Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

The younger cop signed off, slid the radio back on his belt, and nodded toward him. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” He tucked the card the guy handed him in his pocket.

  “What do you want to do about them?” Craig studied the media van. “They’ll be all over me once I get past the tape.”

  The creases on her forehead deepened.

  Nervousness or annoyance?

  “They must have burned rubber getting here. You’d think they’d have more important things to cover than a couple of police cars at a construction site.” She blew out a breath.

  Annoyance—no question about it.

  She planted her fists on her hips. “Tell them I’ll be over to give a statement in a few minutes. Stick with no comment if they ask any questions. I’ll handle them.”

  Yeah, she would. Lisa Grant didn’t look much over thirty, but her seasoned manner spelled experience in capital letters.

  So where had she acquired it?

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the dead.” The site foreman moved closer as the officer departed. “But I’ve got deadlines to meet and payrolls to make. I can’t have my people stand around all day doing nothing. Can we work anywhere in the area, or do I need to reassign them?”

  Chief Grant adjusted her shades. “How large is the site?”

  “Twenty acres.”

  “If you stay clear of the couple of acres around the skull, you should be fine. We can’t have this area contaminated. My guess is the forensic anthropologist County will send won’t finish here until midday tomorrow at the earliest.” Only then did she defer to him. “Of course, Detective McGregor may have a few thoughts on that.”

  He bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue.

  What was with this woman, anyway? So he’d made a mistake. Big deal. How had she expected him to peg her as the chief in those khaki slacks and that soft-looking sky-blue sport shirt? She could have been on the construction crew, for all he knew. Besides, none of the police chiefs he’d ever met had killer curves or a mane of dark hair shot through with fiery sparks that glinted in the sun.

  “Detective McGregor?”

  At her impatient prod, he refocused. “I agree on the timing—and the need for a forensic anthropologist. I’ll put in a call to the medical examiner’s office now. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He escaped before she could lob another volley at him, turning his back as he pulled his phone off his belt and speed-dialed the ME.

  Once he was a safe distance away, he angled toward her again. She was still talking to the foreman. The sun was rising in the sky now, warming the air—and putting a sheen on her complexion. Interesting. With her dark hair, he’d have expected darker skin. But hers was creamy and fair. Almost too fair.

  The ME’s office picked up, and while he passed on the pertinent information, he continued to watch the slender woman standing sentinel over the skull. No matter what she thought, he wasn’t a chauvinist. Not by a long shot. His mother had seen to that, with her frequent lectures to her three sons on the merits of female intelligence, spunk, and strength. And she’d modeled those qualities in spades as she’d shepherded their clan from one corner of the globe to the next, never missing a beat as a wife, mother, and commercial artist, despite his father’s frequent reassignments.

  He had a feeling Mom would like Lisa Grant—even if the chief hadn’t been all that cordial to her oldest son.

  After wrapping up his call, he planned his strategy while checking messages. If he and Lisa Grant ended up working together, they needed to be able to communicate, not snipe. He was a pro, and his gut told him she was too. They should be able to smooth out their rocky start. Maybe they could agree he’d been less than tactful and she’d been a tad too sensitive, then kiss and make up.

  A decidedly unprofessional image popped into his brain, which he suppressed at once.

  Bad metaphor.

  Besides, thirty-five was too old for such adolescent reactions—especially in a serious situation like this. The skull of someone who had been buried in a shallow, unmarked grave in a wooded area lay steps away.

  And while he’d wait for the anthropologist and ME to weigh in, based on circumstantial evidence, the whole thing reeked of foul play.

  Murder, even.

  His mouth settled into a grim line, his perspective restored.

  Death had a way of doing that.

  Fast.

  Standing guard over the construction guy’s grisly discovery, Lisa kept one eye on the site and the other on the tall, broad-shouldered detective a dozen yards away. He was done with his call and fiddling with his phone. A delay tactic, perhaps? Buying himself a few more minutes before he had to face the dragon lady?

  She blew out a breath.

  Why on earth had she jumped all over him for a simple mistake? The man was right. She wasn’t exactly dressed the part of a police chief. If she’d been in his place, she’d have headed for the one uniformed person too. Not every guy was a chauvinist—even if she’d crossed paths with more than her share.

  She owed him an apology.

  As he started back toward her, she rubbed her palms on her slacks and turned to meet him.

  “The anthropologist should be here by eleven.” He slid the phone back onto his belt.

  “Okay. Thanks.” She flexed her fingers and tipped her head back. At five-seven, she wasn’t short, but the man topped her by half a foot. “Look . . . I’m sorry if I sounded a little . . .” She broke eye contact as she searched for the best word.

  “Defensive?”

  Her gaze jerked back to his. Unlike her closed-in stance, his posture was open and approachable. A tiny smile flirted at his lips, and his tone was relaxed—as if they were talking about the weather. If she’d offended him, he seemed to have dealt with it and moved on. In fact, she got the distinct feeling he was trying to initiate a warmer, more amiable atmosphere.

  As if to verify that, he took off his concealing sunglasses.

