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Dear Reader,

Writing is often a challenge, but never more so than when writing a continuity series with over a dozen other authors! Inevitably, there are facts to double-check, dates and time lines to coordinate and character traits to verify. But, oh, what fun it is to work with such a talented and creative group of ladies!

Normally the heroes I write about are ranchers or cowboys and the women who steal their hearts, so writing about a police officer, who also happened to be a Native American, required quite a bit of research. I found the entire process fascinating and discovered along the way that law enforcement officers and Native Americans aren’t really all that different from my cowboys. Both groups represent men of integrity who are willing to fight for what they believe in, and who are prepared to defend those whom they love. What more could a woman ask for in a man?

I hope you enjoy reading my contribution to THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION series and sharing in Gabe Thunderhawk and Andrea Matthews’s romantic adventures as they find love. I hope, too, that you enjoy your vicarious visit to my home state of Texas, where romance is always waiting for you just around the next bend in the road.

Best wishes,

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Bonus Features

Prologue

The glare of the midday sun and lack of wind had turned Lake Mondo into a mirror, its surface reflecting the cedars and outcropping of rocks that lined its shore. A long wooden dock—bleached a dull gray by weather and time—stretched out over the water and bobbed lazily in the slow-moving current. On any other day, swimmers and fishermen alike would be vying for position on the planked walkway, as well as along the lake’s shore. But today both the dock and the shoreline were empty…except for the lone body lying faceup beneath a white sheet.

Yellow crime-scene tape sectioned off a large portion of the area surrounding the dock, holding back the curious and morbid who had gathered. The few officials allowed beyond the tape huddled in a loose group, their expressions grim, as they watched the police photographer digitally record the scene.

Quickly assessing the area as she approached, Detective Andrea Matthews ducked beneath the tape and headed straight for the body. The stench that grew stronger with each step was her first clue that this wasn’t a recent drowning.

In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of Red Rock Police Officer Gabe Thunderhawk breaking away from the group and heading her way. She swallowed a groan when he stopped in front of her and braced his hands on his hips, successfully blocking her progress, as well as her view of the corpse. Since he had about five inches on her five foot seven inch frame, she was forced to look up at him, a form of intimidation she was sure he intended. Though he was as handsome as the devil himself and a lot easier to look at than a corpse, she had a job to do and wasn’t interested in getting into a verbal sparring match over who was in charge of this investigation, which was what she figured he had in mind.

Hoping to avoid an altercation, she lifted her chin, indicating the body behind him. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a floater.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to hers. “Good deduction, Detective.”

Though his expression remained bland, his sarcasm set her teeth on edge. Rather than respond to it, she stepped around him, planning to ignore him.

He quickly shifted to block her way. “No need for you to concern yourself with this one. I’ve got everything under control.”

At the end of her patience, she squared off with him. “You know damn good and well that when there’s a body involved, it’s my job to investigate it. Now, you can either assist in the investigation or get the hell out of my way, because I intend to do my job, with or without your cooperation.”

He met her gaze a full ten seconds, making her think he was going to force the issue, but finally stepped aside.

Pulling a mask from her blazer pocket, she nodded to the police photographer, before slipping it over her head to cover her nose and mouth. With her gaze on the body, she tugged on a pair of protective gloves and hunkered down beside it. Careful not to disturb any evidence, she lifted the sheet to expose the victim’s face. Finding him lying facedown, she dropped the sheet back over him.

“Help me turn him over,” she instructed Gabe.

Keeping the cover in place, they worked together to roll the victim to his back, then Andrea lifted the sheet again. Although this wasn’t the first drowning she’d investigated, she had to swallow back the nausea that burned the back of her throat. Blank eyes stared up at her from a bloated and distorted face. The victim’s skin, blanched a sickly blue-white, was pitted where bits of flesh were missing, probably due to predators he’d encountered during the time he’d spent in the water.

There was also what appeared to be a bullet hole between his eyes.

