by Leann Harris
“This is not an aimless robbery like the other ones,” J.D. said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the officer said nothing else was disturbed.”
“Maybe you came in before the guy could work his way upstairs.”
“Do you really believe that, Detective?”
He shrugged.
“How many junkies do you know who would pass up an expensive diamond watch to go through the mail and legal files?”
“What diamond watch?”
“The one on the desk. It needed a new battery, so I gave it to my secretary this morning. Apparently she got it fixed and left it where she was sure I’d find it.”
Luke stood and walked to the desk. The watch was right where she said it was. He picked up the expensive piece. Any thief who’d overlooked this was searching for something besides a prize to pawn.
So where did that leave them?
He faced her. “Do you have any idea what the thief was looking for?”
“No, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that it was somehow connected with Gwen Kennedy.”
He had the sinking feeling in his gut she was right.
CHAPTER 2
Luke had no trouble finding the crime scene on the bank of the Trinity River. Four patrol cars, the coroner’s van and the evidence team car marked the spot on the grassy slope. As a matter of fact, anyone in the skyscrapers downtown couldn’t have missed this circus. Too bad the murder didn’t have as many witnesses as the discovery of the body did. It would’ve made his job easier.
Luke turned off the paved street and drove through the choppy terrain, gritting his teeth against the bone-jarring ride. There went the new alignment of his car. The moment he opened his door, the senior officer at the scene and his friend, Frank Seaman, approached.
“So you got stuck with this,” Frank teased.
“Yeah, all the other detectives were out or sick, so they gave this one to me. Whatcha got, Frank?”
“The boys over there—” he nodded toward two teens milling around a patrol car “—were gathering aluminum cans and found the woman’s body.”
Luke motioned for Frank to lead the way. “Have you found any identification? A purse, a wallet?”
“No such luck.”
Luke carefully studied the scene while the evidence team finished taking pictures. Female, Caucasian, five-six, maybe five-seven, slender, reddish-brown hair. She lay sprawled on her stomach, an ugly bullet hole at the base of her head. The hit looked professional.
“Any evidence of sexual assault?” If it was a professional hit, there wouldn’t be any sexual overtones.
“It’s hard to tell at this stage.”
Luke walked around the body, studying it from different angles. Suddenly he remembered J.D.’s description of her missing friend, which matched this body. Squatting beside the woman’s face, he pulled his pen from his shirt pocket and used the tip to move her chin to the side. High on her right cheek was a mole, exactly as J.D. had described her friend Gwen Kennedy.
They would need J.D. to positively identify the body, but he was ninety-eight percent certain he’d found the counselor’s missing client.
Ah, hell.
He stood, exasperated by the thought of having to deal with J.D. Anderson again. Staring down at the ground, he noticed an unusual print in the moist earth. From the shape, the pointed toe and deep heel, there was no mistaking the boot print. But it was the heel that made this print unique.
Luke looked down at Frank’s feet. “You’re not wearing boots.”
“So?”
Luke motioned to him. “Come here and look at this.”
Frank leaned down and examined the muddy imprint. “It’s a Western boot, all right. But look at that heel. It’s got the state of Texas carved in it. Have you ever seen one like that?”
Luke shook his head. “Any of your boys wearing boots?”
“I don’t know. Hey, guys, anyone got on Western boots?” Frank yelled, momentarily stopping all activity. When they received a negative response, Frank grinned. “I think we’ve got a clue to who the killer is.”
“Some lead, Frank. The guy wears boots. Half the men in Texas wear boots.”
“But not boots like these. They’re probably a custom job. That should narrow things down.”
“Sure. Now instead of having close to a million suspects, I probably only have a hundred thousand.”
* * *
Luke stepped out of the elevator the same moment J.D. walked out the courtroom doors. The familiar and definitely unwelcome charge of sexual awareness twisted his insides. Of all the females in the state, of all the lawyers out of that population, why her? It made him spitting mad.
Engaged in a lively conversation with the assistant district attorney, she failed to notice him. He took the opportunity to study her. She looked tired but not defeated. The bruise on her chin, which stood out despite her attempts to cover it with makeup, gave her a fragile quality.
Odd, he had the ridiculous impulse to reach out and comfort her, tell her that he’d catch the creep who did this to her. He shook his head in disgust. This job was getting to him. One did not comfort the Terminator, no matter if she did have a body to die for.
He stepped forward. “Afternoon, Counselor, Stewart.”
The two stopped in surprise.
“Hi, Luke.” Stewart Grant held out his hand. Luke shook it. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for Ms. Anderson, here.”
Stewart’s brow shot up. “Oh?”
“She reported a client missing. I think we’ve found the woman.”
J.D.’s body seemed to sag. Her deep sigh touched him. He gritted his teeth against the feeling.
“I suppose since you’re the one telling me, Detective McGill, it means Gwen’s dead.”
He couldn’t quite identify the emotion in her voice. Pain, disappointment, discouragement.
