photographs.”
Seething, Nolan unfastened his holster and slapped his service weapon into his boss’s hand. “Yeah, well-selected photos. But where are the ones of the times in between the posed shots? She was all over me, Dean. It was her idea, and she took the lead, no matter what the pictures say.”
“Your badge and ID.”
Nolan groaned his frustration as he fished in his pocket for his credentials. “We’ve had this discussion before—how much we both abhor the sort of man who harasses and demeans women. God, it makes me sick to be lumped in the same category with scum like that!” He smacked his FBI shield and ID wallet into Humboldt’s hand. “I have no idea what’s behind all this. But, please, Dean, don’t let them railroad me. This has to be political, or… I don’t know. But it’s a load of crap. I swear!”
To his credit, Humboldt looked grief stricken as he shook his head. “Go home, Nolan. Use the time to…go fishing or see old friends.”
He scoffed. “Fishing? That’s all you have for me?”
His boss lifted a shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Nolan jabbed the elevator button before deciding to take the stairs. He had adrenaline to burn off. Stalking away, he fisted his hands at his sides. The injustice clawed at him. After so many years working to get where he was within the Bureau, it had been snatched away in a heartbeat. And the best his boss had was “Go fishing or see old friends”?
As he slammed through the stairwell door and descended the steps two at a time, an image came to him, fixed itself in his head. And he knew where he’d go until this nightmare was resolved.
Whisperwood.
Whisperwood, Texas
“It’s been a nightmare. My daughter, my precious girl, was murdered, and I need you to find out who did it.”
Summer Davies held the haunted gaze of the man seated across from her, and her first thought after his pronouncement was, The poor man. How he must be suffering! Her second thought was Finally, a real case!
Since opening Davies Investigations LLC in Whisperwood, Texas, Summer had scrounged for work, taking more lost dog cases than she wanted to admit. All too often, when a potential client walked into her small, spare office, they assumed she was the secretary and gave her reluctant consideration when they learned she was the owner and sole private investigator.
Even Atticus and his son, Ian, who currently sat across from her, had exchanged hesitant looks when she’d informed them she would be the one handling any investigative work done by her office. But, used to the sexism, she’d smiled and asked for the details of the job. And Atticus dropped his bomb. A murder case.
Summer divided a concerned glance between the two men. “You’re sure she was murdered? She’s not just missing?”
Ian sat taller in the wooden ladder-back chair, which was all she could currently afford for her clients, and snapped, “Of course we’re sure. Her body was found in the Lone Star Pharma parking lot. What rock have you been living under?”
Summer let the snide comment pass as she narrowed her gaze on her visitors. “Wait. Lone Star Pharma? Are you Patrice Eccleston’s family?”
The discovery of the young woman’s body during repairs to the Lone Star Pharma parking lot had been a hot topic of gossip and speculation in town. Solving the much-discussed murder case would prove her mettle to the town and give her fledgling PI office the boost it needed.
And give Patrice’s family the peace of mind and closure they were seeking, she mentally amended with a self-conscious pang.
Atticus blinked and dabbed at his eye, clearly fighting tears. “Yes. Patrice is my daughter.” A pained look crossed his face, and he amended, “Was my daughter. I…” He heaved a shuddering sigh full of pain, and Summer’s heart twisted. The grief etched in his face was heartbreaking.
“Is,” Summer said, leaning toward Atticus and flattening a hand on her desk as she reached toward him. “Patrice will always be your daughter. No matter what. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I would love to be able to help bring in the person responsible for her murder.”
Atticus met her gaze, hope lighting his eyes. “Thank you. It rips me apart knowing that the cretin who did this to her is still out there. She deserves justice!”
Summer nodded. “She absolutely does.”
While she was considering how to proceed and mulling the ramifications of taking the case, her dark gray feline companion hopped up on her desk and flopped on the paperwork she’d been reviewing earlier.
Ian’s face reflected surprise then affront at the cat’s appearance, as if Summer having her pet in the office with her was the height of unprofessionalism.
“Not now, Yossi.” Summer lifted her cat to the floor and brushed stray fur from her desk. Continuing as if nothing had happened she asked, “Isn’t the police investigation still open? While I’m happy to take your case, I don’t want to step on any toes at the police department.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, “the police say they are looking into it, but we’re not getting many answers outta them.”
“Chief Thompson is a good man. I like him, and I know he’s doin’ what he can. But…we want answers. Right now, we just aren’t getting anything with the cops.” Atticus used his sleeve to wipe his face. “We figure, maybe people who know something are scared to talk to the cops. Maybe you could learn something Chief Thompson hasn’t.”
“Fresh eyes on the case and all that.” Ian waved a hand toward her. “Maybe you’ll see something they missed?”
Summer leaned back in her squeaky desk chair and nibbled a fingernail. It wouldn’t do to get on the police chief’s bad side. She couldn’t appear to be second-guessing Chief Thompson’s efforts in the case. She glanced out her office window, which had a view of downtown Whisperwood, and watched the pedestrians and pigeons ambling along the small-town street. Embarrassing the chief of police wasn’t her worst consideration. If it looked like she was trying to interfere in his investigation, hinder his collection of evidence or—
And just like that her brain short-circuited. Her train of thought derailed, and her full attention snagged on a man in jeans and a snug T-shirt striding down the sidewalk at a brisk clip. His latte-brown hair, broad shoulders and loose-limbed stride tickled the back of her neck, stirring long-ago memories.
“Come on, Tadpole. Show these guys you’re not scared!”
Surging forward, she grabbed the cord to the blinds and yanked them higher for a clearer view of the street. Yossi took this as an invitation to jump onto the wide windowsill, and her cat settled down to bird-watch. She squinted, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face, but his back was to her.
“Ms. Davies? Is there a problem?”
The man on the street placed a paper cup from JoJo’s Java on the roof of his car, opened the driver’s door, retrieved