Aware that Gabe was watching for her reaction, she set her jaw and dropped the sheet back over the victim’s face. Pulling the mask down, she stood to face the officer. “So what have you got?”

“Nine-one-one call came in about an hour ago. Placed by the fishing guide who found the body. The guy’s sitting in the back seat of my patrol car. Still pretty shook up.”

She nodded grimly. “I would imagine he is.” Frowning, she circled the body, examining it from different angles. “Any ID?”

“Checked his pockets. No wallet or any kind of ID, although I did notice what appears to be a birthmark on his hip. Looks like we’ve got a John Doe.”

“The M.E.’s report will detail any identifying marks.” She stopped and hunkered down beside the body again, lifting the sheet away from the lower extremities. “He wasn’t dressed for fishing or swimming,” she commented, noting the slacks he wore.

“Judging by the three holes in his head, I’d say his visit to the lake wasn’t recreational.”

She snapped her gaze up to Gabe’s, her brows drawn together in question. “Three?”

“Bullet entered here, here and here,” he said, indicating each by pointing them out on his own head. “I’m no expert, but I’d say he was dead before he hit the water.”

Irritated with herself that he’d found three bullet holes, when she’d only seen one, she looked at the corpse again. Her frown deepening, she slowly lowered the sheet and pushed to her feet. “Has the M.E. been here?”

“Here and gone about half an hour ago. Left as soon as he proclaimed him dead. When the photographer finishes up, we’re transporting the body to the lab for autopsy.”

Andrea nodded. “I’ll drop by and get the M.E.’s preliminary findings.”

“I plan on doing the same. Want a ride? We can have dinner afterward.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give up, Thunderhawk?”

“Do I look like a quitter?”

“Are we ready to transport?”

Startled by the sound of Chief Prater’s voice, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was headed their way. As usual, he had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Although he’d quit smoking five years before, he refused to give up his cigars completely.

“We’re transporting as soon as the photographer finishes up,” she replied, then looked at him curiously. “What are you doing way out here? You don’t usually visit crime scenes.”

“Got a call from the M.E. He says our victim has an unusual birthmark. A crown shape on the right hip, same as Ryan Fortune.”

Familiar with the wealthy Fortune and his philanthropic work to many of the charitable organizations in the state, Andi glanced back at the body in confusion. “Are you saying the floater is Ryan Fortune?”

“No, I’m saying the crown-shaped birthmark is a Fortune trademark, which means he’s probably related.” He shifted his gaze to Gabe. “I want you working this case with Andi.”

Andi’s eyes shot wide in alarm. “Leo and I can handle this. We don’t need Gabe’s help.”

The chief dragged the cigar from his mouth and set his lips in a grim line. “Leo isn’t going to be handling anything for a while.”

A knot of fear twisted in her gut. “But…why? Has something happened to him?”

He tapped a finger against his chest. “Heart attack. Happened early this morning. His wife says it was caused by a blockage. Gonna need a quadruple bypass. He’ll be out on medical leave for at least a month. Maybe longer.”

Stunned, Andi could only stare at her boss, her concern for her partner obliterating all other thought. She’d worked with Leo for nine years. Heck, he was like a father to her!

She swallowed hard, trying to force back the paralyzing fear, the memory of her own father’s heart attack that had resulted in his death.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” she asked uneasily.

The chief shrugged. “If he takes care of himself and follows the doctor’s orders, he should be fine.” He narrowed an eye at her. “But until he’s back, Gabe’s working with you. Understood?”

Though Andi wanted to argue, beg the chief to assign someone else as her partner, anyone other than Thunderhawk, she gave her chin a jerk of assent. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

He clamped the unlit cigar between his teeth again and took a slow look around. “Looks like y’all’ve done what you can do here. Go on over to Ryan’s ranch, inform him of what’s happened, then escort him to the M.E.’s office and see if he can identify the body.”

“Do you really think our floater is a Fortune?” she asked doubtfully.

