LITMIR.BIZ

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Jon didn’t mind spoiling the woman he was with. Enjoyed all the slightly crazy nuances that made women the mind-bogglingly lovely creatures that they were. He loved the mental acuity it required to discover what it was they really wanted.

      But not in this case. Jon was pissed off at how the woman in front of him categorically refused to assist in a situation where she could really help. Now she was just folding up her chair and umbrella as if it were just another day at the beach. Which evidently it was to her.

      No, what really made Jon mad was that he was still attracted to her despite her actions. He might think she was completely spoiled, but he knew that, given the chance, he would be kissing every inch of those shoulders and back she’d exposed when she tied that long-sleeved shirt around her waist.

      Jon took a deep, cleansing breath. Neither focusing on Sherry’s selfishness nor her beauty was getting him anywhere.

      He needed to focus on how he could talk her into coming to the hospital and doing her magic as a forensic artist.

      Jon had considerable people skills. That was one of the things that made him so good at his job at Omega. He kept a level head. He saw things others missed. He could read people, manipulate them when necessary.

      It was time to put his distaste away and focus on getting Ms. Mitchell to do her job.

      “It’s ‘agent.’”

      She looked over her shoulder from where she was packing up her beach items. “I beg your pardon?”

      “I’m Agent Hatton, not Detective Hatton.”

      “Agent as in FBI? You don’t work for the Corpus Christi Police Department?”

      So much for thinking she hadn’t wanted to help him because he wasn’t a local cop. She’d had no idea. That made him feel a little less hostile. “No, I don’t work for the local PD or the Bureau. I work for Omega Sector in the Critical Response Division.”

      Sherry nodded. “Okay. I’ve heard a few people at the FBI field office talk about Omega. Sorry I called you ‘detective.’”

      “Why don’t we just alleviate the problem altogether by you calling me Jon?” He gave her his most charming smile. The one that had always worked on his mom to get him out of trouble.

      Sherry paused for just a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Jon. I’m Sherry. But you already knew that, I guess.”

      Jon kept his smile up. “I did.”

      “I guess that guy, Spangler, or whatever that moron’s name is, really wasn’t part of your team if you’re not local PD, so please accept my apologies for that statement.”

      Jon shrugged. “No apologies necessary, but let me assure you that no one like Spangler would ever be on my team, much less be anywhere near a victim.”

      He could see her relax just the slightest bit and knew he was on the right track with what she needed to hear: that Spangler’s actions were inexcusable.

      No contest, as far as Jon was concerned.

      He walked over and helped her lower the umbrella, which had reopened when she’d turned to talk to him. “Look, I’m sorry if I came across too strong a minute ago. But if you could take a few minutes out of your vacation to talk to Jasmine Houze, the victim, and see if there is anything you can help her remember, that would really be helpful.”

      Sherry looked at him and then quickly looked away. “Caroline told me none of the women had really gotten a look at the attacker. Is Ms. Houze any different?”

      Jon grimaced. “Based on preliminary reports and what she told the doctors, no. It doesn’t look like she got a good look at the rapist’s face.”

      Sherry began stuffing all her beach items into a large bag. “Then you don’t really need me. I can’t help you.”

      Jon tamped his irritation down again. “All I’m asking is for you to try. You’ve got an excellent track record with cases like these, and you’re a woman, which might make Ms. Houze more comfortable. Maybe she didn’t see her attacker’s face, but she might remember something. You’re our best shot.”

      She looked as though she was going to say something but then stopped. Jon frowned as she took the long-sleeved shirt from around her waist and put it on as if she were chilly.

      That would be fine if it wasn’t ninety degrees outside right now. Jon was already wiping sweat from his face, and he was in a short-sleeved shirt. She was actually buttoning hers up.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      “Um, yeah. I just caught a little chill, that’s all.”

      Okay, that was odd. She’d been shivering yesterday at the hospital, too. Interesting. An illness?

      “Are you sick? Running a fever?”

      “No. I just...” She shrugged one delicate shoulder not hidden under her long shirt. “I just get cold sometimes.”

      Jon wanted to pursue it further, but now was the time to push about the interview, while her defenses were weakened.

      “Sherry, Ms. Houze needs you. There is no one else because of the licensing laws in Nueces County. If you don’t try, Frank Spangler is the next best option.”

      Jon didn’t say that there was no way that was going to happen, not with him here. But revealing that wouldn’t help his argument with Sherry.

      “I really can’t help you.” She huddled farther into her shirt.

      “Can’t or won’t?”

      “Does it make a difference?”

      “I’m just asking you to try. An hour of your time? If you can’t help after that, at least you tried. You didn’t sit here doing nothing.”

      There was a long pause as she looked at him. She seemed to huddle down farther into her shirt.

      “Okay, when?” she finally asked.

      “Right now would be best.” He didn’t want to give her a chance to change her mind or to decide to make other plans.

      She looked at him for another long, silent moment. “Fine, Agent Hatton. I will go and talk to the victim. I wouldn’t expect anything to come of it, if I were you.”

      Jon nodded. “Just try. That’s all I ask.”

       Chapter Six

      This was not going to be pretty, in any sense of the word. Sherry dropped all her beach items in the screened-in porch attached to the back of the house. She would worry about the beach stuff later. Right now she needed to take a quick shower and change.

      She was meeting Jon at the hospital. He’d offered her a ride, but after his pinball attitude toward her on the beach, Sherry knew driving herself was a better plan.

      Once he saw she wasn’t capable of drawing, she might be stranded in town if she rode with him.

      He was pretty much a jerk. Handsome, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, but still a jerk. And if he thought she didn’t know that he’d just handled her out there—pouring on his considerable charm and bright smile once the intimidation factor didn’t work—then he was well mistaken. She knew she’d been managed; it had happened enough times with her parents for her to recognize the pattern.

      The thing was, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to help out Jon or Jasmine Houze—what kind of unfeeling wretch would she be if that was the case?—but she didn’t even think she was capable.

      She would try. That was all she could do. All Agent Hatton had asked her to do. They’d see if he still felt that way when the pencil wouldn’t move because of her shivering.

      The thought

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