A Baby Changes Everything (17 page)

IN THE ARMS OF THE LAW

by
Peggy Moreland

 

You won't want to miss the continuation of THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION, a new 12-book continuity series featuring the powerful Fortune family. Enjoy this excerpt of Peggy Moreland's
In the Arms of the Law,
the third book in the series.

A
ndi Matthews was no stranger to murder. She'd focused her entire college career on studying the profiles of killers and perfecting the procedures for gathering the evidence needed to win convictions. For the past nine years she'd worked for the Red Rock Police Department, had personally investigated close to fifty murders and put nearly that same number of criminals behind bars. She knew how a murderer's mind worked, what fueled their need to kill and what mistakes they might make that would lead to their arrests.

But she'd never considered committing murder herself.

Until today.

From the moment Chief Prater had assigned Gabe Thunderhawk to work with her to identify the body of the Lost Fortune—the tag given to the floater discovered at Lake Mondo—she'd known she was in for trouble. Everyone on the force knew that Gabe wanted a promotion to detective, and this was the per
fect chance for him to prove he was qualified to handle the job.

Intellectually she understood what a boon the successful closing of the case would be to his career. Because of the crown-shaped birthmark on the floater's right hip that linked the body with the Fortune family, solving the case would give him a level of publicity and notoriety that no other case could offer.

But understanding his motive in no way excused his behavior. Not in Andi's opinion.
She
was the primary on this case and she was sick and tired of him working independently from her. They were supposed to be partners, a team; she intended to remind him of that fact the moment he showed up…if he ever did.

She stopped her agitated pacing in front of the police station and shoved up the sleeve of her blazer to check the time. Her frown deepened as she noted that he was now over thirty minutes late.

“Okay, Thunderhawk,” she muttered under her breath. “What are you up to now?”

While playing the possibilities through her mind, she recalled mentioning the day before that they should re-question the fishing guide who had found the body. Figuring Gabe had taken it upon himself to do the job alone—and upstaging her should he get lucky—she headed for her unmarked, city-issue Ford sedan.

The twenty-minute drive to Lake Mondo gave her ample time to work up a pretty good head of steam.
By the time she arrived at Hook 'n' Go, the bait shop where the fishing guide usually hung out, and found Gabe's truck parked out front, she was a slash mark beyond the boiling point. Prepared to read him the riot act for his traitorous behavior the moment he showed his double-crossing face, she braced a hip against the hood of his truck, folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Her timing was perfect, as moments later, the door of the bait shop opened and Gabe appeared. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he paused in the doorway, conversing with someone inside. He didn't appear rushed or harried, a fact that grated on her already raw nerves, since he'd kept her cooling her heels for almost an hour. But Gabe never seemed to get in a hurry, a trait the guys on the force attributed to his Native American heritage. That same heritage was evident by his high slash of cheekbones, the bronze tint of his skin, his dark hair and eyes. Most women considered him drop-dead handsome. Normally Andi would've agreed.

Today she considered him nothing but a royal pain in the ass.

“I appreciate your time,” she heard him say to the person inside. “If you think of anything, you've got my card.” The slap of the screen door closing was followed by the scrape of his boot soles on the worn wooden steps as he headed for his truck.

When he spotted Andi, he slowed slightly then strode on, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought we were supposed to meet at the station.”

“Oh, we were,” she replied, then pushed away from his truck with a scowl, and leveled a warning finger at his nose. “Listen up, Thunderhawk, and listen good. Whether you like it or not, I'm the primary on this investigation, and nothing is done outside of my presence or without my prior knowledge, including interviewing individuals associated with this case.”

He held up a hand. “Now wait a minute. You're the one who said we should talk to the fishing guide again.”

“Yes, I did. But
we
didn't talk to him,
you
did, and after being told repeatedly that we work as a team.” She narrowed an eye. “I'm warning you, Gabe, if you continue to undermine my authority, I'll request that Chief Prater remove you from the case.”

He hitched his hands on his hips in frustration. “What is it with you, anyway? You act like I'm sneaking around behind your back.”

“Well, aren't you?”

“What I was trying to do was save us both some time.”

“And how did you plan to do that, when I've been sitting on my hands at the station for over an hour waiting for you?”

“My place is a couple of miles from here. I figured I'd stop by on my way into town, question the guide then meet you at the station and report my
findings. Is it my fault the fishing guide is a Chatty Cathy?”

Though his explanation made sense, she didn't trust him. Not for minute. This wasn't the first time he'd struck out on his own without first discussing his plans with her. But to continue to debate his insubordination would be unproductive and a waste of more of her time.

She released a breath and, along with it, some of her anger. “All right,” she said, grudgingly. “But next time check with me first or I swear I'll file a complaint with the chief.”

“Fine.”

Determined to focus her mind on the investigation and away from her irritation with her so-called partner, she asked, “Did the guide have anything new to say?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Same story he gave the day he found the body.”

She hadn't expected the man would remember anything new. But after two months with no new leads on the case, there was nothing left to do but backtrack, in hope of finding something they'd missed the first time through.

Frustrated by the lack of evidence they had to work with, she frowned at the lake that had regurgitated the Lost Fortune, washing its bloated body up on shore. Thanks to the southeasterly wind currently blowing, the lake's surface was choppy. Not a fishing or pleasure boat in sight. A lone heron sailed low
over the water, trolling for his next meal. The shoreline itself was empty of humanity, but dotted with litter: aluminum cans, plastic bags and a length of frayed synthetic rope, probably discarded from some ski boat. It was a scavenger's dream.

As she watched a wave wash the litter higher onto shore, an idea began to grow in her mind.

“What was the weather like the day before the body was discovered?”

