?”
Now Nolan rubbed his chest, feeling a hollowness behind his breastbone that paled compared to the sucker punch his younger self had experienced learning of his loss. He’d still had fun with his cousins in subsequent years, but the days lacked the nebulous goldenness and luster he’d known when he’d had Summer at his side.
Bending his neck to glance at the storefront signs out the passenger side of his car, he spotted a couple more new businesses mixed with the old familiar ones. He spotted the Whisperwood General Store, where he, Donovan and Forrest had filched a box of condoms—and felt so guilty about it they’d returned the same day to put them back. Down the block was the Bluebell Diner, where the chocolate chip pancakes were better than anything his mother or Aunt Josephine could make. His stomach rumbled appreciatively, even though he’d enjoyed a hearty breakfast at the ranch two hours ago. At the corner was a new business, Kain’s Auto Shop, where the bay doors were open and someone in gray coveralls bent over the engine of a dusty pickup truck.
At one of the few traffic lights in the sleepy town, he sipped his coffee and decided the addition of JoJo’s Java to the downtown storefronts was a definite boon. He didn’t consider himself a coffee snob, but the rich house brew was excellent and hit the spot on this cool autumn morning. At his hip, his cell phone buzzed an incoming call.
“Special Agent Colton,” he said out of habit, then frowned, wondering if he would still be a special agent when the trumped-up investigation was completed.
“How very official of you, Nolan,” said a female voice at the other end of the line. “I wish I had a fancier title to throw back besides your cousin-in-law Bellamy.”
He smiled, picturing his cousin Donovan’s beautiful wife. “No fancier title needed. The fact that you put up with Donovan is credential enough in my book. What can I do for you?”
“If you have a little time today, could you come by my office and help me with something?” Bellamy, an accountant for Lone Star Pharma, asked.
“What kind of something?” Nolan switched to hands-free mode on his phone so he could drive.
“The ladies in the office organized a surprise baby shower for me this morning, and I have a lovely collection of gifts I need help getting home,” Bellamy, who was eight months pregnant, said then rushed to add, “I know you’re on vacation…”
He swallowed a scoff and a tinge of bitterness toward his employer when she referred to his unpaid leave as a vacation, but then, all he’d told his family was that he was taking some time off.
“…and I wouldn’t ask normally, except Donovan is tied up working a case and Dallas—”
“No problem.”
“—and Avery have their hands full with the twins, and Forrest—”
“Bellamy, stop. I’m happy to help,” he said, even as he turned on Alamo Street to head toward the sprawling complex of the town’s largest employer. He was, in fact, relieved to have something useful to do. He’d helped Hays muck stalls this morning and promised to drive Josephine to a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, but he was woefully short on things to fill his free time. He needed something to occupy his hands, his mind for the foreseeable future or he’d go nuts stewing over the false charges being investigated back in Chicago.
“Are you sure? I hate to impose, but I’m not supposed to carry anything heavy and—”
He chuckled hearing the apology in her voice. “No imposition. Really. I wasn’t doing anything except cruising around town, walking down memory lane. I’m on my way now.”
“Thank you, Nolan! You’re a lifesaver!”
“Helping you tote baby gifts hardly compares to saving a life, but you are most welcome.”
He arrived at the Lone Star Pharma offices within minutes and parked in the visitor’s spot closest to the door Bellamy specified. He climbed out of his car, coffee in hand, and scanned the complex, which was far larger than he’d remembered as a teenager. He’d heard the company was doing well and expanding, and the new buildings on the Lone Star campus testified to that fact.
At one end of the parking lot, he spotted an area marked off with yellow tape, and curiosity bit him. Crime scene tape or general cautionary tape? At dinner last night, his cousins had talked about all the damage done by Hurricane Brooke, the storm that had blown through the area a couple of months back. But hadn’t they also mentioned a woman’s body had recently been discovered buried under the parking lot? The back of his neck tingled, and he headed toward the yellow tape as if drawn there by some alien tractor beam.
His curiosity spiked all the more when he noticed a woman poking around the marked-off area. The woman, petite, with dark blond hair and curves, was crouched at the edge of the crime scene with a notepad, scribbling notes and taking pictures with her phone. A reporter maybe? But wasn’t the story a few weeks old? Kind of late for the newspaper to be writing up the gruesome discovery. Whoever she was, her blue jeans fit her shapely tush in a way that made Nolan look twice…before mentally castigating himself for even noticing. He’d been suspended from the Bureau because he’d let a beautiful woman convince him to follow his baser instincts instead of his professional ethics. But never again.
He crossed the parking lot without saying anything, his athletic shoes silent on the asphalt. The woman was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t seem to notice his approach. Not good, he thought to himself. What if his intent was to kidnap her or rob her? She really needed to be more aware of her surroundings.
He stopped a few feet behind her and observed for a few seconds before, without turning from her crouch, she said, “Just so you know, I’m packing a .38, and I’m trained to use it.”
Nolan grinned and muttered, “Welcome to Texas.”
“Is there something you want?” she said, still photographing the upturned earth and shallow trench where, presumably, the body had recently been found.
Nolan took a sip of his coffee, then said, “How about your name, and the reason you’re nosing around?”
The blonde angled her head toward him. Blinked. Gasped. And sprang from her crouch, leaping toward him in one fluid motion. Squealing, she jumped against him, crushing his coffee cup and wrapping herself around him in a bear hug. “Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! Nolan!”
He had no choice but to catch the woman, or they’d both have tumbled to the pavement. Her legs hooked around him, and he put his hands beneath the shapely bottom he’d been admiring earlier to support her as she squeezed him and giggled.
And his heart stilled. He knew that effervescent laugh. “Summer?”
Nolan leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman’s face. As she raised her head from his shoulder, she bumped his chin, making him bite his tongue. But, sure enough, the spitfire hugging him for all he was worth was Summer. His Summer.
“Yep!” she said, her full-wattage smile beaming at him. Her face had lost its baby fat, but not the elfin shape of her nose and full lips, her rounded cheekbones and wide almond-shaped eyes, the same color as the dark roast coffee now soaking his shirt.
He took a moment to catch his breath, then wheezed, “Holy cow! How the heck are you?”
When she finally put her feet on the ground and stepped back, she kept her grip on his arms, as if she were afraid he’d disappear if she let go. “I’m good. Excellent, in fact, now that you’re here! Oh my god, Nolan, I’m so happy to see you!”
He chuckled and nodded to his spilled coffee. “Clearly.”
She glanced down at the brown stain on his white T-shirt and cringed. “Oops. Sorry!”
“Forget it. The shirt will wash.” He nodded toward the police tape. “What were you up to over there?”
“Oh, that?” She bent to retrieve the notebook she’d dropped when she’d hugged him. “Gathering info for a new case.”
“A case? You’re a cop?”
She wrinkled her nose in the captivating way he remembered and shook her head. “Not a cop. A private investigator.”
