Hell on the Heart by Nancy Brophy Read Free Book Online Page B

did.
    After several minutes John tapped his foot in impatience. He debated opening his mouth to end the dispute by establishing his authority. He was the law here, whether or not she thought he was FBI didn’t matter. FBPA agents did not advertise their existence and even though the connection was weak, stating they were FBI was not technically incorrect. What difference did the letters make? He was a government agent. 
    Personally, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what she did or did not want to do. Before he could act, Nicholae pointed at him and said in unaccented English, “He’s Indian.”
    Whether it was a groan or growl she emitted, he didn’t know, but for the first time, she looked up from the table. “What tribe?”
    “Blackfoot and Flathead.”
    His background wasn’t a secret. He sported the high cheekbones, straight dark hair and eyes of his ancestors. It never occurred to him heritage would be an issue with gypsies.
    “We’ll wait in your office,” Luca said, and the two men ushered D’Sean out the door.
    Cezi’s lips disappeared into a thin straight line. The orange safety goggles distorted her features, but her unabashed perusal was unsettling. He turned his head, hoping to let his scars intimidate her, but glancing back he realized he’d miscalculated the situation. She was neither repulsed nor fascinated, merely analytical.
    Another mark against the deputies. This woman was anything but E-Z. They were right to be afraid of her. She could run circles around them. Even he’d missed the mark during their brief meeting downstairs. Petite, but tough. And smart. And she had the cojones to get a Sheriff removed from office without blinking an eye. With any luck he’d found his first real break in this case.
    Her lips pursed and an exasperated sound sputtered out. “I don’t have time for this.”
    She jerked the orange safety glasses off her nose, the baseball cap and dew rag followed, bouncing across the stainless steel table. A tangle of thick black hair tumbled past her shoulders to the middle of her back.
    Even knowing her age, he expected the face and body of a child, not the slender, slightly exotic, angel who stood before him. Despite her diminutive size she was a one-hundred percent fully grown woman.
    John couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her. Sometimes skin-to-skin contact helped him get a clearer fix on a person. Her father and uncle avoided touch, would she?
    Two steps forward, he extended his hand across the stainless steel table. “Agent John Stillwater. I’m a federal agent, but you were right, I’m not FBI. How’d you know?”
    Her height increased by inches. She’d been working barefoot? He looked at feet now encased in wedge-sandals. Slowly, he dragged his gaze over her body, letting her feel his presence, not just as a federal agent but as a man. Her eyes widened briefly before she thrust her chin out and reached across the table to shake his hand.
    A quiver she wasn’t quite able to suppress ran down her spine. Usually that response from a woman gave him a green light for a physical encounter. Maybe, even sex, but the glimmer of fear that flickered in her eyes made him cautious in his assessment.
    As her small hand gripped his large one, she pumped up and down three times, then snatched back her hand before finally answering his question.
    “FBI guys look like lawyers who work out enough to pass the physical. You and your buddy look like mercenaries who’ve been slapped with a coat of fresh paint to look respectable.”

 
     
     
    Chapter Six
    Cezi watched the man. That low rumble of a voice that came from deep within him didn’t suppress the power it welded. If he yelled, glass would rattle.
    Had he been related to her, she’d have given him a solid piece of her mind to keep the upper hand. And despite his status as a fed, might have anyway, had the appreciative gleam in his eyes not stopped her. He liked what she said about the agents looking like