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 behind the wheel. “And none of those fancy one-eighties they teach at the police academy.”
He put the truck in gear, shot her a grin, then spun the wheel and stomped on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires, they were headed in the opposite direction. Andi grabbed for the chicken bar above the passenger window and hung on, silently vowing to kill him later.
By the time they reached the turnoff for the boat ramp, her knuckles were white and her feet burned from pressing the imaginary brake on the floorboard. Thankfully, the road that led to the ramp was full of potholes, which forced him to slow down. It was also bordered by shoulder-high weeds and even taller cedars, the perfect cover for someone who had something—or someone—to hide. As they neared the lake, the road widened, with parking space available to both sides of a long, weathered dock.
As soon as he pulled to a stop, Andi opened her door and jumped to the ground. “Next time I drive,” she muttered irritably.
Gabe met her at the hood. “You shouldn’t have said anything about my driving. It was like a dare.” He lifted a brow and looked down his nose at her. “And I’ve never been able to walk away from a dare.”
“I’ll remember that in the future,” she said dryly, then pushed up her sleeves, eager to get to work. “Okay. Here’s how we’re going to play this. We’ll assume that the murder took place somewhere other than at the lake.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Mainly because none of the residents who live around the lake reported hearing gunshots.”
“He could have used a silencer.”
“True, but my gut tells me the murder took place somewhere else and the killer used the lake as a depository, hoping the body would never be discovered.”
He lifted a shoulder. “You’re the boss.”
“We’re also going to assume that the murderer dumped the body at night. Otherwise, he’d risk being seen.”
“I can buy that,” he agreed.
She stepped to the edge of the water and frowned as she studied the moss-covered concrete ramp that stretched beyond the surface. “So what would he do?” she asked, thinking aloud, as she tried to slip into the mind of the perp. “Back his vehicle to the edge, as if he was going to put a boat into the water, then dump the body?” She cut her gaze to the pier. “Or would he carry it onto the dock and drop it over the side?”
“Depends on his physical condition. If our perp is in good shape, he’d probably carry the body to the end of the dock. The water’s deeper there. It would also save him from getting wet.”
She nodded her agreement.
“There’s also the possibility that he used a boat,” he reminded her. “He could have concealed the body in the hull prior to driving to the lake, put in here at the ramp, then shoved the body overboard once he was far enough away from the shoreline to avoid detection.”
“Yes, but we’ve already checked with the owners of the boats known to be on the water that night. Each was aware of the others’ presence and all agreed that theirs were the only boats on the lake. All three owners were questioned individually and their stories matched.”
“Then we go with the theory that the murderer dumped the body from the dock or shore.”
“For now.” She turned away. “You check the shoreline. I’ll take the dock.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her. “Any evidence left behind would’ve washed away or been destroyed by now.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Though she could tell by his expression that he considered the search a waste of time, he didn’t offer any more arguments. Surprised that he was cooperating with her for a change, she headed for the dock.
As she stepped onto the weathered surface, the barrels that supported it pitched beneath her weight. She gave herself a moment to adjust to the rolling movement, then walked slowly to the opposite end, casting her gaze from side to side. Long strands of slimy-looking vegetation swayed beneath the surface of the murky water, tugged by the current. She stifled a shudder. She loved swimming, but preferred man-made pools with concrete bottoms and chlorine-treated water over lakes, with all their aquatic vegetation and muddy base.
At the end of the dock, she squatted down and looked over the edge, trying to imagine the murderer’s movements if he’d chosen this particular method to dispose of the body. Several feet beneath the water’s surface, she caught a glimpse of a scrap of fabric snagged on one of the support posts.
Though she knew the chances of the fabric being torn from Lost Fortune’s clothing were slim, she pushed up a sleeve and reached to retrieve it. Just short of touching the water, she jerked her hand back to fist against her thigh. She gulped as she stared into the murky water. She wasn’t a sissy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had a deathly fear of snakes, and water moccasins, one of Texas’s most poisonous snakes, made their homes in lakes and ponds.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced Gabe’s way, thinking she’d ask him to retrieve the piece of cloth.
But if she did, she knew she would be exposing her fear of snakes and setting herself up to be on the receiving end of practical jokes from not only Gabe, but every guy on the force. Rubber snakes in her desk. Curled on the seat of her car. Stuffed into her mail slot. The possibilities were endless.
With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged off her blazer, leaving her arms bare, then drew in a deep breath and thrust her hand into the water. She shuddered in revulsion as long strands of weeds brushed against her fingers and wound around her arm. The colorful bit of fabric swayed inches from her fingertips, and she leaned farther over, straining to reach it.
“Just a little bit more,” she encouraged under her breath.
She heard a sharp popping sound and, at the same moment, felt the plank beneath her right knee give way. She only had time to draw in one shocked breath before the board broke and she was pitched headfirst into the water.
As she plunged downward, vegetation grabbed at her and slapped at her face. In her mind, each tendril was a snake, slithering over her skin. She wanted to scream, but the thought of swallowing even a teaspoon of the vile water kept the sound lodged in her throat.
Fear had her kicking hard and fighting her way back to the top. As she broke through the surface, she released the scream that burned in her throat. Sobbing, she clawed at the slime
