where Becca’s had been about ten seconds ago. Her lips tightened and her hands balled into fists.
The sound of Michael’s throat clearing brought her back to her senses, or rather from her senses. A quick pass of his hand, it would look accidental to any onlooker, brought a sense of calm back to her being. That he’d had to rein her in made her burn in another way and he brushed her forearm again. This time, he left his fingers on her for a count of two. He was warning her.
Becca swallowed her wounded pride and averted her eyes from the woman who was not respectfully doing the same. Becca busied herself with scanning the desks and occupants she could see in the front office. Any who met her gaze looked away. Only one held it. A young cop in his mid-twenties, not much older than her. Unblinking, he tipped his head and watched her come to a halt next to Michael.
“Good morning,” Flirty McFlirtypants, or Pam, according to the name plaque on her white formica desk, greeted Michael warmly.
“Hi Pam,” he let his timbre change, drawing her in. It would help their cause to butter up the gatekeeper although it set Becca’s teeth on edge. “We’re hoping to talk to the chief of police. We were sent over to help out with a case. Someone from our office should have called.”
Apparently Michael’s influence was working too well. Pam was entranced. Simpleton.
“Pam?” He backed off of his influence, stripping it from his tone. “Would you call the chief, please?”
Movement at the white steel door over to the left of the glass wall caught their eye and Becca shifted with Michael. They wheeled to face the person coming out.
Lean, white haired and mustached, the man who approached was garbed casually in navy pants, a tweed jacket, and open necked tan shirt. At no more than five-foot-eight and still fit despite his maturity and surely sedentary job, the man had a presence Becca sensed as soon as he came through the door. “Never mind, Pam,” he waved off his useless employee. “I got it.” Striding forward, he held out a hand first to Michael. Old-fashioned, she was used to it. “Chief Kowski, I was expecting you.”
The smaller man was just to Michael’s shoulder but when it was her turn to clasp hands, she felt the strength in his grip.
“I have to say I’m surprised the military is interested in this one.” His bushy brows wrinkled. “Somebody come back from the war with troubles?”
“Possibly, sir.” Michael offered him a grim nod. “This one must have caught someone’s eye at the top. We’re here to offer our services.”
Experience wizened brown eyes scanned first Michael, then Becca. “The call I got was more than an offer, son.” He lifted a brow skeptically. “But right now, I’m beyond a pissing match. We want to catch this son of a bitch, and if you two can help, I’m all for it.”
“Us too.” Becca tried to be friendly.
Another long appraising glance, this time of her, and Chief Kowski touched the badge he wore at his waist. “Come on. We might as well get started. My town’s on eggshells and the guys are getting itchy. We’re worried something’s gonna blow. Soon.”
Chapter 8
“Here.” A stranger’s voice startled Becca from her stupor and her elbow scooted off the edge of the dark wood veneer desk. Catching her body before she fell out of her chair and made a complete ass of herself, she half turned to see who had entered the office. The way the computer was positioned in the corner of the “L” shaped desk, her right side was to the door, which had been mostly closed. The helpful officer hovered in the doorway and had pushed the door halfway open. The same dark haired detective that caught her eye hours ago when they’d come in was standing in her doorway holding a Styrofoam cup; coffee by the smell.
His cheeks colored and he stepped forward to set the cup on the edge of the desk
The sound of Michael’s throat clearing brought her back to her senses, or rather from her senses. A quick pass of his hand, it would look accidental to any onlooker, brought a sense of calm back to her being. That he’d had to rein her in made her burn in another way and he brushed her forearm again. This time, he left his fingers on her for a count of two. He was warning her.
Becca swallowed her wounded pride and averted her eyes from the woman who was not respectfully doing the same. Becca busied herself with scanning the desks and occupants she could see in the front office. Any who met her gaze looked away. Only one held it. A young cop in his mid-twenties, not much older than her. Unblinking, he tipped his head and watched her come to a halt next to Michael.
“Good morning,” Flirty McFlirtypants, or Pam, according to the name plaque on her white formica desk, greeted Michael warmly.
“Hi Pam,” he let his timbre change, drawing her in. It would help their cause to butter up the gatekeeper although it set Becca’s teeth on edge. “We’re hoping to talk to the chief of police. We were sent over to help out with a case. Someone from our office should have called.”
Apparently Michael’s influence was working too well. Pam was entranced. Simpleton.
“Pam?” He backed off of his influence, stripping it from his tone. “Would you call the chief, please?”
Movement at the white steel door over to the left of the glass wall caught their eye and Becca shifted with Michael. They wheeled to face the person coming out.
Lean, white haired and mustached, the man who approached was garbed casually in navy pants, a tweed jacket, and open necked tan shirt. At no more than five-foot-eight and still fit despite his maturity and surely sedentary job, the man had a presence Becca sensed as soon as he came through the door. “Never mind, Pam,” he waved off his useless employee. “I got it.” Striding forward, he held out a hand first to Michael. Old-fashioned, she was used to it. “Chief Kowski, I was expecting you.”
The smaller man was just to Michael’s shoulder but when it was her turn to clasp hands, she felt the strength in his grip.
“I have to say I’m surprised the military is interested in this one.” His bushy brows wrinkled. “Somebody come back from the war with troubles?”
“Possibly, sir.” Michael offered him a grim nod. “This one must have caught someone’s eye at the top. We’re here to offer our services.”
Experience wizened brown eyes scanned first Michael, then Becca. “The call I got was more than an offer, son.” He lifted a brow skeptically. “But right now, I’m beyond a pissing match. We want to catch this son of a bitch, and if you two can help, I’m all for it.”
“Us too.” Becca tried to be friendly.
Another long appraising glance, this time of her, and Chief Kowski touched the badge he wore at his waist. “Come on. We might as well get started. My town’s on eggshells and the guys are getting itchy. We’re worried something’s gonna blow. Soon.”
Chapter 8
“Here.” A stranger’s voice startled Becca from her stupor and her elbow scooted off the edge of the dark wood veneer desk. Catching her body before she fell out of her chair and made a complete ass of herself, she half turned to see who had entered the office. The way the computer was positioned in the corner of the “L” shaped desk, her right side was to the door, which had been mostly closed. The helpful officer hovered in the doorway and had pushed the door halfway open. The same dark haired detective that caught her eye hours ago when they’d come in was standing in her doorway holding a Styrofoam cup; coffee by the smell.
His cheeks colored and he stepped forward to set the cup on the edge of the desk
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