He gave her an amused look over his shoulder as she moved around behind him and patted his back pockets. She was tempted to give him a pinch. She resisted the temptation, and the urge to examine his nicely taut buttocks, moving around in front of him again. "Do you have any sharp objects in your pockets? Knife? Needles?"
He shook his head slowly.
"You packing?"
Humor gleamed in his eyes, but again he merely shook his head.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie pushed a hand into his right front pocket and discovered it was empty. As she pushed her hand into his other pocket, however, she almost immediately encountered something hard and cylindrical.
It wasn’t the barrel of a gun—unless he was packing a cannon.
Flustered, she jerked her hand out of his pocket.
He’d done that on purpose! Charlie thought indignantly. Discovering she was too self-conscious to look up at him, she turned to look at the dying fire. "What were you burning?"
"Ritual herbs."
"Evidence," she said testily, turning to look at him accusingly. "This is a crime scene, and off limits. There’s only one reason you’d be here that I can see, and that’s to tamper with evidence ... or destroy what might be left."
He looked her over thoroughly, that arrogant male look that made a woman feel as if she’d left the house without her clothes. Charlie had thought she was immune to ‘that look’. Few men dared giving a woman that look openly any more, certainly not when she was on the job, but she’d gotten her share over the years. In general, she handled it by giving them one in return and then dismissing them.
Greywolf was smiling faintly when she’d treated him to her brand of clinical detachment. It irritated the hell out of her, mostly because she found him far too attractive to maintain a healthy detachment. "I could arrest you ... for obstructing justice if nothing else."
He almost seemed to shrug. "But can you make it stick, Ms. F-B-I?"
Arrogant male, chauvinistic pig! She thought furiously. He must be a throw back. She could’ve sworn they’d all died out. "So—talk. Convince me."
"It would be easier if my hands weren’t tied," he drawled.
Charlie gaped at him speechlessly, but there was no mistaking the double entendre in the comment. She couldn’t believe he’d had the gall to toss such a blatantly sexual innuendo out when she was on the verge of arresting him on serious charges. "Your tongue isn’t tied," she snapped.
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, and Charlie felt her face light up like a neon sign. Worse, the timbre of his laugh, like his voice, sent a tide of warmth through her that was purely sensual. "Did you have a reason for being here that isn’t obvious to me?" she said through gritted teeth, holding on to her patience with a supreme effort.
"I am the Shaman.... But you know that. You asked Bear about me."
The blush that had barely died, flooded back. She was tempted to deny she’d asked the EMT about him, but the man had turned around and stared directly at him. An idiot could’ve figured out she was asking about him ... and Greywolf was obviously not deficit in the mental department.
"And this has to do with trampling all over the crime scene—and destroying evidence—how?"
"What makes you think it’s a crime scene?" he countered.
Again, he bereft her of speech. "That’s not the point."
"That’s exactly the point, from what I can see."
He had her there. Officially, it wasn’t a crime scene, but the scene of an accident. Officially, the investigation was over. So far, she hadn’t found anything at all that would give her the leverage she needed to supersede the local police jurisdiction.
It dawned upon her as she thought of that that it had grown dark as she stood arguing with him. It had been nearly six when she’d turned into the road. It must be close to seven by now. She was going to miss the damned autopsy!
"Turn around."
His brows rose, but he turned, presenting his back. Charlie pulled a small wire cutter from her bag and clipped the nylon tie. "I’m going to let it go this time, but don’t let it happen again."
Greywolf sent her an amused glance, but said nothing.
Charlie sent him a scathing look and turned, stalking back down the hill. Unable to resist one last look in his direction, she saw, as she started her car, that he was standing where she’d left him, watching her.
Chapter Three
Charlie had driven to the clinic like her tailpipe was on fire. She glanced at her watch as she parked. It was two minutes till seven. Relief flooded her, but the simmering anger remained, making her movements tense and jerky as she got out of the car and strode purposefully toward the clinic. She waited impatiently at the desk for a full minute before the nurse looked up and asked her what she needed.
She left while the nurse was still giving her directions to the morgue.
Dr. Morris was just closing up as she pushed through the door and stopped on the threshold. He glanced up at her arrival, his brows lifted questioningly, but returned his attention to his task almost immediately.
Charlie stared speechlessly at the clock on the wall. Five after seven—just like her watch. "Didn’t you say seven?" Charlie asked, trying to hold her temper in check as she strode across the room.
He shrugged. "I finished up earlier than I expected. Brown called, asked what to tell the family about funeral arrangements so I told him I’d get right on it."
Charlie paused beside him, fuming as she watched him put the finishing stitches in the body. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she made an effort to tamp her anger. "Did you determine the cause of death?"
He glanced at her, lifting his brows in surprise. "Like I said before—puma."
"You’re absolutely certain of that?"
He smiled at her condescendingly. "Sorry. I guess you had visions of solving a big case and getting out of your desk job, but there’s nothing here that I could see."
Charlie felt a streak of temptation surface to do violence. She clenched her hand into a fist, sought inner peace. "You took samples, I presume?" she demanded, trying without much success to keep an equal condescension from her own voice.
