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  When they reached the guy, he said, “You’re Claire Morgan; is that correct?”

  “Actually, she’s Claire Morgan Black now,” Black told him. Nope, he did not like this guy at all.

  Claire jerked a surprised look at him, and the Fed swiveled his attention to Black. He hadn’t seemed to notice Black before that. They stared into each other’s eyes for a second or two, and then the agent’s mouth curved into a slow grin. Smug as hell and openly showing it. “I take it you must be her possessive husband.” He had uttered it with a benign smile but it was meant as an insult. Black saw that; he wasn’t obtuse. He took it for what it was.

  “I’m Nicholas Black. Who are you?”

  “Well, with all due respect, Dr. Black, this is a private law enforcement matter that I need to discuss with your wife. You know, with Mrs. Claire Morgan Black.”

  There was a barb in that, too, a direct challenge, and Black received it loud and clear. This guy was taunting him, no doubt about it. What’s more, he wanted Black to know it and react negatively. Black wasn’t one to be baited, but he did appreciate the heads up. No way in hell did he want this guy around Claire. Something was very off here, and Black wanted to know what it was. No legitimate FBI officer would behave in such a disrespectful way. But he’d go along with whatever game this jerk wanted to play, at least until he found out what his game was.

  The agent kept up the smiling at him. They were about the same height. Eye level, which was a little unusual; at six feet four inches, Black rarely met anybody as tall as he was. “No offense meant, Dr. Black, but this is an official FBI matter. It’s confidential, you understand. I’m afraid you’ll have to go.”

  “No offense taken,” Black answered calmly, but that was a damn lie. All of them knew the agent was needling him. Claire’s eyes had narrowed. She was searching the agent’s face for his motivation, too. “No problem,” Black said with a smile. “I’ll just wait for you over at the bar, sweetheart.”

  Black walked away, but he’d be damned if he’d go upstairs and leave Claire down here alone with that guy. He was going to watch their little private meeting and see what the hell this guy was up to.

  Chapter 8

  Claire watched Black walk off, all smiley and easygoing, but he didn’t fool her, not for one single second. She knew him better than that. His jaw was flexing under his tanned cheek. He had suddenly become all loose and relaxed and calm. He was ticked off big time, all right, and for good reason. Just like the man standing beside her had intended him to be. She didn’t like that much, either. So she turned her full attention back to the so-called FBI agent, searched his face, and wondered why he was intentionally provoking her husband. It took her about five seconds to size him up.

  In the looks department, he was smokin’ hot as hell. Not as handsome as Black, of course, because he was hard to beat, with that jet-black hair and those sky-blue eyes and sexy dimples, not to mention all those hard muscles. Just ask People magazine. But there was something behind this Federal agent’s good looks that was vaguely disconcerting. He looked somewhat familiar to her. She felt some kind of vibe start quivering, but she couldn’t quite identify what it meant. He just stood there, tall and imposing, smiling down at her, as if they had some kind of significant secret crackling back and forth between them.

  Claire decided that she didn’t like him. Snap judgment? Oh yeah, but usually she was right on with that sort of thing. “You got a name, agent, or is that confidential, too?”

  Their eyes met and clicked together like a stiff hinge on a new gate. That was the moment that Claire realized what was so sexy about this guy: It was definitely his eyes. He had the most intense eyes that she had ever gazed into. They were sort of green but maybe more hazel, because there were lots of brown flecks inside the irises. He apparently liked to pretend they were twin laser beams, destined to hold one’s audience enthralled, immobile, and unable to speak for lack of breath. What was more, he had them focused on her now, and they seemed to crawl all over her face as he leaned his body in closer to her. He was trying to control her stare so that she couldn’t look away, she realized. So she looked away.

