the clothes onto the bed and turned for the door. “When you’re dressed, come on down to the den. I’ll fire up my computer and we can run a check on the database for missing persons.”
As he jogged down the stairs, he blew out a long, slow breath, telling himself he had to possess the willpower of a monk for being able to walk away from all that bare flesh. But he had his reasons. The one conclusion he’d drawn after two months of working closely with Andi was that she preferred to be appreciated for her mind rather than her body. Personally, Gabe didn’t understand why a man couldn’t do both…or at least pretend to, when the ultimate reward was her body.
By the time Andi made it to the den, he had a phone tucked between shoulder and ear and had signed on to his e-mail account. Though he heard the pad of her bare feet on the wooden floor behind him, he didn’t glance her way, yet another way he hoped to prove to her he had no physical designs on her.
“Drag up a chair,” he told her. “I’ve got Reynolds on the phone. He’s going to check the national database for missing persons for us.”
He heard the scrape of wood against wood as she shifted a chair into position, then caught the scent of his own bath soap on her skin as she settled beside him. He had to fight the temptation to lean close and inhale the fragrance of her freshly washed hair.
He tipped the phone away from his mouth. “Reynolds says there are three new names in our region. Twenty-four nationwide. Slow day, I guess. Do you want to narrow the search first by gender or identifying marks?”
“Gender. There’s always the chance that whoever filed the report failed to mention the birthmark.”
He relayed the information to Reynolds, then sat back and waited, keeping the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that Andi had her arms folded over her breasts. Probably to disguise the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. But he didn’t plan for her to hold that pose for long.
After listening to Reynolds’s report, he said to Andi, “That narrows it to two in our region and eleven nationwide. Want to try identifying marks or would you prefer Reynolds do an age-range search?”
“Age-range,” she replied. “Same reason as before.”
With a nod of confirmation, he passed the parameters of their search on to Reynolds, then sat back, mimicking her posture by folding his arms over his chest. He purposefully bumped her elbow with his in the process, and she quickly dropped her arms and shifted out of his way.
Bingo, he thought, hiding a smile. He dropped his arms to bring the receiver closer to his ear and listened to Reynolds’s report. “That reduces the number to zero in our region,” he told Andi, “and three nationwide.”
“Tell him to pull up all three,” she replied. “Let’s see what information has been posted about them.”
“Pull up all three,” Gabe repeated to Reynolds. “Copy what’s posted and shoot them to me in an e-mail, all right?”
After thanking Reynolds for his help, he disconnected the call and set the phone aside. Seconds later his computer beeped, signaling the receipt of an e-mail. Gabe quickly opened the message and began to scan it, but managed to keep one eye on Andi. She was leaning forward in her chair now, reading the message on the screen. The T-shirt he had loaned her looked more like a tent on her small frame, but he could see the slight impressions of her nipples on the fabric. Thanks to her fall into the lake and the wet shirt it had left her with, he already had a pretty good idea of the size and shape of her breasts, which he would sum up as small but firm and having dark brown centers. The thrust of her nipples against the T-shirt added yet another level of dimension to the image he’d previously filed away, one that would probably drive him crazy later that night when he was alone in his bed.
She sank back in the chair with a sigh of defeat. “Nothing.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. “Hey. Don’t look so blue. We’ll identify the guy eventually.”
She turned her head slowly and gave his arm a pointed look.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was just trying to cheer you up.”
“When I feel I need cheering up, I’ll let you know.” Scowling, she rose and paced away, hugging her arms over her breasts again. “How much longer before my clothes are ready?”
He bit back a smile, as he closed the screen and shut down his computer. “Twenty minutes or so. They’re in the dryer now. Would you like something to eat while we wait?”
“No, but I’d take some coffee, if you have any.”
“None made, but won’t take me a minute to brew some.”
He led the way to the kitchen, with her trailing behind.
As he measured grounds, she wandered around.
“Nice place,” she said after a minute.
He lifted a shoulder. “Works for me.” He switched on the coffeemaker, then turned, bracing his hips on the counter behind him. “The drive to work is a pain, but two steps out my back door is all the fishing and hunting a man could want.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “I should’ve known you’d be a hunter.”
“What’s wrong with being a hunter?”
“It’s a coward’s sport! Give the animal a weapon and I’ll bet you’d lose your fondness for hunting pretty darn fast.”
“Assuming the animal was a good shot.” Amused by the sour look she sent him, he turned and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “But if it’ll make you feel any better, I don’t hunt for sport.”
“There’s another reason to sit in a deer blind?”
“I don’t sit in a deer blind, and yes, there’s another reason. Food.” He placed the mugs on the table between them, then sat opposite her and stretched out his legs. “Have you ever had a venison steak?”
She snorted a breath. “No, and I’m not interested in trying one.”
“You’re missing a treat. Venison sausage is good, too. As for fishing,” he went on, “I don’t do that for the sport of it, either. I eat what I catch. There’s a lake on the property, which keeps me supplied with fresh fish year round. Usually catfish and bass.”
“Do you grow your own vegetables, too?”
Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, he rose to fetch the carafe of coffee. “Some, though I don’t have a garden per se. Just a few pots of tomatoes and peppers on the deck.” He filled the mugs, then used one to gesture at the plants lining the sill above the kitchen sink. “And I keep a few herbs handy for cooking.”
She stared, as if he’d just confessed to being a cross-dresser.
He set a mug opposite her and sat down. “What?”
She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Nothing. I just can’t imagine you puttering around plants.”
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward
