nodded grimly. “I would imagine he is.” Frowning, she circled the body, examining it from different angles. “Any ID?”
“Checked his pockets. No wallet or any kind of ID, although I did notice what appears to be a birthmark on his hip. Looks like we’ve got a John Doe.”
“The M.E.’s report will detail any identifying marks.” She stopped and hunkered down beside the body again, lifting the sheet away from the lower extremities. “He wasn’t dressed for fishing or swimming,” she commented, noting the slacks he wore.
“Judging by the three holes in his head, I’d say his visit to the lake wasn’t recreational.”
She snapped her gaze up to Gabe’s, her brows drawn together in question. “Three?”
“Bullet entered here, here and here,” he said, indicating each by pointing them out on his own head. “I’m no expert, but I’d say he was dead before he hit the water.”
Irritated with herself that he’d found three bullet holes, when she’d only seen one, she looked at the corpse again. Her frown deepening, she slowly lowered the sheet and pushed to her feet. “Has the M.E. been here?”
“Here and gone about half an hour ago. Left as soon as he proclaimed him dead. When the photographer finishes up, we’re transporting the body to the lab for autopsy.”
Andrea nodded. “I’ll drop by and get the M.E.’s preliminary findings.”
“I plan on doing the same. Want a ride? We can have dinner afterward.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give up, Thunderhawk?”
“Do I look like a quitter?”
“Are we ready to transport?”
Startled by the sound of Chief Prater’s voice, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was headed their way. As usual, he had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Although he’d quit smoking five years before, he refused to give up his cigars completely.
“We’re transporting as soon as the photographer finishes up,” she replied, then looked at him curiously. “What are you doing way out here? You don’t usually visit crime scenes.”
“Got a call from the M.E. He says our victim has an unusual birthmark. A crown shape on the right hip, same as Ryan Fortune.”
Familiar with the wealthy Fortune and his philanthropic work to many of the charitable organizations in the state, Andi glanced back at the body in confusion. “Are you saying the floater is Ryan Fortune?”
“No, I’m saying the crown-shaped birthmark is a Fortune trademark, which means he’s probably related.” He shifted his gaze to Gabe. “I want you working this case with Andi.”
Andi’s eyes shot wide in alarm. “Leo and I can handle this. We don’t need Gabe’s help.”
The chief dragged the cigar from his mouth and set his lips in a grim line. “Leo isn’t going to be handling anything for a while.”
A knot of fear twisted in her gut. “But…why? Has something happened to him?”
He tapped a finger against his chest. “Heart attack. Happened early this morning. His wife says it was caused by a blockage. Gonna need a quadruple bypass. He’ll be out on medical leave for at least a month. Maybe longer.”
Stunned, Andi could only stare at her boss, her concern for her partner obliterating all other thought. She’d worked with Leo for nine years. Heck, he was like a father to her!
She swallowed hard, trying to force back the paralyzing fear, the memory of her own father’s heart attack that had resulted in his death.
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” she asked uneasily.
The chief shrugged. “If he takes care of himself and follows the doctor’s orders, he should be fine.” He narrowed an eye at her. “But until he’s back, Gabe’s working with you. Understood?”
Though Andi wanted to argue, beg the chief to assign someone else as her partner, anyone other than Thunderhawk, she gave her chin a jerk of assent. “Whatever you say, Chief.”
He clamped the unlit cigar between his teeth again and took a slow look around. “Looks like y’all’ve done what you can do here. Go on over to Ryan’s ranch, inform him of what’s happened, then escort him to the M.E.’s office and see if he can identify the body.”
“Do you really think our floater is a Fortune?” she asked doubtfully.
He looked down his nose at her. “Until someone proves otherwise, that’s exactly what I think.”
One
Two months later
Andi 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 perfect 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, a fact that she intended to remind him of 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