  When she returned her attention to him, he still had that unnerving intensity in his gaze. He was staring at her like she was the only thing on earth that he was interested in, like she was a big slice of Pizza Hut Deep Dish Super Supreme and he was a hungry critter. No, actually, the look was more like they were the only survivors on a deserted island and he wanted to jump her bones and then do it again. It felt as if her attention had been expertly lassoed and he was slowly hauling her into his personal space so he could grab on to her. What the hell was with this guy and those hypnotic eyes? Claire broke eye contact again, glad she could. She almost felt compelled to look back at him, like all those women glammed in teenage vampire movies. Well, glammed wasn’t exactly her thing. It just wasn’t gonna happen. This guy was big trouble, and he reveled in it, but she was about to stick a pin in his self-absorbed, self-satisfied bubble.

  “Okay, that hole you’re staring through me? I think it’s deep enough now. Didn’t work. Not charmed. Not intrigued. Not anything. So you can put away your eyes and that intense yearning look you’ve got going on. I’m married to that guy over there at the bar. You know, the one you just insulted, so if this is a clumsy come-on or an attempt at flirtation, you are wasting your time and mine. His, too, I might add. You’re lucky he didn’t knock you flat on your back. He’s totally capable of it; don’t think his sophistication is all he’s got going on. Okay? Get it? So turn off your eyes and give them a rest for the next gal. Who are you and what the hell do you want? We were busy when the desk called.”

  The lasers continued to burn. Good grief, what was with this guy?

  “You’re very direct, Detective. Very beautiful, too. Especially now that you’re angry. I bet your husband over there riles you up just so you’ll get that kind of fire going on.”

  Was this guy serious? One thing was for sure: he was no special agent of anything. Huh uh and no way. So why was he masquerading as one? She heaved one gigantic sigh. “That all sounded incredibly stupid and adolescent, but you must know that. So here’s hoping you are as direct as I am, because you interrupted us while we were in the middle of something important. Therefore, you and I are going to make this conversation short, starting the countdown right now. Do you plan on introducing yourself, or are you always this rude and keep people guessing your identity?” Claire was extremely put off by everything this guy had said and done so far, and she hadn’t even gotten his name yet. A new record for her instant I-hate-you meter.

  “Oh, so sorry, looks like I might’ve offended you. Didn’t know you were so thin skinned, Claire. I’m Special Agent Oliver Wood, out of our Kansas City office.”

  “You got a badge to prove that? I thought you guys wore suits and dark glasses and were halfway professional.” Claire moved her gaze down to his black V-neck sweater and faded jeans. He also had a scruffy goatee that hugged his jaw line, and a mustache, both cropped close to his face. It was auburn like his gelled-up hair. Hair that was short, but way too long for any clean-cut, well-trained Fed. Shoulda shaved if he wanted to fool her.

  “I’m off duty. Even Federal agents get to dress casually on their off hours. So do you, by the looks of that old sweatshirt, which is on backwards, by the way. Guess I did interrupt something important.”

  Aware that that could very well be true, Claire glanced down at her shirt but found it looked fine. He’d been mocking her, and she’d fallen for it, which was doubly irritating. Then he smiled when she frowned at him. Maybe she should report him to the President. “Why are you here? And you can show me that badge anytime now, because I don’t think you’re an FBI agent, or any other kind of law enforcement officer. I think you’re a phony, and not a very good one.”

  Oliver Wood didn’t answer her questions. He just picked up his coat, reached into its inside poc
ket, and pulled out a badge folder. He flipped it open and held it up in front of her eyes, dangling it there like a real jerk. Nope, she and this Wood guy were not gonna hit it off. Ever. She glanced over at the bar and found Black sitting on a barstool with a short glass in his hand, leaning his back against the bar and watching their little tête-à-tête. His expression did not bode well for her guest. Probably a good thing if she and Laser Eyes ended up coming to blows. Black could step right in and help her beat the guy to a bloody pulp. He could hold him down while she pummeled his smug yet unusually handsome face. It sounded lovely to her, even on such short acquaintance.

