He loosened his grip, but not before she whirled around and slammed the heel of her hand beneath his chin, knocking his teeth painfully together. Ian’s head popped backward. For a little woman, she packed a wallop.
What was her problem anyway? Was she so bent on getting her story that she had no respect for the dead? The idea curled Ian’s hair.
He caught her arm before she could slam him again. This time he stared fully into her face. What he saw gave him pause. Something was seriously wrong here.
Fear, not determination, dilated her pupils.
Ian relented a little. The death of someone so young was a hard thing to deal with—even for him.
Had she never reported a death scene before?
If that was her trouble, she deserved his understanding. Even though he choked a little to think of the barracuda and compassion in the same sentence, Ian tried one more time.
“Gretchen,” he said. “You know better than to break the police barrier. What’s wrong? How can I help? Haven’t you ever reported a death scene before?”
Her chest rose and fell. Her entire body trembled. Her mouth worked but nothing came out. And then, with an anguished cry that Ian would remember as long as he lived, she looked toward the body on the ground and said, “That’s my sister!”
Ian looked from the huge green eyes of the reporter to the covered body of the dead girl. Huge green eyes. They had the same eyes.
He had been breathless before, but now he couldn’t breathe at all. This strong, self-confident woman was a sister to fragile, helpless Maddy?
“Maddy. Maddy.” And then the woman he’d considered tough and hardened shattered before his eyes. She went to her knees on the thick, wet grass and sobbed brokenly. Ian followed her down, guilty for the negative thoughts he’d had about her, and gathered the shaking Gretchen to his chest.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he muttered against silky hair that smelled as fresh as the flowers in his garden.
Gretchen Barker, the barracuda whose news reports had teeth in them, felt small and soft and helpless in his arms. A protective urge, totally out of place given who she was, suffused Ian. For a man who kept women at arm’s length to protect the integrity of the mission, having a beautiful, grief-stricken woman in his embrace was not an everyday occurrence.
If he hadn’t been so saddened by the circumstances, Ian would have seen the humor in his predicament. He didn’t even like the thorn-in-the-flesh reporter and here he was thinking how pretty she was and how good her hair smelled. He was more than exhausted. He was losing his mind.
Reining in the wayward thoughts, he gently patted her back until the racking sobs subsided. Slowly, she pulled away, leaving damp spots on his green T-shirt. Her bereft expression tore at him.
“Could I call someone for you? A friend? Your family?”
“Maddy is my family.” Her face crumpled. She pressed shaking fingertips against her lips. “Oh, Maddy.”
Wanting to help, but not certain what to expect from a woman who’d kicked him, hit him and then collapsed in tears, he slipped his arm around her narrow shoulders. For a fraction of a second, she relented and leaned against his side. Then, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed up. The knees of her dark slacks were grass-stained and soaked with dew.
Crossing her arms as if they could shield her heart from the terrible sorrow, she said, “I have to see her.”
Ian understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.
“I’ll ask the officer.”
Since she was next of kin, they had no problem securing permission. The police appreciated a positive ID.
Slowly, they walked toward the body. Ian had never in his life wanted so badly to comfort someone. She was shattered. She needed another human being to help her through this, but now that she’d gathered her composure and made up her mind to see her sister, she had pulled away from him, both emotionally and physically. She tolerated his
What was her problem anyway? Was she so bent on getting her story that she had no respect for the dead? The idea curled Ian’s hair.
He caught her arm before she could slam him again. This time he stared fully into her face. What he saw gave him pause. Something was seriously wrong here.
Fear, not determination, dilated her pupils.
Ian relented a little. The death of someone so young was a hard thing to deal with—even for him.
Had she never reported a death scene before?
If that was her trouble, she deserved his understanding. Even though he choked a little to think of the barracuda and compassion in the same sentence, Ian tried one more time.
“Gretchen,” he said. “You know better than to break the police barrier. What’s wrong? How can I help? Haven’t you ever reported a death scene before?”
Her chest rose and fell. Her entire body trembled. Her mouth worked but nothing came out. And then, with an anguished cry that Ian would remember as long as he lived, she looked toward the body on the ground and said, “That’s my sister!”
Ian looked from the huge green eyes of the reporter to the covered body of the dead girl. Huge green eyes. They had the same eyes.
He had been breathless before, but now he couldn’t breathe at all. This strong, self-confident woman was a sister to fragile, helpless Maddy?
“Maddy. Maddy.” And then the woman he’d considered tough and hardened shattered before his eyes. She went to her knees on the thick, wet grass and sobbed brokenly. Ian followed her down, guilty for the negative thoughts he’d had about her, and gathered the shaking Gretchen to his chest.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he muttered against silky hair that smelled as fresh as the flowers in his garden.
Gretchen Barker, the barracuda whose news reports had teeth in them, felt small and soft and helpless in his arms. A protective urge, totally out of place given who she was, suffused Ian. For a man who kept women at arm’s length to protect the integrity of the mission, having a beautiful, grief-stricken woman in his embrace was not an everyday occurrence.
If he hadn’t been so saddened by the circumstances, Ian would have seen the humor in his predicament. He didn’t even like the thorn-in-the-flesh reporter and here he was thinking how pretty she was and how good her hair smelled. He was more than exhausted. He was losing his mind.
Reining in the wayward thoughts, he gently patted her back until the racking sobs subsided. Slowly, she pulled away, leaving damp spots on his green T-shirt. Her bereft expression tore at him.
“Could I call someone for you? A friend? Your family?”
“Maddy is my family.” Her face crumpled. She pressed shaking fingertips against her lips. “Oh, Maddy.”
Wanting to help, but not certain what to expect from a woman who’d kicked him, hit him and then collapsed in tears, he slipped his arm around her narrow shoulders. For a fraction of a second, she relented and leaned against his side. Then, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed up. The knees of her dark slacks were grass-stained and soaked with dew.
Crossing her arms as if they could shield her heart from the terrible sorrow, she said, “I have to see her.”
Ian understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.
“I’ll ask the officer.”
Since she was next of kin, they had no problem securing permission. The police appreciated a positive ID.
Slowly, they walked toward the body. Ian had never in his life wanted so badly to comfort someone. She was shattered. She needed another human being to help her through this, but now that she’d gathered her composure and made up her mind to see her sister, she had pulled away from him, both emotionally and physically. She tolerated his
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