Nolan raised his eyebrows and chuckled his surprise. “You’re a PI?”
Her smile dimmed, and she narrowed a glare on him. “Why is that funny to you?”
“It’s just—”
“A woman can be a PI same as any man!” She straightened her back, making the most of her five-foot-nothing stature as she squared off with him.
He raised both palms toward her. “Whoa! No offense intended. I just never would have pictured you becoming a PI is all.”
Her hackles eased, and she gave him a lopsided grin. “Oh, yeah? And what did you see me becoming?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe joining the Army like your dad? Or working on the Colton Ranch wrangling cows alongside Jonah and Dallas?”
She twisted her mouth as if thinking. “Not the Army. Too transient. I had my fill of moving all over the place with my dad.” Then focusing her attention on him again, she rushed forward for another hug. “I can’t believe it’s you! You’re really here! It’s been way too long.”
He hugged her back, more awkwardly aware of the feminine curves snuggled against him. It’s Summer, for God’s sake! You’re not allowed to notice her figure!
Leaning back to peer up at him, she asked, “What about you? What brings you here?”
He hitched a thumb toward the office buildings. “I’m meeting Bellamy. Donovan’s wife?”
She nodded. “I’ve met her. She’s great.”
“Apparently her coworkers threw a baby shower today, and she needs help lugging some big items out to her car.”
Her smile twitched playfully. “That’s very kind of you to help her out, but… I meant what are you doing in Whisperwood?” Her expression changed instantly to excited hopefulness. “Did you move back here? Oh, Nolan! Say you did!”
He scratched his chin as he flashed a moue of regret. “Afraid not, Tadpole.”
“Tadpole.” She sighed happily. “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.” She cocked her head to the side. “So what did bring you to town after all these years?”
Whether she intended the scolding tone or not, he heard a mild reprimand in her question that chewed guiltily at his gut—followed immediately by the acid bite of anger and apprehension left by his suspension. “I’m taking some time off to…rest. Get some perspective on some things.”
Rather than satisfy Summer, his vague answer seemed to intrigue her. Her gaze intensified, her mouth compressed and her brow wrinkled in consternation. “What the hell does that mean? Get some perspective?”
“It’s a job-related issue.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Were you fired?”
He rolled his shoulders, cleared his throat. “No.” Might as well have been.
Her gaze narrowed further, and he recognized a deep insight in her espresso-brown stare. Summer had always been able to read him well when they were kids.
He drew his shoulders back and glanced away from her knowing gaze. This suspension was a crock, a humiliation. How would he ever be taken seriously by his fellow agents again?
“Nolan?”
He aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “Look, um… Bellamy is waiting for me, so I need to run. But it was great to see you, Summer.” He smiled, meaning it. “I’d love to get together for coffee and a catch-up.” He motioned to the front of his shirt with his empty cup. “You do owe me a cup.”
Summer tucked her golden-blond hair behind her ear, nodding. “That I do, hoss.” She patted her pockets, then frowned. “Dang, I left my business cards at the office.” Flipping a page in her notepad, she scribbled a phone number and ripped the sheet out. “Call me. I want to hear what you’ve been up to, what sort of perspective you need in this mysterious career of yours.”
Folding the sheet, he tucked it in his back pocket. “Count on it.”
He leaned in to give her cheek a peck, catching the tantalizing floral scent of her shampoo as he did. At the last second, he thought better of the platonic show of affection. Once bitten, twice shy and all that crap. He angled his face away so that they merely brushed cheeks. He took a long step back and rubbed his free hand on the leg of his jeans. Damn it, was this what he’d come to? Second-guessing every friendly gesture around a woman, afraid of his actions being misconstrued?
He continued walking backward, somehow reluctant to let Summer out of his sight. For so many years, she’d been the yin to his yang. Her energy and sunny disposition able to lift him from even the darkest mood. In light of his current circumstances, he could use a strong dose of Summer’s friendship and positivity in his life. Running into her today felt like more than good luck. He didn’t believe in fate or karma, but seeing Summer gave him a familiar sense of well-being and comfort, like the innocence of their younger days.
He lifted a hand, waving as he reluctantly turned to walk away. If he had the chance to reconnect with Summer while he was on leave, maybe his suspension wouldn’t totally suck. He grinned to himself as he strode across the parking lot. See, Summer was already rubbing off on him. He’d found a silver lining in the disaster that was his life.
So she’d been right about seeing Nolan from her office window. A giddy revelry danced inside Summer, leaving her breathless and beaming. After several years of radio silence from her childhood friend, seeing him again was a bonus she hadn’t expected when she’d moved back to Whisperwood. She pressed a hand over her scampering heartbeat and prayed he’d use her phone number to set up a date. Well, not a date date. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. But she wanted a long sit-down, catch-up, revive-their-friendship meeting, coffee or not. Because, damn it, she’d missed Nolan.
When she’d asked her best girlfriend, Avery Logan—who was now engaged to Nolan’s cousin Dallas—what the Coltons had heard from Nolan, she’d been told he hadn’t been in touch with his cousins, either. His life for the past several years had been a mystery to her and his cousins. Why? What had led him to lose touch with the family and friends he’d once been so close to?
Summer watched Nolan walk away and couldn’t help admiring his broad shoulders and lean hips, the confident swagger in his stride, and the shimmer of golden autumn sun on his light brown hair. She raised a hand to her face, still feeling the light scrape of his five o’clock scruff on her cheek. In that moment, she’d been sure he was going to kiss her, and when he hadn’t, disappointment plucked at her. Not because she expected a kiss—they were just friends, after all—but because she’d detected a reticence on his part. He’d held back. Withdrawn.
As kids they’d had such an easy rapport. Even the last time she’d Skyped with him as a teenager, before her family had moved to Colorado and she’d lost touch with him, the comfortable camaraderie had been second nature. So what had changed?
Well, other than the fact that Nolan was no longer a rangy teenager with acne, but a tall, good-looking man with a sexy amount of beard stubble.
“Whew,” she whispered on an exhale, mentally amending, a very good-looking man. Who’d developed muscles to match his height. Muscles she’d itched to run her hands over and explore after their hug.
Good grief! She gave her head a firm shake. Was she seriously ogling Nolan Colton?
Get that out of your system now, Davies. You want to make things awkward with your old friend? Just let him catch you eyeing him like he’s the last slice of Aunt Mimi’s chocolate cake.
Great. Now she wanted Nolan and cake. Huffing her pique with herself, she tracked Nolan’s progress until he disappeared inside the Lone Star Pharma building. Nolan Colton. Here in Whisperwood. Wonders never ceased.
As she turned back to the taped-off area where Patrice Eccleston’s body had been discovered, she sobered. She couldn’t let Nolan’s return distract her from the job at hand. She’d been charged with learning all she could about the monster who’d killed Patrice and why the attractive twenty-year-old had been targeted. If she’d been targeted. Had Patrice’s death been planned, or was it a random act of violence?