He looked down his nose at her. “Until someone proves otherwise, that’s exactly what I think.”

One

Two months later

Andi Matthews was no stranger to murder. She’d focused her entire college career on studying the profiles of killers and perfecting the procedures for gathering the evidence needed to win convictions. For the past nine years she’d worked for the Red Rock Police Department, had personally investigated close to fifty murders and put nearly that same number of criminals behind bars. She knew how a murderer’s mind worked, what fueled their need to kill and what mistakes they might make that would lead to their arrests.

But she’d never considered committing murder herself.

Until today.

From the moment Chief Prater had assigned Gabe Thunderhawk to work with her to identify the body of the Lost Fortune—the tag given to the floater discovered at Lake Mondo—she’d known she was in for trouble. Everyone on the force knew that Gabe wanted a promotion to detective, and this was the perfect chance for him to prove he was qualified to handle the job.

Intellectually she understood what a boon the successful closing of the case would be to his career. Because of the crown-shaped birthmark on the floater’s right hip that linked the body with the Fortune family, solving the case would give him a level of publicity and notoriety that no other case could offer.

But understanding his motive in no way excused his behavior. Not in Andi’s opinion. She was the primary on this case and she was sick and tired of him working independently from her. They were supposed to be partners, a team, a fact that she intended to remind him of the moment he showed up…if he ever did.

She stopped her agitated pacing in front of the police station and shoved up the sleeve of her blazer to check the time. Her frown deepened, as she noted that he was now over thirty minutes late.

“Okay, Thunderhawk,” she muttered under her breath. “What are you up to now?”

While playing the possibilities through her mind, she recalled mentioning the day before that they should re-question the fishing guide who had found the body. Figuring Gabe had taken it upon himself to do the job alone—and upstaging her should he get lucky—she headed for her unmarked, city-issue Ford sedan.

The twenty-minute drive to Lake Mondo gave her ample time to work up a pretty good head of steam. By the time she arrived at Hook ’n Go, the bait shop where the fishing guide usually hung out, and found Gabe’s truck parked out front, she was a slash mark beyond the boiling point. Prepared to read him the riot act for his traitorous behavior the moment he showed his double-crossing face, she braced a hip against the hood of his truck, folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Her timing was perfect, as moments later the door of the bait shop opened and Gabe appeared. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he paused in the doorway, conversing with someone inside. He didn’t appear rushed or harried, a fact that grated on her already raw nerves, since he’d kept her cooling her heels for almost an hour. But Gabe never seemed to get in a hurry, a trait the guys on the force attributed to his Native American heritage. That same heritage was evidenced by his high slash of cheekbones, the bronze tint of his skin, his dark hair and eyes. Most women considered him drop-dead handsome. Normally Andi would’ve agreed.

Today she considered him nothing but a royal pain in the ass.

“I appreciate your time,” she heard him say to the person inside. “If you think of anything, you’ve got my card.” The slap of the screen door closing was followed by the scrape of his boot soles on the worn wooden steps as he headed for his truck.

When he spotted Andi, he slowed slightly, then strode on, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought we were supposed to meet at the station.”

“Oh, we were,” she replied, then pushed away from his truck, with a scowl, and leveled a warning finger at his nose. “Listen up, Thunderhawk, and listen good. Whether you like it or not, I’m the primary on this investigation, and nothing is done outside of my presence or without my prior knowledge, including interviewing individuals associated with this case.”

He held up a hand. “Now, wait a minute. You’re the one who said we should talk to the fishing guide again.”

“Yes, I did. But we didn’t talk to him, you did, and after being told repeatedly that we work as a team.” She narrowed an eye. “I’m warning you, Gabe, if you continue to undermine my authority, I’ll request that Chief Prater remove you from the case.”

He hitched his hands on his hips in frustration. “What is it with you, anyway? You act like I’m sneaking around behind your back.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“What I was trying to do was save us both some time.”

