Captain Sawyer’s detectives, not the great man himself. She hoped. Anna didn’t like anyone who made her feel vulnerable, however fleetingly.
* * *
INTERESTING WOMAN, REID thought as the elevator doors closed, shutting off his last view of Ms. Anna Grant, social worker. It was her voice as much as what she had been saying that had caught his attention as he’d passed by the front counter. It had been an intriguing combination of martinet and seductress, both crisp and throaty. On hearing it, he’d had a fleeting fantasy of a school principal who ruled her fiefdom with an iron will, but went home to shed the gray suit and reveal black lace. He had been compelled to find out what the owner of that voice looked like.
Now he knew, although he kind of doubted she wore black lace, or whether it would suit her if she did. She looked about seventeen, although she must be in her late twenties to early thirties to have the kind of job she did. He wondered if she ever used her apparent youth to disarm opponents. His mouth curved at the thought. No, he thought it was safe to say Anna Grant was a woman who would despise the idea of employing subterfuge to get her way.
The elevator doors glided open and he strolled down the hall toward his office, nodding at a couple of people as he passed, but still thinking about the social worker.
Ghost-gray eyes were her greatest beauty. She’d probably been blonde as a kid, but her hair had darkened to a shade between honey and brown, straight and worn shoulder length and tucked behind her ears, nothing unusual except that it was thick and shiny. His fingers had tingled for a moment as he imagined the texture, a reaction he’d tamped down quickly. Ms. Grant was medium height or taller, but with a slight build. Almost...delicate, which contradicted a personality he judged to be bossy, even abrasive. Maybe caring, too, or maybe she was just the rigid kind who wanted everyone and everything in their place, and who didn’t accept no as an answer. She had definitely terrorized Sergeant Shroutt. Amusement awakened again; Reid doubted she’d needed his intervention, but as he’d walked toward her, he’d heard enough to ensure he gave it. Whatever her motivation, she was worried enough about that boy to raise hell and keep raising it until he had the help he needed.
Satisfied by his conclusion, Reid greeted the temp serving as his personal assistant until he hired a permanent one. He entered his office, stripping off his suit coat, and was surprised to realize he hadn’t succeeded in dismissing Ms. Grant from his thoughts. Instead, he wondered what she did wear under her businesslike slacks and blazer. Serviceable white? Scarlet satin? Sweetly feminine petal-pink with tiny lace flowers?
He grinned as he sank into his desk chair. Probably not sweetly feminine anything. That’d be like dressing a Doberman in a tutu.
But, damn it, he’d gotten himself half-aroused imagining her slender, pale body next thing to naked.
He booted up his computer and frowned at the lit monitor. He knew what his trouble was; he hadn’t hooked up with a woman in... He couldn’t remember, a bad sign. Six months? Eight months? He cast his mind back. Good God, longer than that. This was the middle of March. It was last spring when he’d been seeing that assistant prosecutor. Courtney something. Coulson. That was it. Unlike Ms. Grant, Courtney had had generous curves. Like most women, though, she wanted more than an occasional dinner followed by sex. She’d hinted, he had pretended to be oblivious, and eventually she’d told him she was seeing someone else. He hadn’t much minded. He never did, except for the inconvenience of no longer having someone he could call when he wanted sex.
He should check email. He got as far as reaching for the mouse but didn’t move it. Instead he kept frowning and thinking about the woman he’d just met downstairs. No ring; he’d noticed that. Was she the type to be interested in something casual, assuming she wasn’t already involved with a man? Once Yancey Launders was picked up, Reid could call her and ask how the boy was doing. Suggest a cup of coffee.
He remembered those eyes, though, and felt uneasy. He hadn’t thought ghost-gray because of the color, he realized belatedly. It was more as if, in looking into those eyes, he’d seen her ghosts. He tended to stick with uncomplicated women. The scrape of his own scars against someone else’s would be...uncomfortable.
Reid shifted in his chair, unhappily aware that he’d remained aroused because he was thinking about her. He hadn’t reacted this strongly to a woman in a long time, and couldn’t understand why he had now. Anna Grant didn’t advertise her sex appeal, that was for sure. And, truth was, she might not have much, as skinny as she was.
Delicate.
He mumbled a profanity, relieved when his internal phone line rang. What he needed was a distraction.
Once the caller identified herself, Reid said, “I’m free now, Lieutenant. If you are, too, why don’t we get an early start?”
She agreed, and he was finally able to turn his mind from Anna, thinking instead about Lieutenant Jane Renner, who supervised detectives and whose rank placed her immediately beneath him. They’d planned this time to talk. She was bringing personnel files to help him familiarize himself with the investigative division. He’d already met with several key people in the support division he also headed—crime-scene technicians, clerical and records staff, fleet maintenance and more. That was the part of this new job most unfamiliar to him, where his learning curve would be steepest.
He was curious about the young woman with a bouncy ponytail who’d risen to lieutenant over an entirely male group of detectives. So far, he was reserving judgment, although she’d seemed sharp when she participated in his initial interviews. Police Chief Alec Raynor had spoken highly of her. Reid knew she’d recently married a sergeant with the Butte County Sheriff’s Department. Passing some of his female clerical staff in the hall yesterday, he’d overheard whispered gossip that made him wonder if Lieutenant Renner might be pregnant. Of course, he couldn’t ask her; HR would have his hide if he did. Assuming it was true, he had to trust she wouldn’t wait until it was painfully apparent, especially if she intended to quit. He hoped there was someone under her who was competent to step in while she took maternity leave, at the very least.
At the knock on his door, he called, “Come in,” and rose to his feet with automatic courtesy. When he was done with this meeting, he decided, he’d drive out to the Hales’ place and spend a little time with Caleb, however awkward that time would feel for both of them.
On the way out, he might stop at the front desk and ask Sergeant Shroutt to let him know when Anna Grant’s wandering lamb was safely back in her care.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING THE downtown public safety building, Anna drove a route that led from Yancey’s foster home and eventually all the way out to Highway 97, the main north-south corridor through central Oregon. Turning her head constantly in search of one undersize boy, she kept her speed down enough to annoy drivers behind her, one of whom decided to crowd her bumper. She was oh-so-tempted to slam on her brakes, but she didn’t want the hassle of having to leave her car in an auto-body shop. And she’d have to deal with the police, who might not be feeling very fond of her right now.
Too bad. Somebody had to make them do their jobs.
Tension rising as the miles passed with no sight of Yancey, Anna went south on 97 and continued through La Pine. She’d reached Little River when her phone rang. As she pulled into a gas-station parking lot, she answered crisply, “Anna Grant.”
“Ms. Grant, this is Sergeant Shroutt. We’ve picked up the boy. He’s currently at Juvenile Hall.”
She sagged with the rush of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“No,