As picturesque and homey as it appeared, Whisperwood was no stranger to murder and violent crime. In recent months, the man whom authorities had dubbed the Mummy Killer had been found. The murderer, Horace Corgan, had been on his deathbed and confessed to the crimes when presented with evidence of his guilt. Police had assumed Patrice was another of Corgan’s victims, but the dying man, who had nothing to lose for speaking the truth, had vehemently denied killing Patrice.
In fact, the circumstances and evidence surrounding her murder and burial made her case an outlier. Unsolved. A raw wound for her family…which was what had brought Atticus and Ian to her office in search of answers, justice and peace of mind. Summer stared at the upturned dirt in the narrow ditch at the edge of the sprawling parking lot, and her heart ached. Poor Patrice. If construction workers hadn’t been repairing the buckled pavement left by recent storms, the slain woman might never have been found. Obviously what her killer had hoped for when he—or she—had chosen the location of Patrice’s shallow grave.
“Patrice,” Summer whispered to the wind, “I promise to do everything in my power to find out who did this to you. If there is justice in this world, I will bring your killer in.”
With her vow carrying to the heavens on the autumn breeze, Summer packed up her notes and headed back to town to begin fulfilling her promise.
Chapter 2 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Summer’s mind whirled as she planned her next step in her investigation. Who should she talk to first? How should she proceed so that she didn’t burn bridges with the police department? What need for perspective had brought Nolan back to Whisperwood after all these years?
She shook her head. Letting Nolan distract her was no way to keep her word to Patrice or solve her first real case. She tucked her notepad under her arm as she fished the keys to her Volkswagen Beetle out of her purse and unlocked her car.
The clank of a metal door opening and the sound of voices drew her attention to the front entrance of Lone Star Pharma. Bellamy Colton, her belly swollen with eight months of pregnancy, held the door as Nolan struggled out the door with a pile of large boxes, stacked so high Summer wasn’t sure how he could see where he was walking. Bellamy led him to a car parked in the employee lot and popped the trunk.
Discarding her purse and notepad on her passenger seat, Summer headed toward them to see if she could lend a hand.
“Need any help?” she called, and Bellamy flashed her a broad grin of greeting.
“Thanks, Summer, but I think Nolan’s got it.”
Summer rushed forward as the top item slid from its perch. She caught the tumbling package and grabbed the next box from the teetering stack, as well. “Are you sure about that?”
Nolan shot her an embarrassed grin. “Thanks. That was close.”
Summer read the label on the pillow-like gift zipped in clear plastic packaging. “Boppy?”
Bellamy’s face glowed. “I know! I’m so excited. I hear they’re a must, and I hadn’t gotten one before now.”
Summer exchanged a curious look with Nolan as he loaded the gifts into Bellamy’s trunk, and she mouthed, What’s a Boppy?
He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the pack mule.”
Bellamy swatted at his arm. “Oh, hush. It’s not as bad as that. One more trip to get the swing, and we’ll be done.”
Summer added the packages she’d caught to the nooks in Bellamy’s car and faced Nolan as he closed the trunk. “I was just finishing up my business here and thought I could buy you that cup of coffee I owe you now.”
“Now?” He dusted grime from the car off his hands and arched one eyebrow.
“I didn’t want to give you the chance to slip out of town and disappear before I could grill you about your mysterious absence from our lives.”
He scoffed and gaped at her. “I disappeared? You’re one to talk, Ms. No Social Media Presence.”
She cocked her head, blinking. “Huh? I have social media accounts. What are you—”
Bellamy cleared her throat. “Um, I hate to interrupt this lovers’ quarrel, but—”
Both Summer and Nolan jerked their heads toward Bellamy, chiming together, “We’re not—!” and “What! No!”
Bellamy’s grin reflected her skepticism. “Whatever…but my feet are killing me. If you don’t mind grabbing that swing, Nolan? My lunch break is almost over, and I need to prop my feet up.”
“Right.” Nolan aimed a finger at Bellamy. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.” Then pointing at Summer, he added, “Yes. Now’s good. But let’s make it lunch at the Bluebell Diner. This pack mule is getting hungry.”
Summer’s mood lifted, and butterfly wings flapped in her chest. “Deal.”
As he followed the waddling Bellamy back inside, Nolan motioned to the place Summer was standing. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
With a smirk, she saluted him. “Aye, aye, captain. I’ll be right here.”
Nolan returned five minutes later, lugging a large cardboard box. Summer eyed the box then the back seat of Bellamy’s car. “Um, captain? I don’t think there’s room in the hold for that cargo.”
“Not in that ship,” he said, nodding to Bellamy’s sedan. “I told her I’d put it in my car. This way. I’ll drive to lunch.”
Summer pursed her lips, and memories of days spent rambling and relaxing on the Colton Ranch came back to her. Specifically how bossy Nolan could be. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. But she had. She was her own boss now, and she’d learned the hard way not to give any man control of her life.
Nolan started across the pavement, and when she didn’t follow, he glanced back. “Coming?”
“Yeah.” She fell in step next to him and dug her keys out of her pocket. “But I’ll drive my own car to lunch. That way we don’t have to double back here to pick it up.”
He stopped at a dark blue Jeep Cherokee, where he opened the tailgate and slid the baby swing box in the back. “Suit yourself. If you beat me there, go ahead and get us a table.”
She chuckled lightly. “Bossy as ever, I see.”
He frowned. “Bossy? I only said—” He growled under his breath. “Whatever. Can I walk you to your car?”
“Thanks, but I’m just there.” She pointed three spaces over to her yellow VW Beetle. “Meet ya in five.”
Nolan gave her a wink and a nod that stirred a fresh wave of giddy bubbles in her veins. She trotted to her car, energized and more optimistic than she’d been in months. But as she backed her Beetle out of her parking spot, a niggling warning tickled her brain. As kids, she’d blown off Nolan’s autocratic dictates or complied happily enough. He was a year older, a boy, and usually had good ideas that she accepted at face value. Good enough reasons for a nine-or ten-year-old kid to be a follower. No big deal. But eight years later, going along, appeasement and blind acceptance with Robby had gotten her tangled in a dangerous and detrimental relationship that she still had nightmares about.
A cloud of doubt drifted in to cast her good mood in shadow. Summer squeezed the steering wheel and pulled onto the state road leading toward downtown Whisperwood. Nolan might be handsome as the devil and someone who’d graced her childhood with adventure and laughter, but she needed to proceed with caution. Clearly he was still a take-charge kind of guy. She couldn’t let her golden memories of Nolan, her fondness for their old friendship color this new iteration of their relationship. She needed to stand firm and set the parameters, or she could too easily repeat mistakes she had yet to live down.
When she arrived at the Bluebell Diner, a popular place for locals to eat their fill of home-style Southern cooking and Tex-Mex favorites, Nolan was already ensconced in a booth at the back of the restaurant near the door to the kitchen. He sat with his back to the wall, watching the door, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment as she entered the bustling diner.