“And how did you plan to do that, when I’ve been sitting on my hands at the station for over an hour waiting for you?”

“My place is a couple of miles from here. I figured I’d stop by on my way into town, question the guide, then meet you at the station and report my findings. Is it my fault the fishing guide is a Chatty Cathy?”

Though his explanation made sense, she didn’t trust him. Not for a minute. This wasn’t the first time he’d struck out on his own without first discussing his plans with her. But to continue to debate his insubordination would be unproductive and a waste of more of her time.

She released a breath and, along with it, some of her anger. “All right,” she said, grudgingly. “But next time check with me first or I swear I’ll file a complaint with the chief.”

“Fine.”

Determined to focus her mind on the investigation and away from her irritation with her so-called partner, she asked, “Did the guide have anything new to say?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Same story he gave the day he found the body.”

She hadn’t expected the man would remember anything new. But after two months with no new leads on the case, there was nothing left to do but backtrack, in hopes of finding something they’d missed the first time through.

Frustrated by the lack of evidence they had to work with, she frowned at the lake that had regurgitated the Lost Fortune, washing its bloated body up on shore. Thanks to the southeasterly wind currently blowing, the lake’s surface was choppy. Not a fishing or pleasure boat in sight. A lone heron sailed low over the water, trolling for his next meal. The shoreline itself was empty of humanity, but dotted with litter. Aluminum cans, plastic bags and a length of frayed synthetic rope, probably discarded from some ski boat. It was a scavenger’s dream.

As she watched a wave wash the litter higher onto shore, an idea began to grow in her mind.

“What was the weather like the day before the body was discovered?”

He gave her an impatient look. “How the hell would I know?”

“If we can find out which direction the wind was blowing prior to the body being found, we might be able to pinpoint the area where it was dumped.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly, “and if we had a crystal ball we could probably look inside and see who dumped it.”

She burned him with a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

He turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” she asked in frustration.

“Inside,” he called over his shoulder. “Ten-to-one the owner of the bait shop keeps a weather journal.”

Kicking herself for not having thought of that herself, she watched Gabe walk toward the bait house—and wished she’d kept her eyes on the lake. Seeing his backside reminded her of the discussion she’d overheard in the women’s restroom that morning. Several of the female employees had decided that Gabe deserved the “Cutest Butt on the Force” award. She let her gaze slide to his hips. Even though she hadn’t offered a comment on the subject, she had to agree. He did have a fine-looking tush.

Unfortunately, his butt wasn’t his only outstanding feature. Wide shoulders; slim waist; muscled chest, arms and legs. He was the only man she knew who could make a department-issue khaki uniform look as if it was custom-tailored for him by Armani.

Too bad he’d let his physical attributes go to his head. He had an ego the size of Texas and was a playboy to boot. Two traits that, in her mind at least, nullified his finer points.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze to the lake and waited. To pass the time she counted the waves that rushed onto shore.

“Wind was from the northwest,” Gabe reported moments later as he rejoined her. “Gusts up to seventy-two miles per hour.”

She glanced at the sun, seeking a point of reference, then across the span of white-capped water toward the northwest quadrant of the lake. “Do you know what’s over there?”

“A few private homes, a public boat ramp and acres of undeveloped land.”

“I say we start with the public ramp,” she said and turned for her car.

He fell into step beside her. “We can take my truck.”

“No way. I value my life too much to climb into a vehicle with you behind the wheel.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding insulted. “There’s nothing wrong with my driving.” He stopped at the side of his truck and opened the passenger door. “Besides, my truck’s got four-wheel drive. Depending on how far you want to explore, we might need it.”

She hesitated a moment, considering, then heaved a sigh and climbed inside, knowing he was right.

“No speeding,” she warned as he slid behind the wheel. “And none of those fancy one-eighties they teach at the police academy.”

He put the truck in gear, shot her a grin, then spun the wheel and stomped on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires, they were headed in the opposite direction. Andi grabbed for the chicken bar above the passenger window and hung on, silently vowing to kill him later.

