Her hands were cold. He brushed his thumbs lightly across her knuckles as he listened. It was impossible to ignore the vicious bruise on her temple, and the clouds of distress in her eyes, but he did his best to tamp down the anger they kindled.
“I don’t get it.” She tried to disguise a catch in her voice with a cough, but he heard the quaver. “Why would anyone want to take me out like that? They didn’t steal my wallet or my truck, nothing. And it’s not like anyone else was around to scare them away. They just knocked me down and left.”
He gave her hands a comforting squeeze and stood up. “Want some coffee? Water?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, she accepted the mug and took a sip, shuddering as she absorbed the industrial strength liquid. “Maybe I should have had the water,” she said, sounding more like the confident, composed young woman he’d met on the mountain.
“You were at a RiverForce meeting?” She seemed steady enough, so Alex settled behind his desk. “I know about them. An environmental group, right?”
“Yes, sponsored by the university. The faculty advisor is Richard Fleetham. You might have seen him around. He’s often in the paper or on the TV news when they need an expert.”
“You’re interested in environmentalism?”
“I’m in the Natural Resource Management program at the university.” He raised an eyebrow and she answered the unspoken question. “Hence my interest in getting my foot in your door, so to speak. Graduation is still a year away, but I guess it’s time I decided what I wanted to do. I really enjoyed tagging along with you, and it got me thinking. I also have to admit to a strong sense of curiosity as to how the investigation is going.”
“You haven’t missed much. I logged all the evidence, made a report of the shooting, and that’s where it sits.” His frustration must have escaped despite the calm words. She gave him a sympathetic look.
“It must be difficult, with so little to work with.”
He scrubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “You better believe it. But we’ll keep plugging away.” He gestured at her cup. “If you’re done, we can take a tour through the building, see who’s around.”
She took one more sip, then placed the nearly full cup on his desk. He couldn’t blame her. The coffee was truly awful.
He led her down a hallway off which stemmed numerous offices almost identical to his own, before knocking on the frame of an open door at the far end.
“Iain, I’m glad you’re here. Do you have a minute?”
“Come on in.”
“June, this is Iain Prevost, one of our senior conservation officers.” Alex ushered her into the office as Iain rose from his chair, revealing a build well over six feet, and skinny with it. He stretched out a hand invitingly, his smile revealing one front incisor slightly crossed over the tooth next to it.
“Ah, so this is the young lady who helped with the kill up by Longworth.”
They sat in a couple of battered metal chairs in front of his desk, and Iain lounged in the high-backed office chair behind it, putting his feet up on an open drawer.
“I don’t know how much I helped,” she said. “And I certainly don’t know how much good it will have done. Alex tells me you don’t have high hopes for finding whoever did it.”
“We do what we can,” Iain said simply. “It’s our job, and simply because results take time and don’t come easy doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. To paraphrase a great mind...we must attempt arduous tasks, for there is no worth in that which is not a difficult achievement.” He slid a sly glance at Alex.
“For Pete’s sake,” Alex said. “You know I’ve got no idea.”
“Ovid,” Iain said a trifle smugly. “Didn’t teach you that in your western university, did they?”
“Iain went to Saint Francis Xavier University,” Alex told June, “and along the way picked up an inexhaustible supply of obscure quotes, with which he torments me.”
“You’re calling one of the master poets of Latin literature obscure?” Iain said in mock amazement. He turned to June. “So, what do you think?”
“About Ovid?” she said demurely.
Iain’s eyes sparked with enjoyment. “Another smart-aleck, I see. About our Ministry here. What’s your interest?”
Alex listened as Iain and June discussed her studies. Iain was an excellent investigator, and skilled at interviewing. He put June through her paces, but she held her own.
As they stood to leave, Iain came around his desk, cuffing Alex on the shoulder while offering June an approving nod. “It was nice meeting you. Like I said, we can’t promise anything, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to keep in touch.”
Her face lit up. “I appreciate it. Thanks.”
Alex toured her through the radio room, evidence locker, and the rest of the complex, ending up back in reception.
She held out her hand. “Thanks so much. I appreciate you taking the time when you must have other things you should be seeing to.”
He took her hand, but didn’t let go right away. “It occurs to me you’ve had an exciting few days. First the shooting on Longworth Mountain, then this motorcycle attack.”
She laughed. “You know the old saying about things happening in threes. Here’s hoping it’s not true in this case.”
Despite her assurances an escort was unnecessary, he walked her to her truck. As she turned the key in the door lock, he put his hand on her arm. “What are you doing tonight?” Her pulse jumped, the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist warm and silky under his fingertips. Her high cheekbones stood out sharp and strong in the bright noon light.
“Nothing much.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me?”
She hesitated. “I suppose.”
He grinned at her wariness. “That sounds positive.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I would like to have dinner with you.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
****
June took a deep breath and opened the door. Alex stood on the small porch, dressed in neatly pressed black trousers and a crisp white shirt that emphasized his tan. Dark brown eyes widened in appreciation as his gaze travelled over her. She ordered herself not to fidget.
“Wow. You clean up good.”
“You didn’t say where we were going.” She smoothed her hands down her hips self-consciously. “I wasn’t sure what I should wear.”
She’d washed her hair and let it dry naturally. It waved freely past her shoulders, with long bangs pulled over the bruise on her forehead. After much anxious internal debate she had slipped into a sleek, cherry-red sleeveless blouse with a deep cowl neck, A-line black skirt, and strappy red sandals.
“Let me rephrase.” Before she could skitter backward he lifted the hair off her face, studying the damage once more. His lips tightened but his voice remained casual. “You look wonderful.”
Heat crept up her neck to her cheeks. “Except for the goose egg and road rash.”
“I mean it.” His stare was intent. “You are bewitching.”
