to go into battle. “What do you mean, not yet?”
“Before we do anything else, we need your statement.”
The woman let the air out of her lungs. “On one condition.”
Tarver’s brows dipped into a frown. He wasn’t used to negotiating his orders. He opened his mouth to say so, but Brenna beat him to it.
“I keep my coffee.” She gave him a saccharine-sweet smile.
His brows met in the middle before they straightened and he nodded. She’d better not push him. He’d have her out of the building so fast—
Coffee in hand, she sailed toward the door leading to the back of the police station.
He hurried to follow her, falling in step behind her.
Before she’d gone too far down the hallway she stopped so abruptly Nick bumped into her. Her body was soft and feminine, but beneath the layers of clothing, he could feel the steely strength of well-honed muscles.
Her mouth made a small O and then firmed into a straight line as she looked over his shoulder to the man behind him. “Interview room still in the same place, Chief?”
“You betcha,” Tom Burkholder replied.
“Let’s go, Tarver.” With a dismissive glance, she resumed her pace.
“Nick. Call me Nick.” He almost smiled at the cocky little she-devil’s back. He preferred a woman with spunk—but not at work. At work he liked people to follow orders. “Chief Burkholder will take your statement.”
“Whatever. Let’s get this interview over so we can get to work solving this case.”
He stepped around her and led the way through a bank of desks to a room located near the rear of the building. He held the door as the chief entered and Brenna followed. As she passed close enough to touch him, Nick caught the scents of herbal shampoo and fresh snow.
A strange combination of winter and spring. The unbidden impression formed in his mind from just that little whiff, and he brushed it aside. Too much detail about a witness he had no intention of keeping on his team.
Once they were inside the interview room, Nick Tarver closed the door, shutting them in and himself out. He moved down the hall and stepped into the observation room to watch and listen to the interview through the two-way mirror.
Stark and plain, the room was basically empty, with only a heavy metal table and two folding chairs in the middle of the floor. A single, uncovered lightbulb provided enough light to illuminate all four corners.
Brenna circled the room and stopped to stare into the mirror. “Hey, Agent Tarver, can you hear me? ’Cause I don’t want to repeat myself later.”
He fought a sudden urge to chuckle. The woman was annoying, but ballsy.
Chief Burkholder waved toward a chair. “Have a seat, Special Agent Jensen.” Gone was the surrogate-father figure and in his place was the professional police officer.
She set her satchel on the floor and pulled out a photocopy of the note she’d received. “I suppose you’d like to see the copy of the note and the envelope.”
He took the paper and shot a brief glance at it before setting it to one side of the table. “Let’s start at the beginning. Your full name.”
“You know me, Chief.” She glared at the mirror, her fingers tapping a rhythm on the tabletop.
She was impatient and possibly a bit nervous knowing Nick was watching her. He sat in a chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Good. Make her sweat. He was glad he’d chosen to watch instead of interrogate. This way he could study her openly.
The chief’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “For the record, please. You know the drill.”
With a sigh, she quit staring at the mirrored wall and stated, “Brenna Louise Jensen.”
“Occupation—special agent for the North Dakota Bureau of Criminal Investigations?”
“That’s right.” She shot a defiant look at the mirror.
So, she was a criminal investigator. It didn’t mean she’d work with him.
The older man wrote on a tablet and then looked up at her. “Tell me what happened.”
“I found this letter in the mailbox at my town house when I got home from work on Friday.”
Chief Burkholder sat up straight, his pen poised in midair. “Not at work, but at home?”
Nick leaned forward. That was news. He’d assumed she’d gotten it at her office. So the kidnapper knew where she lived.
“Right.”
“And there were no prints?” They knew there weren’t any, but the chief had to put it in the record.
“No.”
“Where was the letter postmarked?” he asked.
“Riverton Post Office.” She sighed. “That’s why I’m here.”
“In your line of work, have you been assigned to cases involving violent criminals?”
Her chin rose as if challenging the man behind the wall. “Yeah. That’s my job.”
The chief scribbled her answers on the notepad before he looked up again. “And Riverton’s your hometown, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” she stated. “It’s where I grew up.”
The chief continued. “Has anyone from Riverton ever threatened you?”
“No,” she said, her fingers drumming against the tabletop.
“Were you ever involved in an incident that would make someone consider you a threat?”
Her hand stilled. “Other than my casework?”
“Correct.”
She hesitated, darting another glance at the mirror as she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “No.”
Was the hair-flicking a nervous gesture? Was she not telling the chief something? Nick’s gut said yes. What secrets could a criminal investigator have?
Chief Burkholder continued the questioning without delving into her answer. If Nick had conducted the interview, he’d have questioned her further. But she was a cop and probably didn’t think the information was relevant to the case.
When the interview was over, Brenna stood and gathered her satchel and the copy of her note. “Now can we get on with solving this case?”
“Eager, aren’t we?” The chief patted her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you where they’ve set up.”
Nick left the observation room ahead of Brenna and the chief and beat