She greeted the older couple that ran the mercantile across the street from her office and Madeline Klein, for whom she’d handled a case last month, as she wended her way through the tables toward Nolan. The first thing she noticed as she reached their table was that he’d changed T-shirts. He’d replaced the coffee-soiled one with a simple heather-gray one that read FBI over the breast.
He stood as she approached, waiting for her to sit before resuming his seat. He still has cowboy manners, she thought, smiling, flattered, while another part of her brain chafed. Did his old-fashioned manners translate to old-fashioned opinions about women?
Shoving aside the itchy question, she slid into the booth and nodded toward his chest. “Where’d you get an FBI shirt?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “My gym bag was in the back seat.”
She snorted. “I mean, how’d you come to own it?” She raised the ice water already at her spot for a sip.
He waved his fingers in casual dismissal. “Standard issue in the Bureau.”
Summer choked on the water and set it down, sputtering, “Wait, wh-what?”
He handed her a napkin as she coughed. “Standard issue. They may have given it to me for a Bureau event. I don’t remember for sure.”
She clutched the paper napkin in her hand and gaped at him. “You’re in the FBI?”
He scowled and grumbled, “A little louder, huh? I don’t think they heard out on the street.”
Nolan cut a glance to the table next to them, where a middle-aged woman with two small children sat. The woman gave him a curious glance, and Nolan flashed an awkward smile and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the blue gingham tablecloth.
“Yes,” he said in a hushed tone as he handed her a plastic-protected menu from the stack behind the napkin holder. “I am.”
Summer flopped back against the booth and stared at him, her mouth gaping. “Get. Out. Of. Town! Nolan!”
He shifted on his bench, and his hand fisted on the table. “Well, technically I still am, but…” He exhaled heavily and sent her a dark look. “The real reason I’m in town is I’ve been put on administrative leave.”
Their waitress arrived, placing napkin-wrapped cutlery at each of their places. “Y’all had a chance to look at the menu?”
Nolan picked up a menu. “Sorry, no. We need another minute.”
“Take your time, but the pumpkin spice cake is going fast. If you want any, you better order it now.”
“Hmm, that does sound good. Save us two slices,” Nolan said, giving the woman a lopsided grin.
Pumpkin spice cake did sound great, but Nolan’s high-handedness in ordering for her irked her. “Two slices? You are hungry, aren’t you, G-man?”
He peered over the top of his menu. “You don’t want cake? You used to love dessert.”
“What kid doesn’t? What I want is to order for myself.” She softened the scolding with a playful scowl. Leaning forward, she flattened her hands on the tabletop. “Now tell me about this FBI thing. How did that happen? When? What department are you in? Jeez, the FB freaking I?”
He cleared his throat, dropped his gaze to the menu again and said, “I was training for the Fort Worth Police Department when I saw an article that said the FBI was recruiting. So I applied, got accepted and have been in the Bureau for the last six years.”
A look of consternation crossed his face, and she recalled his comment about administrative leave. “And you’re here in Whisperwood rather than on the job because…”
He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, tapped the menu on the table, then met her eyes. “I’m being investigated for sexual assault against a fellow agent.”
As casually as if he’d just told her the sky was blue, he put his menu back behind the napkin holder. “I think I’ll have the chili with jalapeño cornbread. What looks good to you?”
Summer’s heart rose to her throat, and she squeaked, “What!”
“Chili and cornbread. I’ve missed Texas-style chili up in Chi-town.”
She reached for his arm and squeezed. His muscles in his forearm were rock hard, and despite the serious topic of their conversation, her belly twitched in recognition of the skin-to-skin contact. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just drop a bomb. Explain that—” she stopped, giving the woman with the young kids a side glance and lowering her volume to a whisper “—sexual assault comment.”
He firmed his mouth and withdrew his arm from her grip. “I’ll fill you in on the specifics later, somewhere less public. Leave it at this—I didn’t do what Charlotte’s contending.”
“Charlotte, huh?” She folded her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow. “I used to like that name. Not so much now.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you got started as a PI? And how long have you been back in Whisperwood? I tried to track you down in recent years and got nowhere. Where’ve you been?” He sipped his water, and his expression indicated he was closing the door on discussing his life.
“I’ve been a lot of places in the last seventeen or so years. You remember my dad reupped with the Army?”
He nodded.
“So we moved every couple of years. I started college in Georgia before…circumstances led me to change my major and transfer to Colorado State. Then after graduating with a degree in marketing, I decided I liked being my own boss. I’d gained a little experience and interest in private investigating thanks to those, uh, circumstances I mentioned…” She raised an eyebrow letting him know she’d be leaving that story untold for the moment.
“Mm-hmm, now who’s being mysterious and coy?” he asked.
“Not coy. Just saving the details for our private heart-to-heart when you tell all.”
The waitress returned and took their order. When they had semiprivacy again, she said, “I’d say the fact you couldn’t find me on social media indicates you aren’t a very good G-man, but, in truth, I tried to make myself hard to find.”
Nolan’s brow dipped. “Why would you do that?”
“A troublesome ex. That, and I’ve gone by different names over the years. The thing about moving to new schools every couple years is, you can reinvent yourself, be Victoria instead of Summer. Then I tried out Vee and by college I was going by Vicki. After Robby started hounding me, I switched to Tori.”
“What was wrong with Summer?” His gaze narrowed, and his hazel eyes darkened. “I liked Summer. Not just the name, but the girl I knew. Why reinvent yourself?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Boredom. Youthful experimenting. Because I could. New place, new name. It was a game.”
The noise that issued from his throat said he was skeptical. “And now you’re back in Whisperwood. Why?”
“That one’s easy. I love it here. Of all the places we moved over the years, all the zip codes where I lived since I was a kid, nowhere ever felt like home the way Whisperwood did. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was because we lived here longer than anywhere else, but Whisperwood has always represented home and roots. It’s where I wanted to settle down and raise my family.” She spread her hands. “So a few months ago, I made it happen. I packed up my cat and headed down here. I found office space on Main Street and opened my own PI biz.”
“And got hired for a case that involves the crime scene at Lone Star Pharma.” His arched eyebrow asked for her to supply details.
“My first big case here. I helped with criminal cases at my old firm, but since I opened my own business, I’ve mostly been following cheating husbands, looking for lost relatives and finding missing dogs.”
He pulled an amused face. “Dogs?”
She chuckled. “Yeah. A little girl came in a couple weeks ago asking for help finding her dog. She had two dollars. I had a little time.” She shrugged. “We found the dog a couple doors down from her house twenty minutes later. I didn’t charge her. But word got around at the elementary school, and I’ve been hired twice more since then. Found both dogs at the same house as the first. It seems Mrs. Nesbit’s poodle was in heat, and every male dog in the neighborhood was visiting Fluffy. Case closed.”
