LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Two

      It was nearly four o’clock when Georgina got into the passenger side of Alexander’s company car. She buckled in as he slid behind the steering wheel, his energy a fierce entity that instantly filled the interior of the car.

      He’d pulled on a lightweight black suit jacket that hid his shoulder holster and gun, but he still was a commanding presence without the show of firepower. She preferred a belt holster that she’d pulled on before they left.

      “How have you been? I haven’t seen you around for a couple of weeks,” he said as he started the engine and then headed for the parking lot exit.

      “Busy. I was working on the Browning fraud case. We managed to tie things up yesterday. Mr. Browning should be spending quite some time in prison.”

      “Chalk up another one for the good guys,” he replied.

      Georgina tried to relax against the seat, but it was difficult to find any relaxation at the moment. Her heart beat with a quickened rhythm. She assumed it was caused by the knowledge of the case she was now working and not how Alexander’s familiar cologne filled the air.

      “You met Jackson’s new girlfriend?” she asked.

      “I had dinner with the two of them last Sunday night, and then we were supposed to meet for drinks on Tuesday evening. When they didn’t show and I still couldn’t get hold of Jackson all day Wednesday, I knew in my gut that something was wrong. Last night, at my urging, Miller sent a couple of agents over to check on Jackson, and that’s when they discovered they were gone, but all of their personal items were still there.”

      She saw the tightening of his fingers around the steering wheel and knew he had to be worried sick about Jackson’s well-being. “What was she like? The woman from Kansas City?”

      “She’s Special Agent Marjorie Clinton.” A hint of a smile curved his lips. “She’s everything that Jackson isn’t...she likes healthy food, she thinks he’s full of baloney most of the time and it’s obvious they are crazy in love.”

      “Jackson needs a good woman in his life,” she replied.

      “It appears he’s found her.” He frowned. “Now all we have to do is find them.”

      “It isn’t possible they flew back to Kansas City if their identifications were left behind,” she said, thinking out loud.

      “They wouldn’t have gone anywhere without his wallet and her purse, both of which were left at Jackson’s place. And they definitely wouldn’t have gone anyplace without their weapons.”

      “Any sign of a struggle in the bedroom?”

      He shook his head, the late-afternoon sun gleaming on his black hair. “I haven’t been to the scene, but according to the two agents who checked it out last night there were some bedcovers rustled, but no real sign of a violent struggle and, trust me, Jackson would have put up quite a fight. I’m hoping maybe you and I can find or see something they missed that might give us a clue.”

      “There weren’t any clues found in Bachelor Moon or Mystic Lake,” she replied.

      A new knot of tension formed in his jaw. “Don’t remind me.” He pulled into the driveway of the luxury apartment complex where Jackson lived.

      The Wingate apartments were set up more like condo units and definitely were for the wealthy who didn’t want the responsibility that came with owning a home.

      Jackson’s unit was on the end of the last building in the complex, bumping up against a heavily wooded area and attached by a common courtyard entrance to the unit next door.

      “Any sign of forced entry?” she asked as the car came to a halt.

      “Not according to the initial walk-through.” He cut the engine and turned to look at her, his blue eyes like hard-edged sapphires. “We either have a perp who is an expert at picking locks or, knowing Jackson, it’s possible he went to bed without checking that all the doors were locked. He always thought he was invincible.” Frustration deepened the tone of his voice.

      “Then let’s just hope that whatever has happened to him, he remains invincible,” she replied.

      He cast her a quicksilver smile that lingered only for a moment, just long enough to whisper heat through her. “Let’s get inside and see what we can find.” He opened his car door and was halfway to the courtyard entry as she hurried to catch up to him.

      They had just reached the fence that led to the courtyard when a figure stepped out of the woods. Alexander filled his hand with his gun in the blink of an eye and then muttered a curse and jammed it back into his shoulder holster.

      “Jeez, Joe, do you want to get yourself shot?”

      FBI agent Joe Markum stepped closer to them with a wry grin. “Jeez, Harkins, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

      “You know my motto...shoot first and ask questions later,” Alexander replied. “What are you doing out here?”

      “I was assigned late last night to sit on the place to make sure nobody except appropriate officials gained access. Somebody should be arriving soon to take my place, but I’m assuming it isn’t you two.” He nodded to Georgina with a friendly smile.

      “We’re here to investigate,” she said. “Miller formed a task force this morning and Alexander is leading it.”

      “And we’re hoping to find something that was missed last night,” Alexander said.

      “Knock yourselves out.” Joe gestured toward the front door. “It’s unlocked and there’s protective gear in boxes on the porch.”

      “Thanks,” Alexander said and together he and Georgina walked through the gate and to the front door where a box of booties and latex gloves awaited whomever might venture into the house.

      Georgina pulled on the protective gear and once again her heart began to beat faster. She’d never been in Jackson’s home before, but it was the fact that she was about to enter what they’d already determined to be a crime scene that had her adrenaline flooding through her.

      As she followed Alexander into the house, she tried not to notice how his lightweight suit jacket pulled over his broad shoulders, how his black slacks fit perfectly around his slim waist and down his long legs.

      She tried not to remember what it had felt like to dance her fingers over his naked muscled chest, how her legs had often twined with his when they’d made love.

      They had been great in the bedroom. It had only been when they got out of bed that she hadn’t been able to get the relationship right. She firmly shoved these thoughts out of her mind as they entered Jackson’s living room.

      Jackson was the epitome of a Southern man and his furnishings reflected the style of warmth and invitation that would have done

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