"No.” Because they all got on extremely well. “And that's not what we're here to discuss."
"I guess not.” He sat at the table, and tackled his burger and fries with a gusto that suggested he hadn't eaten in a while.
Even though she was no less hungry, she ate at a slower pace. With the way tension was riding her body, she'd probably have indigestion if she gulped down food.
When he'd finished his burger and fries, he picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. Surprise flickered through his eyes at the taste of the aromatic liquid. “Decent coffee."
"A rare thing in this ranger station if you piss off our admin assistant,” she replied, tossing the last of her fries in the trash can. “So, are you going step away from this investigation or not?"
His smile was wolfish. “You'd love me to, wouldn't you?"
"Yes.” She returned his look steadily. “And isn't there some sort of protocol that prohibits an IIS officer from being intimately involved with a reservation's rangers during the course of an investigation?"
"It's one of those unwritten rules—and before you ask, I have inquired as to whether there is someone else to take over if problems arise."
Unwillingly, she remembered the thick hardness of him pressed against her groin. Problems had arisen, all right, but not quite in the manner he'd undoubtedly intimated. “And their answer?"
"They'll get back to me in the morning."
Hopefully, that answer would be that there was someone else. Someone who didn't make her body sing with desire. “What's the other problem you mentioned?"
He pushed away from the table and rose. “Hart, the third member of my team, called me this afternoon with the results of his own autopsy on the first victim. He found something the medical examiner didn't."
She raised her eyebrows. “What?"
"A sliver of paper inserted into the index finger of the victim's left hand."
"The finger that was offering the world a one finger salute?"
He nodded and began to pace back and forth. His steps bought him close to her end of the table, washing the scent of tangerine and desire across her senses as he turned and retreated. Something inside her trembled, and warmth fled south. In such a confined space, his energy and lusty masculine aroma were almost overwhelming. Temptation wasn't just rising, it was galloping towards her. Because of the moon. Because of her own treacherous hormones.
"Hart actually thought it might have been a sliver of wood when he first pulled it out.” His gaze caught hers briefly. “Miniature crosses had been inserted into the same finger of the original victims."
"I didn't know that."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't."
She let the maliciousness in his voice slide by. “What did the note say?"
"Vengeance tastes sweeter when the cooking is slow."
She raised her eyebrows. “So our nutter is poetic?"
"Apparently so."
"Jontee wasn't.” Crazier than a dog in heat, maybe, but not poetic.
His gaze speared her again. She sipped her coffee, trying to retain an air of indifference while the two halves of her soul raged a war as to whether it was better to run or seduce.
"Jontee McGuire is dead."
"You're sure of that?"
"Yes. I watched them bury him."
"Then tell me how this murderer is copying those murders so precisely?"
He stopped at her end of the table, placing his hands on the wooden surface as he leaned towards her. His scent swamped her, washing across her skin like a fire that was about to rage out of control. She wouldn't last another five minutes in his presence, let alone a couple of hours. Passion had always been a madness that flared to life between them as quickly as a summer storm, and in many ways, it was just as dangerous. Nothing this fierce, this powerful, could be without consequences, and she really had no intention of letting him stick around until those consequences were revealed.