“The body of a young woman matching the description of your client was found this morning. We need you to identify it before we can say positively that it’s Gwen Kennedy.”
“All right. When do you need me?”
“As soon as possible.”
J.D. lightly ran her fingers over her forehead. “I’m finished here for the day. I can do it now, then go home.”
“Great. I’ll follow you over there.”
J.D. flushed.
“Is something the matter, Counselor?”
She glanced at Stewart, then at him. “How do you feel about following a DART bus?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I rode the bus here this morning, McGill. I strongly believe in public transit. I use the bus whenever I can.”
It figured. The lady defended the indigent, marched for causes, rode the bus and was a general pain in the butt. And, of course, he could just imagine the reaction of all his buddies in the department if they discovered he’d been trailing a DART bus because he couldn’t convince one stubborn female to accept a ride from him.
Stewart broke out in laughter. “I can just see you, Luke, following a bus.”
Although it was only a seven-minute drive from the courthouse to Parkland Hospital where the county morgue was located, it would take the better part of an hour to get there by bus with all the stops and starts it made.
“Look, Anderson—” since she’d called him by his last name, he might as well return the favor “—why don’t I just give you a lift over there? That way, we’ll finish that much more quickly. Okay?”
From the expression on her beautiful face, it was apparent she didn’t like the idea of riding with him anywhere, but he had confidence that her practical side would win out over her distaste. It had to be a common experience for her, as many rotten defendants as she represented. He frowned at the comparison.
“All right, McGill. Lead the way.”
Luke looked at Stewart. “Let me know when you need me in court on the Jameson case.”
> “Will do. J.D., I’ll get back in touch with you later.” Grinning, Stewart turned and strode down the hall. His cheerful whistle annoyed Luke. Stewart might have found the situation funny. He didn’t.
The trip to the hospital was the longest Luke had ever made. Nothing, not a word, a syllable, a sigh passed between him and J.D. He could coin a new phrase—graveyard silence.
The Southwest Institute for Forensic Sciences, or SWIF as it was affectionately known among the police officials, was located outside the emergency door of Parkland, the main county hospital.
He parked the car, then came around and opened the passenger door. J.D. looked up in surprise. His actions surprised him, too, considering this was J.D. “hate all policemen” Anderson. He tried to shrug it off. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman,” he offered by way of an explanation.
“Too bad you aren’t one on the witness stand,” she grumbled. She grabbed her purse and stood.
“When you’re challenging my credibility as a professional, Ms. Anderson, I fight hard, bare knuckles, and I don’t pull my punches.”
“I know, McGill. I just assumed you were that nasty all the time.”
Sometimes he just wanted to get his hands around her neck and...and what? he thought, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked to the door. The woman had the mouth of a shrew and the body of an angel. A bad combination.
The moment he stepped inside, one of the coroner’s assistants he knew called out his name.
“Luke, what are you doing here?”
“Marv, Ms. Anderson and I came to view the body of an unidentified female they brought in this morning.”
“Yeah, I remember that one. Let me see where they put her. She probably isn’t in one of the drawers yet. We had a surplus of bodies over the weekend and are pretty backed up. Your body’s probably still in one of the freezers.”
When Luke turned around, he found J.D. sitting on a bench, her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed.
“You okay, Anderson?”
Slowly she opened her eyes. “Yes.”
She was pale. Her skin appeared colorless, the life drained out of it. “You sure?”
“McGill, I have a raging headache, the smell of this place makes me want to vomit, but I’ll make it.”
Marvin reappeared and motioned to them. “C’mon, folks. I’ve got the body you want to see in the viewing room.”
He watched in amazement as J.D. squared her shoulders, stood and with a regal bearing followed Marvin. She remained calm, almost detached, as she viewed the body.
“Is that Gwen Kennedy?”
J.D. met his gaze and he saw the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Yes.”
She said nothing more but simply turned and walked back to the main entrance. By the time he finished his business with Marvin, he found J.D. again seated on the bench. Her eyes were closed, her fingers slowly massaging her temples.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
She shook her head. “I knew when she didn’t show for our meeting that something bad had happened. I just hoped...”
Suddenly, her fingers flew to the back of her head. With a practiced ease, she plucked all the pins from her bun, then shook her hair free. She ran one hand through the gold strands as she tossed the pins into her purse.
A giant, iron fist hit Luke in the stomach, taking his breath away as he watched the spill of honey blond hair fall over her shoulders to touch the wood of the bench and pool around her hips. He’d no idea that Miss “Steel Will” Anderson possessed such long, gorgeous, sexy hair.
One of the other male assistants wandered through the hall and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw J.D. Luke glared at him, and the man took the hint and moved away.
“I need something for this wretched headache.”
Her voice brought his attention back to her. She threw open the black bag she called a purse and started pulling things out. His eyes grew wide as he watched her remove two chocolate bars, a peanut butter cup, several fudge drops, and a bag of candy coated chocolates. The lady had a passion for chocolate. He wondered what her other passions were.
