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hours until she and Cole got things settled.
    Jackson had stepped back and allowed Marjorie to interview the players, since they were also her coworkers.
    He quickly noticed that while the people they spoke to all appeared to respect Marjorie, none of them seemed to be particularly close to her. She was apparently a loner who didn’t require friends.
    Jackson had tons of men he counted as close friends in past partners and at the Baton Rouge field office. Jackson wasn’t only considered a ladies’ man—he was a man’s man, as well.
    He was the first one to invite a crew over to his place for drinks and chips and dip during a football game, or get together a group to do some horseback riding at nearby stables or head to a firing range for a little impromptu competition.
    One thing had become increasingly clear to Jackson as the morning had gone on. Marjorie Clinton was one uptight woman. She smiled rarely and the few she sent his way were filled with either irritation or a strange curiosity, as if he were a species of animal she didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust.
    She intrigued him. He was interested to know her background, what made her who she was today. It was unusual for him to care enough to want to know that much about a woman.
    When they’d finally finished up with Amberly’s coworkers, he’d insisted they find a place where they could sit and eat lunch before beginning the next phase of interviews in Mystic Lake.
    “Don’t look so miserable,” he told her when they sat down across from each other in a booth in a nearby diner.
    “We could have just done drive-through on the way to Mystic Lake and saved some time,” she replied.
    Jackson opened a menu and shoved it toward her. “Mystic Lake will still be there whether we take ten minutes doing drive-through or half an hour actually sitting and eating.”
    “Don’t you feel any urgency?” she asked, leaning toward him, her green eyes shining brightly. Her lashes were long and dark brown and he noticed, not for the first time that day, that she smelled of the fresh scent of a fabric softener combined with a hint of wildflowers.
    “Ladybug, we’re past the point of urgency. Urgency should have happened Saturday or Sunday. I wonder how the burgers are here?” He shouldn’t be thinking about how good she smelled or the fact that he’d like to see a genuine smile from her directed at him.
    “Who cares? I have a case of two missing people, and a partner who only wants to know when his next meal is due.”
    “Do you have many friends?” he asked.
    She blinked twice and sat back. He knew she’d worked up a head of steam about taking the time out for lunch and probably was ticked off by the use of a pet name. His question had caught her off guard.
    Her cheeks dusted a beautiful pink. “Actually, no. I don’t have a lot of friends. I work all the overtime I can get and I spend my free time either sleeping or visiting with my mother.”
    “And your father?”
    She opened her menu and lowered her gaze. “He died when I was ten.”
    “I’m sorry. It must have been tough for you and your mother.”
    “We got by,” she replied, and still didn’t meet his gaze.
    “You’re more comfortable if we talk about the case?”
    He was rewarded with a flash of her eyes as she gazed up at him intently. “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately I don’t think this is tied to anything Amberly was currently working on. Nobody we spoke to indicated she was having problems with anyone.”
    They were interrupted by the arrival of a blonde waitress with large breasts and a name tag that read June. “Hey, sweet June bug, how about you get us a couple of burgers and fries,” he said.
    “And what would you like to drink?” She practically tittered the words as she blushed at Jackson.
    “I’ll take a diet cola,” Marjorie said stiffly.
    “And I’ll take a regular,” Jackson replied.
    As the waitress left the table with a swing of her hips, Marjorie shot him