He gave her an impatient look. “How the hell would I know?”

“If we can find out which direction the wind was blowing prior to the body being found, we might be able to pinpoint the area where it was dumped.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly, “and if we had a crystal ball we could probably look inside and see who dumped it.”

She burned him with a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

He turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” she asked in frustration.

“Inside,” he called over his shoulder. “Ten-to-one the owner of the bait shop keeps a weather journal.”

Kicking herself for not having thought of that herself, she watched Gabe walk toward the bait shop. She wished she'd kept her eyes on the lake as seeing his backside reminded her of the notice she'd seen on the bulletin board in the women's restroom that morning. A bright yellow banner announcing that the female employees had awarded Gabe the “Cutest
Butt on the Force” award. She let her gaze slide to his hips. Even though she thought the awards were stupid, she had to agree. He did have a fine-looking tush.

Unfortunately, his butt wasn't his only outstanding feature. Wide shoulders; slim waist; muscled chest, arms and legs. He was the only man she knew who could make a department-issue khaki uniform look as if it was custom-tailored for him by Armani.

Too bad he'd let his physical attributes go to his head. He had an ego the size of Texas and was a playboy to boot. Two traits that, in her mind at least, nullified his finer points.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze to the lake and waited. To pass the time she counted the waves that rushed onto shore.

“Wind was from the northwest,” Gabe reported moments later as he rejoined her. “Gusts up to seventy-two miles per hour.”

She glanced at the sun, seeking a point of reference, then across the span of white-capped water toward the northwest quadrant of the lake. “Do you know what's over there?”

“A few private homes, a public boat ramp and acres of undeveloped land.”

“I say we start with the public ramp,” she said and turned for her car.

He fell into step beside her. “We can take my truck.”

“No way. I value my life too much to climb into a vehicle with you behind the wheel.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding insulted. “There's nothing wrong with my driving.” He stopped at the side of his truck and opened the passenger door. “Besides, my truck's got four-wheel drive. Depending on how far you want to explore, we might need it.”

She hesitated a moment, considering, then heaved a sigh and climbed inside, knowing he was right.

“No speeding,” she warned as he slid behind the wheel. “And none of those fancy one-eighties they teach at the police academy.”

He put the truck in gear, shot her a grin then spun the wheel and stomped on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires, they were headed in the opposite direction. Andi grabbed for the chicken bar above the passenger window and hung on, silently vowing to kill him later.

By the time they reached the turnoff for the boat ramp, her knuckles were white and her feet burned from pressing on the imaginary brake on the floor-board on her side of the vehicle. Thankfully, the road that led to the ramp was full of potholes, which forced him to slow down. It was also bordered by shoulder-high weeds and even taller cedars, the perfect cover for someone who had something—or someone—to hide. As they neared the lake, the road widened, with parking space available to the left and the right of a long, weathered dock.

As soon as he pulled to a stop, Andi opened her
door and jumped to the ground. “Next time I drive,” she muttered irritably.

Gabe met her at the hood. “You shouldn't have said anything about my driving. It was like a dare.” He lifted a brow and looked down his nose at her. “And I've never been able to walk away from a dare.”

“I'll remember that in the future,” she said dryly, then pushed up her sleeves, eager to get to work. “Okay. Here's how we're going to play this. We'll assume that the murder took place somewhere other than at the lake.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Mainly because none of the residents who live around the lake reported hearing gunshots.”

“He could have used a silencer.”

“True, but my gut tells me the murder took place somewhere else and the killer used the lake as a depository, hoping the body would never be discovered.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You're the boss.”

“We're also going to assume that the murderer dumped the body at night. Otherwise, he'd risk being seen.”

“I can buy that,” he agreed.

She stepped to the edge of the water and frowned as she studied the moss-covered concrete ramp that stretched beyond the surface. “So what would he do?” she asked, thinking aloud, as she tried to slip into the mind of the murderer. “Back his vehicle to the edge, as if he was going to put a boat into the
water, then dump the body?” She cut her gaze to the pier. “Or would he carry it onto the dock and drop it over the side?”

“Depends on his physical condition. If our perp is in good shape, he'd probably carry the body to the end of the dock. The water's deeper there. It would also save him from getting wet.”

She nodded her agreement.

“There's also the possibility that he used a boat,” he reminded her. “He could have concealed the body in the hull prior to driving to the lake, put in here at the ramp then shoved the body overboard once he was far enough away from the shoreline to avoid detection.”

“Yes, but we've already checked with the owners of the boats known to be on the water that night. Each was aware of the others' presence and all agreed that theirs were the only boats on the lake. All three owners were questioned individually and their stories matched.”

“Then we go with the theory that the murderer dumped the body from the dock or shore.”

“For now.” She turned away. “You check the shoreline. I'll take the dock.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her. “Any evidence left behind would've washed away or been destroyed by now.”

“Maybe we'll get lucky.”

Though she could tell by his expression that he considered the search a waste of time, he didn't offer
anymore arguments. Surprised that he was cooperating with her for a change, she continued on for the dock.

As she stepped onto the weathered surface, the barrels that supported it pitched beneath her weight. She gave herself a moment to adjust to the rolling movement, then walked slowly to the opposite end, casting her gaze from side to side. Long strands of slimy-looking vegetation swayed beneath the surface of the murky water, tugged by the current. She stifled a shudder. She loved swimming, but preferred man-made pools with concrete bottoms and chlorine-treated water over lakes, with all their aquatic vegetation and muddy base.

At the end of the dock, she squatted down and looked over the edge, trying to imagine the murderer's movements if he'd chosen this particular method to dispose of the body. Several feet beneath the water's surface, she caught a glimpse of a scrap of fabric snagged on one of the support posts.