“Where are those stupid aspirins?”
The desperation in her voice caught his attention. When she looked up at him, he saw raging pain reflected clearly in her eyes. He’d seen that look often when he was growing up. His mother had been plagued with headaches, and sometimes, before the pain became intense, if he massaged her neck and shoulders, they could avert the headache.
The thought of putting his hands on J.D.’s neck, running his fingers through her hair, had a definite effect on his body. Ignoring his own response, he said, “Move over.” He sat next to her, resting his hands on her shoulder. She jumped.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She tried to look over her shoulder, but he gently grabbed her head and turned it back.
“I’m going to massage your neck and shoulders and hopefully ease your headache, that is—” he leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear “—unless you’ve found your aspirin.”
He felt the little shiver that ran down her spine. It paralleled his own. Damn, this was a complication he didn’t want in his life. His ex-wife taught him that he was no good with relationships. And he definitely didn’t want a relationship with the counselor, good or bad.
Now, sex—that was a different matter.
You’re really losing it now, McGill, if you think that J.D. Anderson would let you near her.
And yet, it was hard to think of anything else as he slowly ran his hands up her neck, his fingers spearing into her thick hair.
A tiny moan slipped from her lips, making the muscles of his stomach tighten.
“Where did you learn to give such wonderful massages?”
“I used to give my mother massages for her headaches. My ex-wife said it was the only thing I knew how to do right.”
She went still under his hands. “You were married?”
The wonderment in her voice annoyed him. He pulled his hands away from her neck and stood.
“Yeah, Anderson, there was one woman fool enough to marry me. Obviously she wised up because she divorced me.” He turned away.
“McGill.”
He stopped.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just that I’ve never thought of you as married.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Her sincere expression convinced him that she hadn’t meant anything nasty. “Apparently neither did my ex-wife. Gather up your things, Counselor, and I’ll drive you home.”
He didn’t wait to see if she did. He pushed open the door and walked to his car.
* * *
Amazingly, her headache eased. She had to agree with McGill’s ex-wife. He gave a first-rate massage. Maybe he had missed his calling by becoming a policeman. No, in spite of the aggravation he caused her, McGill was a good cop. In fact, she was glad he was the investigating officer on Gwen’s case.
She glanced over at him behind the wheel of the unmarked police car. In anybody’s book, McGill was a drop-dead handsome man. Women probably weren’t falling all over themselves to get to him because of the hard set to his jaw and the chilling way he greeted most people.
It was difficult to imagine him married. She regretted her reaction to his little announcement. She hadn’t meant to be rude. Whenever she thought about him—which she rarely did, she hurriedly assured herself—she always envisioned him as single. By his own admission, he wasn’t good husband material.
Why on earth was she thinking about him as husband material? That headache really must have scrambled her brain.
She leaned her head on the seat back. A shiver caught her by surprise as she remembered the feel of his callused, hard fingers on her neck. She had wanted to melt into his strength, lose herself in the pleasure.
Her head snapped up.
“You okay, Anderson?” He glanced at her.
“Yes.”
“You look like you remembered something importa
nt.”
Or wanted to avoid a dangerous thought. “No, nothing like that.”
“When we get to your house, I’d like to question you about Gwen, see what we can come up with.”
“I take it she had no identification with her when she was found.”
“No such luck.”
He turned into her driveway and parked behind her battered fifteen-year-old clunker. Arching his brow, he looked at her. “Is that hunk of cr—junk yours?”
“You bet.”
“Would you mind telling me why the daughter of one of the wealthiest oilmen in the state drives that?”
She shrugged. “My expensive convertible was stolen the second day I lived here. Nobody touches this car, no matter what part of Dallas I park in.”
He laughed. The surprising sound was rich and full, causing the oddest flutter in J.D.’s stomach.
“You amaze me, Counselor,” he said. He slammed the car door shut and followed her inside. “Nobody in the department will believe that the Terminator has a sense of humor.”
J.D. whirled in time to see him freeze when he realized what he’d said. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that he was blushing. Naw, couldn’t be.
“Don’t worry about it, McGill. I know about the little nickname. Someday remind me to tell you what the defense attorneys call you.”
“They have a name for me?” he asked, following her down the hall to her office.
She paused, taking off both her high heels. “Yeah, and it’s a gem.” Before he could ask any other questions, she greeted her secretary. “Hi, Emma. Anything happen while I was gone?”
Emma stared over her shoulder. “Who’s the hunk?”
J.D. glanced back, thinking perhaps someone else had entered the room. “Who?”
“Him,” Emma stated, pointing at McGill.
J.D. leaned close to Emma’s ear. “He’s a cop.”
“What did you do now, J.D.?”
With a dramatic sigh, J.D. shook her head. “I really ought to fire you, Emma.”
Emma gave a short laugh. “Sure, and it’s going to snow here in July.” She first studied J.D. from the top of her head to her stocking-clad feet, then the detective. “What exactly have you been doing this afternoon?”