  “Okay, now that you’ve got all your smartass crap out of the way,” she said to him, “maybe we can actually have a professional conversation.” She looked at his badge again. “That badge isn’t fake, is it? It doesn’t look all that legit to me. You know, the misspelled words.”

  Slow smile, and then, “No, ma’am. It’s real, official and everything. I promise.”

  Claire considered walking away from the guy. She took the badge and examined it closely. It looked like the real thing, but he certainly didn’t. Maybe he stole it from a real agent. Yeah, that was probably it. “So tell me, Special Agent Wood, what exactly do you want? Also, you might want to add why you intentionally antagonized my husband a minute ago. That something they teach you at Quantico nowadays? Annoy the hell out of people that you request a meeting with?”

  Deep inside all that brown-green intensity, she saw those incredibly expressive eyes react to her words, very briefly, and then all reaction disappeared. Instead, he showed her some impressively white teeth. “I have offended you, Claire. Is that what’s got you all hot and bothered? That is what’s happening here, right? I’ve hurt your feelings?”

  “You couldn’t touch my feelings with a ten-foot pole. Quit staring at me like that. You are really coming off creepy now. Like some kind of pervert.”

  After that, Wood presented her with what looked like a normal grin, which made him look even better. “I’m not supposed to look at you while we talk? That’s what you want me to do? Where would you like for me to look? Over there at your doting husband?”

  This guy was really getting on Claire’s nerves. She took a few more seconds to search his face, now rather intrigued as to his motive, if nothing else. He was jabbing her now, and that, of course, was unprofessional. She wasn’t handling him all that well, either. Never had been a woman who responded favorably to obnoxious men and chauvinistic banter, and that’s what she thought he was all about. Maybe he didn’t like women police officers. Maybe he thought she should go barefoot and pregnant, and all that sexist crap. Her aversion shot up into the stratosphere. She wanted very much to tell him where he could put his badge, and in some colorful, less-than-complimentary four-letter words. He was goading her on purpose, and it wasn’t the least bit professional to let him get to her that way, so she went completely calm.

  When she said nothing, he smiled some more. Tacky. He was just damn tacky. “It’s just that I feel like I know you pretty well already,” he told her then, smiling down into her eyes. “I read the National Enquirer faithfully, you see. The latest edition kept me enthralled on my flight down here.”

  Claire smiled back. “So you admit freely to being intellectually stunted. I can see that in you.”

  Her retort made him laugh. Maybe he was just stupid. Or socially awkward. She had a good friend named Laurie Dale, who happened to be an FBI special agent. A woman who’d saved Claire’s life once upon a snowy night not so long ago. Laurie was serious-minded and well-trained and not a jerk with glowing eyes and clumsy put-downs. This guy must have got his training at a comedy club. Her suspicious meter just would not stop dinging.

  “You’re not very professional, are you, Wood? Maybe I need to reexamine that badge. See if it’s as phony as the rest of you.”

  More staring, more trying to mesmerize her. Fat chance. He handed his badge over again. “You’re everything that I heard you were, Mrs. Claire Morgan Black.”

  God, he just would not stop. So Oliver Wood was a gargantuan smartass. She usually liked that in a person―if she liked that person even a little bit, but that didn’t apply here.

  “I think I would rather speak to your partner, or better yet, your SAC in Kansas City. You grate on my nerves, to be perfectly honest, and vice versa, it appears. And gee, we’ve only been talking for what? Two minutes. Maybe three. So where’s your partner? Don’t you Feds always travel around on tandem bikes?”

  “She’s interviewing your partner as we speak. Bud Davis, right? Hope their collaboration is going better than ours. Shall we start over? Pretend we want to cooperate with each other?”

  “By all means. So, what the hell do you want? Tell me quick. Like I said, I’m busy.”

