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unnerved her, it was Sam. He unsettled her. Made her want to put up her guard, protect herself from the gorgeously refined black man who had her stomach in a twitter.
    When she hesitated, Sam grinned and dove in.
    “What do you say, Lieutenant? How about letting me tag along? Help you stave off the unwelcome overtures.”
    Annika reeled back. That did it. He’d made her decision for her. Raising her chin, she firmed her expression.
    “Thanks for the offer, Commander. But I’ve been staving off unwelcome overtures for most of my life. I’m good at it.”
    Sam pressed his lips together in a straight line and regarded her thoughtfully. It was clear that he’d inadvertently pressed one of her buttons, but Sam decided it was too late to pull back. Instead, he pressed forward.
    “I take it my overtures also fall in the ‘unwelcome’ category?”
    When she didn’t answer, Sam unwound his lanky frame from the chair and headed to the door.
    At the doorway, he turned and nodded.
    “Suit yourself, Lieutenant. Have a nice lunch.”
    Before Annika could respond, he was gone.

Chapter 4
    “Let me tell you, little lady. That policy I wrote up for Brennan Corcoran and that big fancy development of his is tighter than a tick on a hunting dog’s ass. And if you ever tried to pry off one of them suckers, you know it’s a lost cause.”
    Before Annika could tell the puffy-faced, red-nosed insurance agent that she had not had the ‘pleasure’ of picking off ticks from anyone’s ass, Owen Haggerty continued. “Nobody, including Brennan C. Corcoran, is gonna defraud my company using a policy I wrote.”
    Annika settled in her chair, assuming keen interest in what the unpleasant little man was saying. She’d learned that the less she said, the more these blowhards would fulminate and the more information she got. Haggerty was a caricature of a Northwoods redneck. Even if the way he was leering at her and adjusting the front of his pants was annoying as hell, at least she could add to her dictionary of colorful expressions.
    The pudgy man leaned back to give his gut room to splurge over the top of his belt.
    “Yep, good ole Brennan. You’d never know that stuffed shirt’s from around here. You’d think he growed up among them Boston elites. Hell no. He grew up next to the reservation with white trash poorer than the Injuns. That daddy of his? He made everything you’ve heard about Micks and how they got them red faces child’s play. But the way Brennan prances around here now? Hell, his nose’s stuck so high in the air, he could drown in a rainstorm if he ain’t careful.”
    He looked her over then wiped at the drop of spittle hovering in the corner of his mouth. He had the decency to acknowledge her frown.
    “Sorry, honey. I know I’m starin’ at you. But I ain’t never seen a fire inspector who looks like you. I—”
    Annika cut him off. “I understand. And, my name is Lt. Nilsson. Now if you would, please go back to the policy you wrote for Lakeside Estates….”
    Owen shrugged, then dove back into what was clearly one of his favorite subjects.
    “We fraud busters know the ins and outs of arson. Hell, I don’t have to tell you. Arson is big business. A quarter of all the fires in the USA is caused by arson. People burning their own houses down or payin’ someone else to do it. It’s a damn expensive crime, too. Costs all of us taxpaying saps more than a couple billion a year. That’s with a ‘b’, sweetheart! And you know how many torchers we catch?” Annika did know, but who was she to trouble this know-it- all with current statistics?
    “Hell. We’re lucky if we catch fifteen percent of them. And, convicting the assholes?” He barked a harsh laugh. “Given the criminal-coddling justice system we’re saddled with, we’re lucky to convict two per cent of the burners.”
    Annika broke into his rant, attempting to get him to focus. “Obviously if you can prove arson, your companies don’t pay out. But