By the time they reached the turnoff for the boat ramp, her knuckles were white and her feet burned from pressing the imaginary brake on the floorboard. Thankfully, the road that led to the ramp was full of potholes, which forced him to slow down. It was also bordered by shoulder-high weeds and even taller cedars, the perfect cover for someone who had something—or someone—to hide. As they neared the lake, the road widened, with parking space available to both sides of a long, weathered dock.

As soon as he pulled to a stop, Andi opened her door and jumped to the ground. “Next time I drive,” she muttered irritably.

Gabe met her at the hood. “You shouldn’t have said anything about my driving. It was like a dare.” He lifted a brow and looked down his nose at her. “And I’ve never been able to walk away from a dare.”

“I’ll remember that in the future,” she said dryly, then pushed up her sleeves, eager to get to work. “Okay. Here’s how we’re going to play this. We’ll assume that the murder took place somewhere other than at the lake.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Mainly because none of the residents who live around the lake reported hearing gunshots.”

“He could have used a silencer.”

“True, but my gut tells me the murder took place somewhere else and the killer used the lake as a depository, hoping the body would never be discovered.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You’re the boss.”

“We’re also going to assume that the murderer dumped the body at night. Otherwise, he’d risk being seen.”

“I can buy that,” he agreed.

She stepped to the edge of the water and frowned as she studied the moss-covered concrete ramp that stretched beyond the surface. “So what would he do?” she asked, thinking aloud, as she tried to slip into the mind of the perp. “Back his vehicle to the edge, as if he was going to put a boat into the water, then dump the body?” She cut her gaze to the pier. “Or would he carry it onto the dock and drop it over the side?”

“Depends on his physical condition. If our perp is in good shape, he’d probably carry the body to the end of the dock. The water’s deeper there. It would also save him from getting wet.”

She nodded her agreement.

“There’s also the possibility that he used a boat,” he reminded her. “He could have concealed the body in the hull prior to driving to the lake, put in here at the ramp, then shoved the body overboard once he was far enough away from the shoreline to avoid detection.”

“Yes, but we’ve already checked with the owners of the boats known to be on the water that night. Each was aware of the others’ presence and all agreed that theirs were the only boats on the lake. All three owners were questioned individually and their stories matched.”

“Then we go with the theory that the murderer dumped the body from the dock or shore.”

“For now.” She turned away. “You check the shoreline. I’ll take the dock.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her. “Any evidence left behind would’ve washed away or been destroyed by now.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Though she could tell by his expression that he considered the search a waste of time, he didn’t offer any more arguments. Surprised that he was cooperating with her for a change, she headed for the dock.

As she stepped onto the weathered surface, the barrels that supported it pitched beneath her weight. She gave herself a moment to adjust to the rolling movement, then walked slowly to the opposite end, casting her gaze from side to side. Long strands of slimy-looking vegetation swayed beneath the surface of the murky water, tugged by the current. She stifled a shudder. She loved swimming, but preferred man-made pools with concrete bottoms and chlorine-treated water over lakes, with all their aquatic vegetation and muddy base.

At the end of the dock, she squatted down and looked over the edge, trying to imagine the murderer’s movements if he’d chosen this particular method to dispose of the body. Several feet beneath the water’s surface, she caught a glimpse of a scrap of fabric snagged on one of the support posts.

Though she knew the chances of the fabric being torn from Lost Fortune’s clothing were slim, she pushed up a sleeve and reached to retrieve it. Just short of touching the water, she jerked her hand back to fist against her thigh. She gulped as she stared into the murky water. She wasn’t a sissy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had a deathly fear of snakes, and water moccasins, one of Texas’s most poisonous snakes, made their homes in lakes and ponds.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced Gabe’s way, thinking she’d ask him to retrieve the piece of cloth.