  “I can imagine.” Wood glanced at Black with a highly suggestive smirk on his face, just so she’d know exactly what kind of scene he was imagining. He was right on target, but he’d never know that. She didn’t bite this time, just put some freeze in her eyes and laid it on him. He examined her face in detail. “I’m here to discuss the homicide you picked up today. The young woman who was murdered at the holiday tour house. That is your case, is it not?”

  “That’s right, it is. We haven’t been able to identify her.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know, pray tell?”

  “Because you haven’t had time to find out.”

  “We’re not amateurs, Wood. We’ve done murder investigations for a long time, and with good results.”

  “Oh, I know all about that. You have quite a reputation for solving difficult cases…and for other things.”

  He wanted her to ask what other things, so she didn’t. “I suspect you do some other things yourself. Badly.”

  He laughed out loud, but it was slow and enigmatic and magnetic as his hazel eyes continued to try to subjugate her gaze. Again she felt as if she couldn’t look away from him. “Detective Morgan Black, we happen to know your victim’s identity. Her name is Heather Cantrell. She managed to slip away from us, and we’ve been looking for her for the last six months.”

  “Didn’t solve her case in under two minutes, huh? Maybe she ducked out on you while you were busy being rude to somebody. Bud and I can give you some pointers in protecting witnesses, if you like. No problem, really. Don’t be shy, just ask us.”

  Wood didn’t bite, just let his eyes skewer her some more. But then, finally, he was ready to stop with his cute games and get down to business. “The victim was a Federal witness that was slated to testify against an important member of the New York mob. She’s been in witness protection for over a year, but she got away from us. I’m here to advise you of that, and to let you know that we will need to review your file and take a look at the body. I’d like to do that right now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Like hell, Wood. You’re going to have to go through official channels for any kind of collaboration between us, especially getting access to my murder file. You should know that without me having to tell you.”

  “Not the way it works, not this time.”

  Claire could not believe this guy. Talk about cool self-confidence. And then there was that sex appeal, just oozing out of his every pore while he intentionally tried to make her angry. His eyes were disconcerting to her, even with Black sitting right there in the lobby, watching their every move. Good thing Wood was such a loser or she might just swoon away like Scarlett O’Hara with that frail and puny Ashley guy. As if.

  Unsurprisingly, Claire was nowhere close to buying what he was selling. “Don’t kid yourself into thinking I’m naïve or inexperienced, especially when spotting phonies. I don’t trust you, and I go by my first impressions. So what’s your real game here, Wood? Why does the FBI want in on my homicide case? Seems perverse to me. Then again, everything you’ve said seems perverse to me.”

  More s
taring. But he was going for earnest now. Switched straight over into truth-and-sincerity laser mode. Dim the lights, charm the target. He was maybe even faintly puzzled by her scorn, poor guy. She resisted the urge to put one hell of a punch into his stomach.

  That overwhelming desire was saved by her good sense and Wood’s cell phone. The ring tone was the old fashioned kind, like those old ancient rotary phones. Loud. Annoying. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the caller’s name, and said, “Please excuse me. I have to take this.”

  Glancing over at Black, she rolled her eyes and made a face that could not leave her disgust for this guy unknown. He smiled and took a swig of his drink. Waiting, but not exactly patient.

  Chief Crazy Eyes was soon back. “Now, where were we?”

  “Pretty much nowhere.”

  Then his eyes left her and moved around the lobby. His perusal stopped near the front doors, and his whole persona changed in a nanosecond. He looked shocked, and then he tried to hide it. Claire turned quickly and looked where he’d been staring. Two guys had just entered the lobby. One was coming in the door, rolling a black suitcase behind him, and the other man was heading for the check-in counter. It didn’t look like they were together. Maybe, though. The guy with the luggage was shorter and dressed in a red and black running suit and a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap. The other guy was dressed in jeans and a St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt, tall and blond and cute.

  Wood turned to Claire in a hurry. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll contact you again soon and we’ll go over the file.”

  Surprised, Claire stared at him. He had dropped his attitude and was now in a big hurry. Why would that be?