He shrugged. "I didn’t find anything."
The comment took her breath and it took several moments to recover her equilibrium. "No fibers? No hair? No skin samples?"
"It was a puma," he said soothingly.
Charlie moved away from him, pacing the room, trying to force her anger into abeyance so that she could think more clearly. "How did you conclude that it was a puma?" she asked, pleased when the question came out sounding calm, merely curious.
"The lacerations are consistent in size, depth, curvature. If it had been a wolf, there would’ve more bites and fewer claw marks—their primary weapon is their jaws—and the claws are entirely different."
"But you didn’t find any hairs to prove the theory conclusively?"
He frowned, finally jarred from his complacency by a touch of anger. "I didn’t need to. You saw the body. Don’t tell me you think there’s any possibility at all that a man did this to her?"
Charlie’s lips tightened. "It occurred to me that there was a possibility of it, yes."
His brows rose, but there was amusement in his eyes that made her grit her teeth.
"Whatever gave you an idea like that?"
Charlie gave him a look. "They moved the body before you got there, so I can understand that it might not have looked as blatant to you as it did to me, but doesn’t it bother you that the girl looked liked she’d been posed? Doesn’t it bother you that she was sprawled out as if she’d been sexually assaulted?"
He stared at her a long moment—and then chuckled. "Sorry. Puma’s don’t usually rape their victims though."
Charlie’s anger surged to the forefront again. "No. They usually eat them," she said tightly. "But despite the mess he made of her, I didn’t see any sign at all that anything was missing. I assume you checked?"
He studied her a long mo
ment. Instead of answering, however, he said, almost gently, "It didn’t occur to you that maybe you were looking for signs of rape and interpreted something, that was purely coincidental, as something it wasn’t?"
The implication was clear. He was insinuating that she’d gone to the scene with preconceived notions instead of doing her job. She supposed, considering she’d accused him of the same thing, she deserved it. She also had to concede that it was possible—not likely to her mind, but possible—that the girl had been trying to fight the thing off and had ended up in what appeared to be the position of a rape victim. She would’ve been trying, assuming she’d been able to, to push the thing away with her legs since her legs were stronger. She would’ve had her hands over her face, or maybe even clutching the animal, trying to hold it off, which could account for her arms falling to her sides, and upward, in the submissive position.
She didn’t believe it for one moment.
The girl was almost certainly in the last throes of death by the time they’d arrived on the hillside. She wouldn’t have been capable of much more than twitching, weakly at that.
She supposed it was possible that he believed what he was saying. As he’d so nastily pointed out, she had done little field work. She’d been primarily tied to a desk since she’d left the academy. It was possible she was completely wrong, she knew, but she also knew she wasn’t going to be able to prove it one way or another without evidence.
"It’s possible," she conceded, smiling with an effort. "I don’t suppose you’ve got much of a lab here, for that sort of testing anyway? I’d be happy to take samples to the lab at the agency if you’d collect some for me."
He smiled thinly as he removed his apron and moved to the sink to wash up. "I’ll see what I can do ... in the morning before they collect her. At the moment, I’m tired enough to sleep a week, and starving. I don’t suppose I could convince you to have dinner with me?"
Charlie forced a smile as he tossed her a look over his shoulder. "I hadn’t planned to stay overnight."
He smiled suggestively. "I’d be happy to lend you my couch."
Not on a bet! Charlie thought, trying to maintain her smile. What was it with the men around this place, anyway? It was like they’d missed the feminine revolution altogether. "I’m sure I can find something—but thanks for the offer!"
He shrugged. "The offer of food is still open."
"Why not?"
* * * *
The restaurant was crowded. Charlie was a little surprised, considering the hour. She’d thought most small towns rolled up the sidewalks at dark.
She discovered when she crossed the threshold, with Dr. Bob’s hand planted intrusively on her waist, that it was a combination restaurant/tavern and either the most popular one in town, or the only one in town. Bob guided her to an empty booth near the back and gestured toward the bench seat facing the wall. Charlie ignored him and took the seat facing the restaurant.
Smirking, he slipped into the seat beside her. Charlie gave him a look. "We’d be more comfortable, I think, if you sat on the other side."
He laughed, as if she’d told him a hilarious joke, but got up and moved to the other side. "Just checking."
Charlie smiled thinly. "Let’s just keep this professional, shall we?"
His smile slipped a notch. "We’re not working now. Relax. You might enjoy yourself."
"If I didn’t have a rod up my ass, you mean?" Charlie asked sweetly.
He laughed, a little too heartily to Charlie’s notion.
She glanced around the tavern. Her heart skipped several beats when she spied Greywolf, lounging against the end of the bar, one foot hooked on the rung of the bar stool, the other leg splayed with only the heel of his boot against the floor. His arms were back, his elbows on the bar behind him.
He’d changed clothes—or rather put some on. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans and a western style shirt, open almost to the waist. The wear pattern on the jeans was almost as indecent as the small tear near the crotch. As she stared, mesmerized, at the tiny patch of flesh visible, wondering if it was his thigh or--something else, he reached down and adjusted himself with slow deliberation.
