Fully Committed

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 (#ulink_ef3565ac-ee10-55b9-95fe-43307ffc613a)

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 brought on a bout of cold, despite the fact that she didn’t have the air-conditioning running anywhere in the house. Sherry headed to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, turning the water as hot as it could get without scalding her. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in there long enough to really get warm—that would take so long, Jon would be in here managing her again—but at least it took a little of the edge off, warming the outside of her body if not the inside.

After her shower she dried her hair, which because of its thickness and length took a long time, but she knew better than to go out with it wet in a situation like this: if she got a chill, damp hair would just exacerbate it. She slipped on black jeans and a long-sleeved dark plum sweater and then pulled on her boots. After a touch of makeup—she wanted to look professional, for Jasmine Houze, not Jon Hatton—she grabbed her sketch pad and a set of pencils, and was out the door.

The drive to the hospital went faster than Sherry would’ve liked. She focused on a number of different things: the traffic, the scenery, the number of pickup trucks she could count, anything to keep her from thinking about what was coming up. She didn’t want to be a shivering mess before she even set foot in the hospital.

Sherry had made it through her last two cases with the cold seeming to permeate her. She could make it through questioning one woman who they suspected hadn’t seen anything. But, honestly, whether Jasmine had seen anything would be beside the point. Because either way, Sherry was going to have to walk with the poor woman through the worst day in her entire life.

She sighed as a chill rushed through her. Count pickups now. She’d be dealing with monsters soon enough.

As she found a parking place at the hospital, already having to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering, Sherry’s resolve was firm. She saw Jon standing by the door and she told him, with no holds barred, what was on her mind.

“This one time, Agent Hatton,” she said. “I will talk to Ms. Houze today, but that’s it. I don’t want any further details about the case or the women involved, or anything. You’re going to need to find someone else.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but then he nodded. “Call me Jon. And I understand. You’re on vacation.”

She was pretty sure he didn’t understand anything. That he thought she was a spoiled brat who didn’t care about anybody but herself. She could admit that bugged her, but she knew she had to take care of herself. Knew she had to find a way of getting past this coldness if she ever hoped to really work as a forensic artist again. Or at this point, to even be able to draw again ever.

Not having her art in her life was not an acceptable compromise.