He laughed, and the rich sound sent a quiver to her core.
Their food arrived, and she tucked in, more to occupy her restless hands and distract her mind from the odd hum that had vibrated in her veins since sitting down with Nolan fifteen minutes earlier than from hunger.
“And the case you have now? It’s the real thing?”
“I’ll say. A twenty-year-old woman was strangled and buried in the parking lot where you saw me earlier. Her family isn’t happy with the way the police are handling the case, the slow trickle of information from the Whisperwood PD, so they’ve hired me to find the person responsible for killing her.”
With his gaze fixed on her, Nolan set his cornbread down so hard, it broke in half. “You’re investigating a murder? An open case with the local PD?”
She wiped condensation from her water glass with her thumb. Did she detect a note of disbelief or judgment in his tone? She prayed not. She’d come to expect a bit of sexism from the population as a whole, but she wanted to believe Nolan was above it. She bobbed a nod. “I am.”
He said nothing as he popped another bite of cornbread in his mouth and chewed, watching her. She held his stare, wondering what was going on behind his mercurial hazel eyes. Where moments ago they’d been the gray-green color of a Texas river, now flecks of gold sparked in their depths, a sure sign his mind was churning. Once he’d swallowed the bite of cornbread, he said, “You’re talking about Patrice Eccleston?”
“Yeah. You heard about her?”
“My family was discussing the case last night at dinner.” He paused briefly before adding, “I’m staying on my cousins’ ranch. Same room I used all those summers as a kid.”
She smiled. “I’m guessing Josephine hasn’t changed a thing in that room since the last time you stayed there.”
“You’d be right.” He stirred his chili, blew on a spoonful and said, “I want in.”
She paused with a French fry halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”
“Your murder investigation. I’m sitting on my butt out at the ranch doing nothing except mucking stalls in the morning and watching Jeopardy! in the afternoons with Josephine. I’m an FBI special agent, Summer. I can help you, and I want in.”
Chapter 3 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Summer dropped her French fry in a puddle of ketchup and frowned at him. “Who said I need help? I can handle the case by myself.”
He raised a palm. “I’m sure you can, but I have time on my hands and investigative experience. Why not use me?”
Why not, indeed? She wiped her fingers on her napkin and considered his offer. “I can’t pay you. I’m barely making my office rent each month as it is.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’m volunteering.” He crumbled a bit of his cornbread into his chili and stirred it up. “Come on, Summer. Think how great it would be for us to team up. Bullfrog and Tadpole, together again.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Oh my goodness! We haven’t used those nicknames in years!”
Teaming up with him, spending time with him would be great, if…
If he didn’t prove a distraction. And if he didn’t try to take over the investigation and push her aside. And if he could satisfy her questions about these sexual assault charges against him.
Dear God, sexual assault? He claimed he was innocent, and at face value, she believed him, but…it had been seventeen years since they’d spent any significant, quality time together. He could have changed. Knowing that the Nolan she’d known could be gone made her chest hurt.
But she wouldn’t get the measure of him without spending time with him. A tingle of anticipation spun through her at the idea of having a legitimate reason to spend time with her old best friend. “I have conditions.”
His head angled in surprise. “Name them.”
“It’s my case, so I’m in charge. Remember that.”
“So noted.”
“No calling me Tadpole in front of the client or anyone we’re interviewing for the case.”
“Of course. That wouldn’t be professional. Understood. What else?”
She tore off a piece of her sandwich and nibbled it as she thought. “I…guess that’s all. The first one is the main thing.” She aimed a finger at him. “Don’t be bossy.”
He blinked. “Who me? I’m not—”
“You are, Mr. Two Pieces of Cake!” she said, laughing. “And you always have been!”
“Oh, see, now the cake thing…that’s wasn’t being bossy,” he said, his expression the image of innocence. “That was foresight, thoughtfulness and practicality.”
She tipped her head back as she laughed.
“I have conditions, too.” His serious tone caught her off guard and quelled her chuckles.
“You do?”
He set his spoon in his empty chili bowl and pushed the dirty dish aside. “If we work together, we keep our relationship completely platonic and professional.”
She snorted. “Naturally. That kinda goes without saying.”
So why did the term “platonic” cause the odd stab of disappointment? Summer could understand his caution since apparently someone was accusing him of untoward advances, but why had he felt it necessary to spell that out with her?
Okay, she had admired his fitness and the way his face had developed more chiseled and manly lines. Had he seen something in her face that he’d taken the wrong way? How embarrassing! Just in case, she added another eye roll and dismissive sniff. “No problem there.”
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Then we’re in agreement? We’ll work together on your murder case?”
“Uh…yeah.” She blinked, letting the arrangement sink in. She would be teaming up with Nolan. Who was an FBI agent. To solve a murder. Holy crap! She released her breath, and an excited smile stole onto her face. “Okay. Let’s do this!”
The cake Nolan had ordered earlier arrived, and she slid the biggest piece in front of her and dug in. It was divine.
Thirty minutes later, Summer unlocked her office and led Nolan inside. A dark gray cat met them at the door.
Nolan paused, staring at the feline. “Summer, there’s a cat in here.”
“Uh-huh. That’s Yossi.” She slung her jacket across the back of her desk chair and squatted to pat the feline. “Say hello. He’s very friendly.”
Nolan held his fingers out for the cat to sniff, and Yossi rubbed his head on the offered hand instead. Giving the cat’s cheek a little scratch, Nolan stepped deeper into the small office and surveyed the spare decor. The walls were bare, and her furnishings consisted of one wooden bookcase that was overloaded with books and stacks of magazines, two ladder-backed chairs facing a dented metal and faux-wood desk, a lamp and a metal file cabinet. In the corner was what he assumed was the cat’s litter box.
Nolan rubbed his chin as he took a seat in one of the chairs. “Love what you’ve done with the place. If I move back to town permanently, you’ll have to give me the name of your decorator.”
Summer gave him a withering glance. “It’s Sally Bite Me.”
He chuckled and propped an ankle on his opposite knee as he watched her opening file folders and paging through the notebook he’d seen her scribbling in at the crime scene. “So where are you in your investigation? Lay it out for me.”
She clicked open her pen and leaned back in her chair. “All right. So the victim is twenty-year-old Patrice Eccleston. Her family hired me first thing this morning, because they weren’t getting answers from the cops.”
“Not uncommon. The police often can’t share details of an open investigation. What if it turns out a family member was responsible for the murder?”
She arched one blond eyebrow. “Preaching to the choir, Nolan.”
He held up a hand. “Of course. Sorry.”
“The autopsy shows she was strangled. Her hands were bound by the time she was buried. No sign of sexual assault. Thank God. Broken fingernails indicate she struggled, but they found no traces of skin cells.”
“Whoever strangled her was covered up, then? Long sleeves, gloves…and she didn’t get his face, so maybe a mask. Or she was attacked from behind?”