She dropped her eyes, flustered, and stepped back from the doorway. “Would you like to come in? We could have a drink before we go.”
“That sounds fine.”
Honey sunshine slanting in the big bow window glowed on the slatted wood floor and brightened the orange petals of the gerbera daisies set on the coffee table. Large, bright-patterned cushions were scattered about the room.
Alex relaxed onto the low couch. June felt oddly breathless, having him in her home. “I have wine, beer, iced tea...?”
“Wine would be great.”
She went to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of white chilling in the fridge. The two matching wine glasses she owned were washed and ready, waiting on a tray. She carried everything through to the living room and placed it on the coffee table, then lowered herself onto a scarlet and emerald floor pillow.
“This is a beautiful neighbourhood,” Alex said as she wielded the corkscrew. “I love these old character homes. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life.” She eased the cork out and poured the wine. “This is where I grew up. My parents still own it, but a few years ago they built themselves a new house outside of town. Now I rent from them.”
“Do you have a large family?”
She handed Alex his glass. “For these days, I suppose so. Four brothers, no sisters. Sometimes I wonder how we all squeezed into this little place, but we did. I’m second youngest. My baby brother still lives at home, the brother just older than me is at university in Vancouver, the second oldest is in Calgary. My oldest brother lives here in town. He’s married and has a son.”
He whistled. “You’re an auntie?”
“And loving every minute of it.” Her lips curved, thinking of her rambunctious toddler nephew. “How about you?”
“Spoiled only child of divorced parents.” He shrugged. “I’m used to getting my own way, so watch out.”
“And I’m used to fighting for what I want, so that should make us even. If I was your sister, you’d know that.”
“But you’re not my sister.” Alex said with a mischievous glint. “Isn’t that lucky.”
She swallowed and ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. The gleam in his eye raised all the tiny hairs on her arms and sent tickling, teasing tendrils flickering through her belly. She finished her wine with a gulp. “Should we be going?”
Alex stood and put out his hand. “Sure,” he said. “I’m starving.” He pulled her up in one swift motion, circled her waist with his free arm, and drew her close. Standing in her heels, they were much the same height. Bodies barely touching, they stood still. He softly kissed her bruised forehead, trailing his lips down her cheek to rub them gently against the mark on her chin. Icy hot feathers tickled down her spine.
“Better?” he whispered.
“Much,” she whispered back.
Alex took her to an elegant restaurant in a renovated heritage house overlooking the Fraser River. Public areas had been restored to honour the original 1920’s fashion. The rooms were small, with three or four intimate tables in each. They were seated in a window nook with a sweeping vista of the silt laden river flowing below and the sandy cutbanks stretching above.
There were few other diners. The maître d’, a middle-aged man with a complacent paunch and a paucity of hair, brought their drinks and took their meal orders. After he left they sat in a comfortable silence. June gazed contentedly out the window at the rush of water streaming past. When she turned back Alex was studying her yet again.
She lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Nothing. I like looking at you.”
Self-consciously she lifted a hand to her forehead. “Even though I appear to have been dragged over the pavement?” she said. “Oh, wait, I was.”
Her attempt at nonchalance didn’t lighten Alex’s stare. “Even though,” he said.
She couldn’t hold his look any longer, and let her attention wander to the maître d’, ushering other diners to a table in the far corner. With a start she recognized one of the newcomers, and leaned forward to speak without being overheard. “See that man over there, the one with the curly dark hair and the goatee?”
Alex’s eyes slipped casually across the room.
“That’s Richard Fleetham, from RiverForce,” she said.
“Who’s with him?”
“I don’t know.”
The other man was large and bulky, with an impression of strength, not fat. His hair was dark grey and combed aggressively back from a high forehead. His voice rumbled, heavy with an Eastern European, perhaps German, accent, when he spoke to the maître d’. Richard scanned the room casually. He saw June and his hand froze in mid-air as he accepted the menu.
He excused himself from his companion and crossed to their table. “June! Whatever happened?”
“It’s just a few scratches and bruises. Alex, I’d like you to meet Richard Fleetham. Richard, Alex Weaver.”
Richard absently shook hands. “But, really, tell me what happened to your lovely face.”
“I had a bit of an accident after the meeting last night,” she said. “A motorcyclist knocked me down.”
His brows narrowed in concern. “Did he not see you?”
“It was so quick. I’m not really sure how it happened.”
Richard understood what she wasn’t saying. “You mean it was on purpose. Why on earth would someone do that to you? Did he take anything?”
“Nothing. It’s all a bit of a mystery.”
“I should say so. I’m certainly glad to see you’re okay. We wouldn’t want to lose you from our RiverForce team.” He glanced over to where a waiter was now presenting a bottle of wine to the heavyset man. “I must get back to my guest. It was a pleasure to meet you, Alex.”
He started toward his table, then paused. “You wouldn’t be the same Alex that June was telling me about yesterday? The conservation officer she assisted?”
“I am,” Alex said.
“Any news on the investigation?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“It’s an awful situation.” Richard shook his head. “I wish you luck catching the criminals.”
June watched him take his seat. He spoke quietly to the other man, who turned his head toward her. His eyes were a hard, pale blue, and an odd sense of disquiet crept across her shoulders as he surveyed her dourly. Then her view was blocked by the waiter, weaving through the tables with a plate in each hand, fingers protected with large, snowy white napkins, and she shook off her uneasiness.
She and Alex dined on rare roast beef, fresh asparagus, and baked potatoes, and enjoyed a leisurely, exploratory conversation. They were sharing a decadently sweet piece of chocolate cake when Richard and his foreign-sounding guest left. Richard nodded affably from across the room, but his companion remained austere and aloof, ignoring June when she responded to the salute.