  Oh.

  My.

  Word.

  The guy had amazing eyes. Dark brown, like his hair. Intelligent. Intent. Perceptive. And fixed on her.

  She transferred her weight from one foot to the other. “That’s a fair description.”

  “You’re not in the most female-friendly business. I expect you have reasons for reacting the way you did.”

  He was empathetic too.

  “That’s no excuse for rudeness. But I tend to get touchy when I’m tired.” She exhaled, then removed her own glasses and looked up at him.

  For less than a millisecond, an expression she couldn’t identify flashed through his eyes. And was that a faint hitch in his breathing?

  Even if exhaustion wasn’t dulling her instincts, the moment passed too fast for her to get a read on his reaction.

  “Kind of early in the day to be tired, isn’t it?”

  She combed her hair back with her fingers. “Not when you’ve been up most of the night working a burglary.”

  And with a skull of unknown origin at her feet, catching up on shut-eye would have to wait.

  “I thought you were the chief.”

  She sent him a wry look. “Being chief in Carson isn’t like being chief in a big city. My boss in Chicago—let alone the chief up there—never got his hands dirty.”

  “You were with the Chicago PD?”

  Her spine stiffened at the hint of surprise in his voice—but she was not going to overreact again.

  “Yes. For ten years. There, the roles were defined. Here . . . not so much. We wear many hats. I’m not only chief of police, but chief detective—though I’m teaching the other officers the ropes, so at some point I won’t have to take every midnight call that requires detective work.”

  “Do you get a lot of those?”

  “Very few—but last night happened to be one of them.” A yawn snuck up on her. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, Chief! Can we get a statement?”

  At the summons from the reporter, she grimaced
. “This is the one part of the job I could do without. In Chicago I always passed the media off to someone higher up.” Shifting her weight to look past the broad shoulders and powerful chest blocking her view of the news crew, she studied the reporter. It was the same guy who’d hounded her three weeks ago about an attempted break-in at the local hardware store. Must be low man on the totem pole if they’d assigned him to her quiet rural territory.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute, Rick.”

  He acknowledged her response with a salute.

  “How did they get wind of this already, anyway?” The County detective inspected the media contingent.

  “The traffic copter flew over earlier and hovered around a while. I’m guessing they passed the tip along.”

  “Too bad.”

  “It would have gotten out sooner or later. I can deal with it. That’s another one of my titles, by the way—media relations coordinator. No one else in Carson has any experience with the press.”

  “How large is your department?”

  “Me, plus five officers, an office manager, and Tally.” At his raised eyebrows, she answered his unspoken question. “A stray I found hiding under my car in the office parking lot my first week on the job. He just kept hanging around. I suppose it didn’t help that I gave him half of my turkey sandwich. Now he’s the department mascot. He even rode in one of the squad cars during the Fourth of July parade last year, head hanging out the window, eating up all the attention. Which he gets plenty of at the station.” She gave a soft laugh.

  His focus dropped to her mouth, and her heart did an odd skip.

  What on earth was that all about?

  She flattened her smile. “Anyway, we may be small, but we try to be full service.” She gestured to the skull in the ground beside them. “This, however, pushes our limits.”

  “County is glad to help. I’m told we’re always at the disposal of smaller police departments within our jurisdiction.”

  “You’re told.” She cocked her head. “Does that mean you’re new?”

  “To St. Louis. Not to the business.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A month.”

  “That is new. Where were you before?”

  “Norfolk.” He continued without giving her a chance to ask any follow-up questions. “Since the anthropologist won’t be here for a while and you haven’t had any sleep, why don’t you go catch a few z’s while I keep an eye on things?”

  She was shaking her head before he even finished. “This scene is my responsibility. I need to make sure it stays secure.”

  “I got an A in Crime Scene 101 too.”

  Warmth crept across her cheeks as he parroted her snotty words back to her. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t capable.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  He waited, watching her. Not pushing. Just letting his offer stand.

  And she was tempted.

  Very tempted.

  If McGregor had been hired by County, he was more than competent. Every person she’d come into contact with there over the past year was a pro. The scene was safe in his hands—at least long enough for her to run home for a quick shower, change of clothes, and catnap.

  Food first, though. The buzz in her nerve endings told her that needed to be top priority.

  “Okay.” She fished her creds out of a pocket, extracted a card, and handed it over. “I’ll only be gone a couple of hours, but call me if anything comes up. I always have my cell with me—or within reach.”

  “Let me give you my card too.”

  As he reached for it, she bent down to tie her shoelace. All at once her vision blurred and she lost her balance.

  A firm, steadying hand grasped her arm. “Careful.”

  She took a deep breath and straightened up. “Thanks. The ground’s pretty uneven here.”

  Not that uneven.

  He didn’t say the words, but she could read them in his probing gaze.

  Once more her fingers began to tingle.

  It was time to go.

  “I’ll give the media a topline and head home. Don’t forget to call if anything comes up.”

  “Got it.”