She nodded and consulted her notes again. “She was last seen leaving Bailey’s Bar and Grill the night she disappeared. She was alone at the time, according to surveillance camera footage.” She tapped her pen against the notepad and looked up at Nolan. “I had her father and brother give me a list of her friends and hobbies, favorite hangouts and so forth—” She paused when Yossi jumped into Nolan’s lap, curled up and lay down. She covered a smile with her hand. “I hope you like cats. Yossi is not much for personal boundaries.”
He slanted a look at her gray feline, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He scratched Yossi’s cheek and nodded to her. “You were saying?”
“Right.” She pulled out the forms that the Ecclestons had filled out and slid them across her desk to him. “Here’s what they’ve given me so far. I went out to the crime scene this morning, as you know, to see if anything unusual or telling jumped out at me.”
“And did anything?”
She twisted her mouth. “No.”
Nolan leaned forward to take the papers from her desk, and Yossi dug his claws in to hold on as his lap bed shifted. Leaning back, Nolan began scanning the information and asked, “Who found the body?”
“Construction workers dug her up while renovating the parking lot. The storm that blew through here this summer caused a good bit of flooding, and the parking lot buckled and part of it washed out. It had to be completely redone. Originally they thought Patrice was another victim of a guy named Corgan, a serial killer who confessed on his deathbed to murdering several other women in the area. But Patrice wasn’t mummified, and Corgan denied killing her, so…”
“So her killer is still out there. Thus the family’s hiring you.”
“Exactly.”
He returned the pages of notes to her desk. “I think I mentioned that my cousins were talking a bit about the case at dinner. They’ve been pretty deeply involved with solving the Mummy Killer case and some other goings-on around town lately. I’ll talk to them this afternoon and see what insights they might have that would help us. Things the police may not have shared with the family yet.”
Summer perked up. “That’d be great! I’d planned to start interviewing some of Patrice’s friends today. Want to divide the list?”
Nolan stroked Yossi’s fur and shook his head. “Let’s go together. Two sets of ears are better than one. I might pick up on something you miss—” her frown returned, and he added quickly, “—or vice versa.”
Summer was certainly touchy about anyone denigrating her work or her abilities. What was that about? She’d always been such a confident and carefree kid when they’d hung out together those summers twenty years ago. Granted, a lot could happen, a lot could change in that many years. Not the least of which were her physical changes. The spindly-legged, flat-chested tomboy was gone, replaced by a beautiful, curvy woman with bedroom eyes that could seduce you in a heartbeat. Also the same were her expressive face and tendency to use big gestures as she talked. Summer had always been animated, full of life, with a magnetic personality. As a kid she’d played counterpoint to his quieter nature and penchant for observing rather than diving in and damning the torpedoes. Apparently that synergy still existed, still dovetailed with something in his soul, because he felt an old familiar warmth and tenderness toward her expanding in his chest.
He’d spelled out the need for the two of them to keep their working relationship platonic as much as a warning and reminder for himself as a guide for her. He’d sat across from her in the diner and been swamped with all kinds of nonplatonic urges. He’d had to remind himself about every five minutes that it was Summer sitting there looking like forbidden fruit. Every teasing twitch of her bow-shaped lips and disapproving wrinkle of her pixie-like nose spiked his pulse. Her thick golden hair and bedroom brown eyes had—Damn it! He was waxing poetic about her again. He pinched his nose and battled away the tug of lust.
“…her first. Sound good?” Summer was saying when he refocused his attention.
He cleared his throat, digging his fingers into her cat’s fur and nodding stupidly. “Um, sure.”
What had he just agreed to?
Chapter 4 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
“Maybe we should take your car,” Summer said, suppressing a giggle as she watched Nolan fold his long legs and linebacker shoulders into the front passenger seat of her Beetle.
“No, I’m in now. Let’s go.”
Even before you considered his remarkable size, Nolan had a way of filling up a space with the magnitude of his presence. He commanded a room with his confidence and good looks, and now, in the tiny confines of her car, he seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air. Or maybe that was just her reaction to his nearness. She’d been feeling a bit winded and dizzy ever since she’d hugged him at the Lone Star Pharma parking lot this morning. Jumped him was more like it. But dang it, she’d been happy to see him. She was impulsive that way. Was her overly enthusiastic greeting the reason he’d felt the need to put out his platonic-only condition for working together? Probably.
Okay, so she needed to try to check her impulses around Nolan. He may have grown up to be a walking dream, but theirs had always been simply a friendship. Clearly he wanted no more than that, which was why he had been quick to put the kibosh on anything more.
He buckled his seat belt and slanted a wry glance at her. “Stop laughing, or I’ll think this was a setup.”
“I’m not laughing,” she said, her lighthearted tone belying her assertion. “I Googled the directions on my phone.” She handed him her cell. “Will you navigate?”
He swiped to open the proper screen and aimed a thumb down Main Street. “Sure. Head east toward Caldwell Street.”
“Remember, I only moved back here a couple months ago. I’m still relearning street names and landmarks.”
“Roger that.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the apartment complex where their first interviewee lived. Their knock on the door of 4-B was answered by a petite young woman with frizzy auburn hair and freckles. Her gaze locked on Nolan, the twinkle of interest in her eyes clearly saying she’d noticed how handsome the man on her doorstep was.
“Amanda Cole?” Summer asked, drawing the young woman’s attention away from Nolan.
“Yes?” Amanda’s expression modulated, as if disappointed to realize her hunky visitor had a female companion.
“I’m Summer Davies, a local private investigator, and this is my associate, Nolan Colton.” They each offered their hand for Amanda to shake. “Do you have a few minutes to talk with us, please?”
Her green eyes darkened with doubt. “About what?”
“Patrice Eccleston. We understand you were roommates?”
“Well, yeah.” Grief washed over Amanda’s expressive countenance. Interviewing her would be all the easier, since her thoughts and emotions were written on her face.
“May we come in?” Nolan asked, and Amanda swallowed hard before nodding and opening the door farther to allow them inside.
The apartment was decorated in a style Summer would call Early College. Mismatched, inexpensive furniture mixed with older, worn pieces that screamed “castoffs from a parent’s house,” and the detritus of pizza dinners, studying and gossip magazines littered the living room. The scent of burned microwave popcorn hung in the air.
Nolan eyed a bright pink folding butterfly chair skeptically before seating himself on the garage sale–reject couch. Amanda perched on a red director’s chair and chewed her bottom lip. Knowing she couldn’t maintain an erect, businesslike posture in the butterfly chair, Summer joined Nolan on the sofa. A broken spring poked her butt, so she shifted closer to Nolan to find a more comfortable spot.
“What do you want to know about Patrice?” their hostess asked, a quiver of nerves in her voice.
“Basic information. Anything that might give us a picture of her life in the weeks before she was killed.”
