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 evidenced 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 a 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 hopes 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 house—and wished she’d kept her eyes on the lake. Seeing his backside reminded her of the discussion she’d overheard in the women’s restroom that morning. Several of the female employees had decided that Gabe deserved the “Cutest Butt on the Force” award. She let her gaze slide to his hips. Even though she hadn’t offered a comment on the subject, 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