But if she did, she knew she would be exposing her fear of snakes and setting herself up to be on the receiving end of practical jokes from not only Gabe, but every guy on the force. Rubber snakes in her desk. Curled on the seat of her car. Stuffed into her mail slot. The possibilities were endless.

With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged off her blazer, leaving her arms bare, then drew in a deep breath and thrust her hand into the water. She shuddered in revulsion as long strands of weeds brushed against her fingers and wound around her arm. The colorful bit of fabric swayed inches from her fingertips, and she leaned farther over, straining to reach it.

“Just a little bit more,” she encouraged under her breath.

She heard a sharp popping sound and, at the same moment, felt the plank beneath her right knee give way. She only had time to draw in one shocked breath before the board broke and she was pitched headfirst into the water.

As she plunged downward, vegetation grabbed at her and slapped at her face. In her mind, each tendril was a snake, slithering over her skin. She wanted to scream, but the thought of swallowing even a teaspoon of the vile water kept the sound lodged in her throat.

Fear had her kicking hard and fighting her way back to the top. As she broke through the surface, she released the scream that burned in her throat. Sobbing, she clawed at the slime that clung to her arms and chest, while trying to remain afloat.

Something hard and flat slammed against the top of her head—a pressure she realized was Gabe’s hand a split second before he shoved her down under the water. She came up sputtering and slapping at him, blinded by the water in her eyes.

“Andi!” he shouted. “Relax! I’ve got you.”

Before she could tell him she wasn’t drowning, he hooked an arm beneath her chin and began to drag her toward shore. Once on the bank, he released her, dumping her unceremoniously in the mud and moss on the concrete boat ramp.

He dropped down next to her and blew out a long breath. “Lucky thing I was here,” he said. “Otherwise you might’ve drowned.”

Sprawled in mud and slime, she pushed up to her elbows and scowled at his back. “I wasn’t drowning, you idiot.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Then why the scream?”

Embarrassed that he’d heard that, she sat up and brushed at the weeds that clung to her slacks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m scared of snakes,” she admitted reluctantly.

He stared a moment, then hooted a laugh. “Hell, if there was a snake within a mile of you, you would’ve scared it away with all that flapping around you were doing.”

“Oh, right,” she snapped irritably. “I forget. You’re an Indian. You probably would’ve killed it with your tomahawk and made a headband or something out of its skin.”

She knew immediately by the stiffening of his shoulders that she’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said with real regret. “I didn’t mean that.”

He pushed to his feet. “We better get out of these wet clothes.”

“Gabe, really. It was a stupid thing to say. I was just mad because I fell in the lake, and I took it out on you.”

“Forget it.” He offered her a hand. “Come on. Let’s go to my place and get cleaned up. I’ve got a washer and dryer.”

Though she’d have preferred a long soak in her own tub, the thought of the thirty-odd-minute drive back to town in muddy clothes made her reconsider. “All right,” she agreed and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “But I’m getting that piece of fabric off the post before I go anywhere.”

“I’ll get it.”

She knew she should insist upon retrieving it herself, to prove to him she wasn’t a coward. But the thought of going anywhere near that pier kept her lips sealed tight.

She watched him drop down on his stomach at the end of the pier and reach into the water. “Can you tell what it is?” she called as he pulled his arm out.

He stood and lifted the scrap of fabric for her to see. “Orange canvas from a life preserver. Judging by its rotted state, I’d say it’s been here for years.”

Her shoulders sagged in disappointment.

Another dead end.

Gabe seldom brought women to his house—and it wasn’t because he was ashamed of the place. The cedar-framed cabin might be rustic in design, but it had every modern convenience the tract homes in town offered, plus a few. It was owned by an elderly politician from Austin, who had used the place to entertain constituents and fellow legislators. Now that his failing health had bound him to a wheelchair, he no longer had need for the place and had leased it to Gabe. Since the deal they’d cut had included fishing rights to the lake on the property and hunting rights on the three thousand acres surrounding it, the cabin suited Gabe just fine.

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In The Arms Of The Law

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