  Smoothing her slacks, she walked toward the waiting news contingent. In less than five minutes, she’d be on her way. And in two hours, she’d be rested, fed, and back on the job. Getting to the bottom of the mystery bones. Digging into this case—or watching the forensic anthropologist dig in, anyway.

  And it was a case. Every instinct she’d honed over the past ten years told her that—and she trusted her instincts. They’d saved her too many times to count.

  Only at the end had they failed her . . . for good reason.

  But those days were over. Things were better now. The job of Carson police chief might not have been in her plans eighteen months ago, but God had planted her here for a reason.

  Joining the news crew, she stole a quick glance back at Detective Mac McGregor. He was standing where she’d left him, arms folded, looking very much the formidable sentry.

  And all at once she had the strangest feeling he might be part of that reason.

  2

  By the time Chief Grant returned to the construction site, the forensic anthropologist was hammering in the final stake for the canopy she’d erected over the remains. Barbara Romano had wasted no time getting to work, moving with smooth, practiced efficiency to ready the site for excavation.

  Mac checked his watch as the dark gray Impala nosed in behind his Taurus. Two hours on the dot.

  A lady who meant what she said.

  The car door opened, and the Carson police chief emerged—in uniform. Navy slacks hugged her trim hips. A navy short-sleeved shirt, loose enough to be professional and tight enough to leave no doubt she was a woman, was adorned with badge, nameplate, and Carson PD sleeve patches. A wide belt complete with gun, phone, radio, and other cop accoutrements circled what appeared to be a hand-span waist.

  Nice.

  “What did I miss?” She did a sweep of the area, brisk and businesslike as she strode over, her attention homing in on the area under the canopy.

  “Just setup, initial photography, and grid-making. The dirty work hasn’t started yet.”

  As she watched Barbara secure the final stake, he inspected her profile. Her face had a little more color now, and her energy was almost palpable.

  “You seem fully charged.”

  “Amazing what forty-five minutes of shut-eye can do, isn’t it?”

  “A short-term fix. Not enough to make up for a sleepless night.”

  “It’ll get me through the day.”

  With one last tap on the stake, the jeans-clad anthropologist rose, tugged down the baseball cap that covered her close-cropped, graying brunette hair, and circled around the perimeter toward them.

  As he did the introductions, the two women shook hands.

  “I guess it’s too soon to ask if you’ve learned anything.” The chief rested her hand on her hip, near her holster.

  Barbara grinned. “I’m good, but not that good. Ask me again in a few hours.” She pulled a pair of heavy-duty latex gloves from a tool chest resting on the ground near one corner of the canopy. “You staying around?”

  “Yes. Or someone from my department will be. I need to pay the previous owners of this property a visit this afternoon.”

  “I doubt I’ll wrap up today. We’ll need security here this evening and overnight.”

  “I’ll assign two people.”

  Mac frowned. Why did he have a feeling she’d be one of them—and miss yet another night’s sleep?

  Keeping his tone casual, he joined the conversation. “I don’t think it would be a problem for County to send some reinforcements to help cover the night shift.”

  For the first time since her return, she looked at him. “I appreciate the offer, but we should be fine. I have great officers, and they’re always willing to put in extra hours in emergencies. I’d rather s
ave my County chits for when I need a real favor.”

  “We don’t run a tab.”

  “Maybe not officially. But I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  He prepared to argue the point—only to have his phone vibrate. His boss, according to caller ID. “Excuse me a minute.” Putting the phone to his ear, he moved a few feet away. “McGregor.”

  “What’s happening out there?”

  Typical cut-to-the-chase Sarge.

  He filled him in, leaving out his conversation with the chief about reinforcements.

  “Sounds like everything’s under control. Good. I need you to respond to an armed robbery in a residence. High-profile citizens. Mitch is on the way too.”

  While Sarge gave him the particulars, he fished his notebook out of his pocket and jotted down the victim’s name and address.

  “It’s not far from your location. You’ll probably beat Mitch.”

  “I’m on my way.” He flipped the notebook closed.

  “Chief Grant need any more help today?”

  He hesitated. Should he mention night-shift reinforcements?

  No.

  Lisa Grant had been clear she wanted to handle this on her own. Interfering would not win him any brownie points—and he didn’t intend to make another faux pas today.

  “She says she has it covered.”

  “Okay. Give me an update on the robbery once you check it out.”

  “Will do.” He slid the phone back into its holster.

  The chief looked his way, then strolled over. “I wasn’t eavesdropping . . . but sound carries in open country. I take it you’re heading out.”

  “Yeah. A robbery. I’ll swing by again after I finish there.”

  “No need to make a special trip back. We’re fine.” Her voice was cool. Professional. Dismissive. “I’m sure you have a lot of other cases that need your attention.”

  He couldn’t dispute her comment—there weren’t enough hours in the day as it was to deal with everything on his desk.

  Still . . . he found himself wishing he could find an excuse to return.

  How nuts was that?

  Instead of responding, he walked over to a Bobcat and grabbed the jacket he’d ditched as the sun rose.

  “Listen . . . I appreciate the offer, Detective McGregor.”