“You’re just like your father—all about the job. We sure miss him around here.”
Her father had died of a massive heart attack two years after Brenna had joined the Riverton Police Department. He’d been so proud of his daughters’ accomplishments, especially when Brenna had chosen to follow in his footsteps. Never once had he bemoaned the fact he didn’t have a son.
She missed her father. They’d understood each other and he’d loved her unconditionally.
“Heard you’re up for a new job in Minneapolis,” the chief said.
“Yeah.” A twinge of guilt nudged at Brenna as if leaving North Dakota was the equivalent of a sin, when so many young people fled the state to find jobs. In her case she had a job, but the new one meant an increase in pay and responsibility, with the downside of being farther away from her family.
“When do they make the final selection?” Tom asked.
“In a week and a half.”
“I’ll keep you in my prayers for the job and this case.” He hugged her again. “You deserve the break.” The chief dropped his hands, shoved them into his pockets and stared down at his feet. “In the meantime, things been happenin’ around here.”
“Did you find the women?”
The chief shook his head, his skin almost as gray as his hair. “No. We had dozens of state police and local citizens combing the countryside all weekend, but the storm…well, you know what it was like. We pulled them in as soon as the weather got bad. No use losing anyone else in that mess out there.”
“Find anything in the victims’ homes?”
“Nothing yet. Only thing we got to go on is—”
“What the good ol’ U.S. Post Office delivered directly to me,” Brenna finished for him. Her mouth set in a bleak line. “I don’t know what to make of it. But I sure as hell plan to find out.”
“One other thing.” Chief Burkholder tugged at the tie already loose around his neck.
Brenna recognized the signs. Chief had more bad news he didn’t want to tell her.
Her lips twisted into a faux smile and she patted his back. “Might as well spit it out.”
With a shake of his head, Chief Burkholder stared hard at her. “We had another woman from town go missing last night.”
As if a heavy clamp pinched her lungs, Brenna fought to breathe normally. “Then the note is coming true. You sure she didn’t go somewhere and forget to tell anyone?”
“No. Her car was still in her garage, her purse on the counter in the kitchen.” The chief chewed on his lower lip. “And, Brenna, since victim number two was from East Riverton on the Minnesota side of the Red River, we notified the FBI. They’re taking charge of the investigation.”
“Great. Let’s hope they don’t hamper our search like the last team they sent.” She walked toward the coffee urn on the side counter and helped herself to a foam cup full of liquid resembling sludge. “I’m beginning to see what ol’ Red McClusky meant when he said, ‘We don’t need no outsiders muckin’ around our neck of the woods.’ I just hope the hell they don’t slow us down.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” a low, rumbling voice sounded over Brenna’s left shoulder.
She froze. Then a wave of heat rose from beneath her turtleneck to fan out into her face. Inhaling deeply, she steeled her nerves and willed her cheeks to quit burning before she faced the voice. “Do you always sneak up on private conversations?”
“Only if it has something to do with the case I’m working.” The man in front of her could have stepped out of an ad for an action-adventure cop movie. In his black leather jacket, black hair falling across his forehead and eyes an intense emerald-green, he was too perfect to be true. The addition of a five-o’clock shadow only made him look better. A perfect male specimen, from a scientific viewpoint.
Science be damned. Brenna didn’t need a perfect man making a mess out of this case. She didn’t need distractions when women were being kidnapped and more than likely murdered in her hometown.
“Nick Tarver.” He held out his hand without smiling or baring his teeth to soften the sharp lines of his face, only those intense eyes staring straight into hers. “I’d hoped for an amicable relationship with the locals while working this case.”
“Special Agent Brenna Jensen, North Dakota Bureau of Criminal Investigations.” Not nice to meet you, she added without voicing. Maybe she was a bit touchy about the subject, but she didn’t need another case screwed up by the FBI or another physically faultless person in her life. Having her sister and her sister’s husband thrown in her face at every chance her mother could get was already enough to make her want to scream. Why couldn’t the FBI send a really ugly, capable agent instead of Nick Tarver?
AS NICK SHOOK HER HAND, he observed the way Brenna Jensen’s forehead settled into a permanent frown. Instead of making her less attractive, she appeared like a fierce kitten ready to pounce on a wolf. And he was the wolf. He almost laughed until a pang of awareness registered in his libido.
This woman who barely came up to his shoulder, with her straight sandy-blond hair and blue eyes, was like the girl next door. Fresh, clean and wholesome. Too small and vulnerable to be a cop. She was the kind of girl a guy could take home to meet his mother. Someone he might have liked knowing, if he hadn’t already sworn off women. And as a potential victim, Brenna Jensen presented more of a liability than an asset to his case.
“Mind if I keep that?” She glanced down at the hand he still held and back up at him, her brows rising. “I’m sort of attached to it.”
He jerked his hand away and stepped back, for a moment off balance and not liking it.
Brenna tipped her head toward the doorway leading to the rear of the building. “Show me where you’re set up and I’ll show you my note.”
“Not yet.”
Her shoulders straightened and she dragged in a deep, slow breath, as if she were preparing to go into battle. “What do you mean, not yet?”
“Before we do anything else, we need your statement.”
The woman let the air out of her lungs. “On one condition.”
Tarver’s brows dipped into a frown. He wasn’t used to negotiating his orders. He opened his mouth to say so, but Brenna beat him to it.
“I keep my coffee.” She gave him a saccharine-sweet smile.
His brows met in the middle before they straightened and he nodded. She’d better not push him. He’d have her out of the building so fast—
Coffee in hand, she sailed toward the door leading to the back of the police station.
He hurried to follow her, falling in step behind her.
Before she’d gone too far down the hallway she stopped so abruptly Nick bumped into her. Her body was soft and feminine, but beneath the layers of clothing, he could feel the steely strength of well-honed muscles.
Her mouth made a small O and then firmed into a straight line as she looked over his shoulder to the man behind him. “Interview room still in the same place, Chief?”
“You betcha,” Tom Burkholder replied.
“Let’s go, Tarver.” With a dismissive glance, she resumed her pace.
“Nick. Call me Nick.” He almost smiled at the cocky little she-devil’s back. He preferred a woman with spunk—but not at work. At work he liked people to follow orders. “Chief Burkholder will take your statement.”
“Whatever.