Charlie felt the neon glow return to her cheeks even as her gaze flew upward, encountering a smoldering glance of interest. She shifted her gaze abruptly to the clock on the wall just to the left of his shoulder, then looked down at her watch.
She seriously doubted he’d fall for it, but it was worth a try.
Dr. Bob, noticing her lack of attention, glanced around.
"So," she said, catching his attention once more. "What time do you think you’ll have those samples ready for me?"
He shrugged. "Let’s not talk shop. It’s been a hell of a day. What’ll you have to drink?" he added as he spotted a waitress heading their way.
Charlie frowned. His evasiveness boded ill. She supposed his explanation for performing the autopsy without her was plausible. She didn’t like it any better, but she couldn’t accuse him of deliberately excluding her—even though she suspected he had. Now he didn’t even want to discuss the samples she’d asked for.
So maybe he was tired and just didn’t want to talk shop, but Charlie had the distinct feeling that she was going to arrive at the morgue in the morning to discover he’d ‘forgotten’.
She looked up at the waitress. "Any chance of getting an iced tea?"
"You’re not going to have a drink?" Bob asked, feigning horror.
Charlie smiled with an effort. "Not on an empty stomach ... maybe later."
"The booths are for the diners," the waitress pointed out at almost the same moment.
"In that case, I guess we’ll need menus," Charlie said, firmly suppressing the temptation toward biting sarcasm—shall we just guess what’s available? Or can we look at a menu?
The waitress dragged a worn menu from the pocket of her apron and tossed it on the table, then scribbled on her note pad. "What’re you having, Dr. Bob?" she asked, giving him a warm smile.
He favored her with a predatory smile. "You--on toast?"
She giggled, slapping his hand.
"What? You’re not going to break my heart by telling me you’re not available, are you?"
She smirked. "You know I’m married."
He made an attempt to look shattered and finally shrugged. "In that case, light beer, steak, potato and salad."
"How would you like that steak?" she asked, all business now.
"Just slap it on the ass and cut me a piece off as it runs by."
She grinned. "Rare. And you, miss?"
Despite the nauseating by play, and a very frustrating day, Charlie found that she was starving. "I’ll have a steak, too, medium well, please—and a salad."
The waitress nodded and moved away.
Unable to resist, Charlie risked another glance toward Greywolf. There was a shapely young thing wedged between his sprawling thighs now. Greywolf’s hands were each cupping an ass cheek, snuggling her firmly against his groin. The faint smile on his lips, however, coupled with the fact that there wasn’t a shred of passion on his face, said ‘bored’.
Charlie studied her hands, frowning, wondering if she’d misread his expression.
She had no idea what the girl looked like head on, but from the back she had a killer figure and absolutely ‘to die for’ hair. Sleek, and black as midnight, it hung in a cloud that just brushed her tiny waist.
A slight commotion drew her attention once more, and she looked up in time to see the girl thrust herself away and stalk off, her expression petulant.
There was nothing quite like throwing yourself at a man and being turned down.
When she glanced back at Greywolf, he was staring at her again, his expression brooding.
"You interested?"
Charlie glanced at the doctor. "What?"
He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. "I couldn’t help but notice you seem mighty interested in John Greywolf."
"We had a minor dispute a li
ttle earlier over the crime ... the accident scene."
Bob’s brows rose questioningly.
Charlie shrugged. "He was burning something when I got there."
Bob chuckled. "Hoodou, voodou?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"He’s the local witch doctor—the shaman. He was releasing the spirit of the dead."
Chapter Four
"You’re not serious."
He grinned but shrugged. "He is."
Charlie flicked a glance in Greywolf’s direction again. Either the woman that had been hanging on him earlier had decided playing hard to get wasn’t working for her, or another woman had decided to try her luck. The hair was shorter. This one was a little heavier, too.
Charlie frowned, staring down at her drink. No wonder the man was so obnoxious. He must have an ego the size of Texas the way the women around here threw themselves at him.
"He didn’t tell you?"
"He didn’t mention it, no."
"It’s just as well you decided against arresting him. I doubt it would’ve gone over well with the locals. Particularly in a case like this."
"I don’t let politics, local or otherwise, interfere with my job," Charlie said. "I didn’t arrest him because I saw no reason to take him in for a slap on the wrist." She decided not to mention the fact that she’d also been in a hurry to get back for the autopsy. There was no point in emphasizing how totally pissed off she was about that ... any more than she already had.
Their meal arrived. Dr. Bob used it as another excuse to flirt with the waitress, who, married or not, didn’t seem to mind flirting back—and Charlie wasn’t convinced it was purely for play. If she’d been a betting kind of person, she would’ve been willing to bet Dr. Bob saw his share of action around here. Not that she cared. Dr. Bob was personable enough, but he was a long way from irresistible ... given the current situation.
She supposed, if she was honest, she would have been very interested under other circumstances. He was, she realized, what she generally thought of as ‘her type’—a well educated professional, clean cut, personable—and fair. Most women seemed to go for the ‘tall, dark and handsome’, but she had always leaned more toward the beach boy type, medium height, lean or preferably athletic, and blond.
The Shaman Page 2