“Amanda? Who was—?” A second young woman with a long, lean frame, a mocha complexion and black hair pulled up in a ponytail sauntered in from the back of the apartment and stopped short when she spotted the strangers on the couch. “Oh. Hi.”
Nolan stood and offered his hand as Amanda said, “Maria, these folks are private investigators wanting to talk about Patrice. This is my roommate, Maria.”
Summer smiled at Maria, who wore running shoes, yoga shorts and a T-shirt, then flipped to the front of her notepad asking, “Would you be Maria Hernandez, by any chance?”
Maria sent her roommate a worried frown before returning her gaze to Summer. “How did you know?”
“We got your name from Patrice’s brother. You are actually on our list of people we wanted to interview. Ian and his father have hired me to look into Patrice’s death.”
“You?” Her tone echoed the dubious look she wore. “Why?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“What about him?” Maria asked, waving a hand toward Nolan.
“He’s helping me with the case.”
Maria shifted her weight uneasily. “We already told the police all we know.”
Summer nodded. “That’s good. I’m sure your information will be helpful to them. But we are working independently from the police department and want to explore…other options that the police might not.”
“Do you have a minute?” Nolan motioned toward the empty butterfly chair.
Maria looked irritated. “I was just leaving for a run.”
Nolan flashed a beatific grin that sent Summer’s pulse scampering. “We promise not to keep you long.”
Maria sighed and dragged a wooden chair in from the breakfast nook. “Before we start, can I see some ID?”
Summer dug out her wallet to show the girls her PI license. When Maria’s expectant gaze swung toward Nolan, he dragged a hand down his face. “I can show you my driver’s license if you want, but my badge is in Illinois at the moment.”
“Badge?” Amanda asked. “You’re a cop?”
He hesitated before offering, “FBI. But I’m not here in an official capacity. Just backup for Summer.”
Amanda and Maria exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Anyway,” Summer said brightly, “as Patrice’s friends, we figured you two could tell us where she liked to hang out, if she had a boyfriend or a recent ex-boyfriend, her social media habits…that sort of thing. Let’s start with the boyfriend question.”
The both shook their heads, and Amanda added, “She had a lot of male friends, but none that were �boyfriends.’” She drew air quotes with her fingers.
Summer glanced at the list Patrice’s family had given her. No male names were among those provided. “Can you give us names of her male friends? How did she know these guys?”
“Classes, mainly. She was going to the vocational school in Hargrove to become a mechanic.”
Nolan’s chin jerked up. “A mechanic? Like to fix cars?”
Maria gave him a well, duh look. “What? Like a woman can’t be a mechanic?”
Summer angled her body toward Nolan, narrowing a wry gaze on him. “Yes, Nolan. Is there a reason why a woman can’t be a mechanic or whatever else she wants to be?”
He raised his palms. “Whoa. Easy, ladies. Just surprised me. It’s not a common career path for a female. But I have no beef with a woman being whatever she wants to be.”
Summer flashed a satisfied grin. “Good. Now that we have that settled—” she faced Amanda “—those names?”
“I only know first names. She met most of the guys in class and only referred to them as Barry, Charlie, Tyler and so forth,” Amanda said.
“Same when we all met up at Happy Hooligans for a drink,” Maria added. “She only introduced the guys with first names. It was just a casual thing and…” She shrugged.
Summer clicked her pen and started writing, “So Barry, Charlie and Tyler. All students of the automotive repair program at the vocational college?”
Amanda nodded.
Nolan waved a hand toward the roommates. “Are you two students there, as well?”
Maria snorted. “Like I have the money for tuition. I wait tables during the early-morning shift at the Bluebell Diner and clean offices at Lone Star Pharma at night.”
Summer scribbled that information down, then looked to Amanda. “And you?”
Maria gave a wry laugh. “Mandy’s got a rich daddy who pays her rent.”
Amanda scowled at her friend. “He’s not rich. He’s just helping me out until I graduate.” Then to Summer, “I commute to UT in Austin two days a week. I’m in the early childhood education program. I want to teach kindergarten.”
“How did you two meet Patrice?” Nolan asked.
“High school. We all went to Whisperwood High together,” Amanda said. “I was in a lot of classes with Patrice. We hit it off, even though we were…kinda opposites.”
Summer tipped her head. “Opposites how?”
Amanda flipped over a hand and gave a small shrug. “I don’t do sports, and she and Maria were on the basketball team together. Then there was her whole love of cars and fixing engines. I totally don’t get that. But she was super sweet and had a good sense of humor. We bonded because we’d both lost our moms.”
Summer was making notes again when Nolan asked, “Did Patrice have any enemies? An ex-boyfriend who was bothering her? A rival she’d upset? Anything like that?”
Maria shook her head. “No. Like Mandy said, Patrice was really nice to everyone. Everyone liked her.”
“So she hadn’t mentioned any angry responses to posts on Facebook or arguments in class? Maybe one of the guys harassing her?”
Maria and Amanda both shook their heads.
“Patrice was a private person. She didn’t share a lot with us about her private life, but I think she’d have mentioned something like that, and she didn’t.” Amanda divided a look between them. “She wasn’t on Facebook. She had a Snapchat account and Instagram.”
“Twitter, too, but she said she never checked it,” Maria added. “We told all this to the cops already.”
Summer smiled patiently. “I understand, but we may go a different path on this investigation than the police. So your cooperation is appreciated.”
“No ex-boyfriend,” Amanda said. “The guys from her classes considered her a buddy, which is what she preferred, I think. Early on, I think she had a thing for Barry, but he seemed oblivious to her feelings for him.”
“What about her family, her father and brother? What kind of relationship did she have with them?” Nolan asked, and Summer cut a startled look to him.
Summer tried to school her face. While she was in the middle of an interview, it wouldn’t do to give away any of her personal feelings about the case, anything that could slant the interviewee’s answers. But dang it, what was Nolan doing? Patrice’s family was her client! Why would they hire her if they were involved in her death?
Summer bit back her discontent and fought to hide her irritation with Nolan as Amanda and Maria exchanged a look.
“Like I said, her mom died while we were in high school,” Amanda said. “It’s one of the reasons she and I became friends. When I heard about it, I found her in the lunchroom one day and told her I knew how she felt and if she wanted to talk ever, I was available.”
Nolan nodded and offered a half smile. “That was kind of you. But what about her father? Her brother? Did she talk about them?”
“Some. Nothing major.” Maria shifted her weight restlessly. “She’d eat Sunday lunch with them and watch the Cowboys game after church, and she’d check on her dad at some point during the week to cook for him, so he didn’t live off fast food.”
“Did you ever pick up on any resentment in the family relationships?” Nolan persisted.
Summer eased a hand to his thigh and pinched him. Hard. Nolan grimaced, so slightly she’d have missed it if she weren’t looking for a reaction to her silent message.
Maria hesitated, clearly having seen the brief interplay between her interrogators, then said, “Normal family stuff. Nothing big. She said after her mom died that her dad became super strict and overprotective.”
Amanda added, “Also, more recently her dad had been pestering her to get a job to help with bills, which bugged her, because in his next breath he’d be nagging her about making good grades and spending more time studying.”
“Did she get a job?” Summer asked. No one had mentioned to her a place of employment for Patrice.
“She applied at a couple places to appease her dad,” Amanda said. “But no. She wasn’t working when—” Her freckled face crumpled, and she didn’t finish the thought.
“Did she say where she’d applied?” Summer asked. “Maybe someone saw Patrice as a threat to their own job?”
“I think she filled out an application at the Pizza Barn. We joked about the employee discount being a great benefit for us.” Amanda flashed a sad smile. “She had a couple other interviews, but she wouldn’t say much about them. Only that she didn’t get the jobs.”
“You could ask her dad about the interviews.” Maria cast a telling look to the clock. “He drove her to most of them.”
Summer and Nolan stayed about ten more minutes, gathering more specific information about Patrice’s habits and hobbies (jogging with Maria, word puzzles and needlepoint, which her mother had taught her years ago), favorite hangouts (Bailey’s Bar and Grill with her friends from class and JoJo’s Java every Friday before class with Amanda) and other friends (Gail Schuster, another high school pal who was next on Summer’s list).
When they returned to Summer’s car, Nolan gave her a querying look. “There a reason you chose to abuse my leg while we were in there?”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “You were hijacking the interview, asking questions about things that didn’t contribute to the investigation.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry, but what questions did you think were irrelevant?”
“The whole thing about her family. Did you miss where I told you they are the ones who hired me?”
“So?”
“So why would they hire me if they were involved in her death?”
He scratched his temple, his brow furrowed. “Um, you do know that when a woman is killed, the most likely candidates are always the people closest to her, right? The husband or boyfriend. A parent…”
She started the engine and shook her head. “I’m aware of that statistic, but in this case, the family doesn’t make sense. I looked in her father’s eyes and saw genuine grief.”
“Sure it wasn’t guilt?”
“Nolan!” She slapped a hand on the steering wheel. “This is my case! I told you I didn’t want you trying to take over.”
When she reached for the gearshift to back out of the parking space, he covered her hand with his to stop her, then turned the key to shut off the engine.
“Uh! What are you doing?” She gaped at him, trying to ignore the thrill that chased up her arm when he’d touched her hand.
“I don’t want you driving while distracted. And I want to clear things up before we go any further with this case.”
“Clear what things up?” Her heart struck a hard staccato beat when she faced him. His mercurial eyes bored into her, and his scruff-dusted jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth.
“Do you want me helping you with this case or don’t you?”
“I do,” she said with confidence, adding, “but only if you remember my terms. This is my case. Don’t try to commandeer it from me.”
His eyes clung to hers, but he said nothing for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, his gaze softened, and he said, “Your case. I get that. Why is that such a sticking point for you? You seem hypersensitive about it. What’s going on? The Summer I used to know wasn’t this uptight.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried not to let memories of rampant sexism from her past elevate her blood pressure. Nolan had asked a fair question, and he deserved the truth. “The Summer you knew was included as an equal in all the stuff you guys used to do. You didn’t defer to me or cut me out of anything muddy or rough-and-tumble because I was a girl. But this Summer—” she pointed to herself “—never got the lead on cases at her last investigative agency, despite the fact I had every bit as much or more training than the men in the agency. This Summer—” she tapped her chest “—was treated like a glorified errand girl, who always got sent for coffee or asked to do the copying and collating and transcribing notes for the men. I got leering looks at my chest and pedantic speeches and mansplaining out the wazoo.”
His expression darkened at the mention of being sexually objectified by her colleagues.
“I finally had enough and quit.”
“Good,” he said, nodding his head in approval.
“I came here to start my own business and be the boss. But even here I get funny looks when I tell people I’m the owner of Davies Investigations LLC. I’ve lost business when people change their mind about hiring me when they learn a woman would be handling their case.” She huffed angrily. “So, yeah, I’m a little sensitive to being pushed aside and treated with sexism, because it has been happening for years. And it drives me nuts!” Summer raised her hands, her fingers curled like claws as she growled her frustration.
Nolan again sat quietly, his gaze on her, steady and a bit unnerving with its penetrating power. Something deep in her core stirred in response to his hazel stare.
Finally he spoke, his voice calm and deep and lulling. “First of all, this Nolan—” he flattened a hand against his chest “—is the same Nolan you knew. I didn’t discriminate against you when we were kids, and I will not now. I see ability and character in you. Not man versus woman.”
Reluctantly, she said, “Okay.”
His reply should have made her feel better, but the marrow-deep awareness he awoke in her deflated instead, leaving a hollow ache. She wanted to be treated as an equal, but would it be so terrible if he saw her as a woman? Did she really want to be just his pal? The feminine side of her said no, while a more practical part of her brain reminded her of his platonic-only rule.
“Second, I hate that you were subjected to that kind of discrimination and objectification. I’d love to set those men straight on a thing or two.” His hand flexed as he scowled, leaving no secret how he’d set her sexist colleagues straight.
“And finally, the questions about Patrice’s family were valid and necessary. I wasn’t trying to take over. I was asking important questions, if only to legitimately eliminate them as suspects. It’s not impossible that they hired you to throw the investigation off their tracks.” He angled his head and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “I think if you’ll look past your sense of being overshadowed, you’ll know I’m right.”
The tingles were back. In spades. Her attention zeroed in on his warm hand, the sensation rushing through her blood, the hint of dizziness that swamped her.
“Summer?”
She jerked her gaze back to him, mentally replaying his last words. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry I overreacted.” She exhaled a cleansing breath. “I’ll try not to be so testy from here on out.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth and gave her a wink. Before he withdrew his hand, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.
When she turned the key again to restart the engine, her hand was trembling. With a tight grip on the steering wheel to hide the tremors, she backed from the parking spot and headed out to the side street, praying Nolan hadn’t noticed her show of nerves. Her crazy attraction to Nolan was her issue to manage. He’d been clear that he wanted their friendship to continue on the same course it had begun. Strictly buddies. Asexual pals.
And because she valued his friendship, his insights and his expertise on this case, she would find a way to rein in this new fascination with his GQ physique, thrilling touch and drool-worthy mug.
As she drove, Nolan opened her notebook and read over her notes. “I suggest we follow up with Patrice’s dad on the job interviews and find these guys from her vocational classes.”
Summer nodded. “I agree. I also want to look up her social media profiles and see if anything stands out.”
He flipped the notebook closed and angled his body toward her. “Speaking of social media, tell me more about the troublesome ex you were trying to avoid when you made your profiles so hard to find. Robby?”
She cut a surprised glance to him. “Yes, Robby. Did I tell you that?”
“At lunch, yes. And I’m good with names. Comes in handy during investigations.”
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