The Guardian Read Online Free PDF Page A

legs first. A black trench coat concealed his body, and there was a lot to conceal, well over six feet of it.
    Wide shoulders came into view. Then the rawboned face.
    Collar-length, jet-black hair was brushed straight back, revealing a widow’s peak that accentuated his sharp cheekbones. Tight lips rested above a pointed chin covered in dark stubble. The aquiline nose gave him a hawklike look. On the fat, balding, old-guy meter, he registered a flat zero.
    Their gazes held. She stared into his silver eyes, stark against thick black lashes. His eyes were cold, sheenless bits of granite, the color of that strange moon tonight. She couldn’t find one glimmer of human vulnerability in them. And they were too direct, too bold, hiding something behind them. Coupled with that deceptively smooth voice, he could be lethal around women.
    Fala managed to nod in answer to his question.
    â€œThanks. I owe you.” He strode up to her, his long legs moving with oiled grace, almost as if he were floating toward her. He paused and towered over her, his wide shoulders blocking her view of the woods—actually obstructing her whole field of vision. He reached for the coffee.
    Fala realized her fingers were digging into the cardboard holder. Before she could react, he steadied the holder, covering her hand. The heat of his palm seeped through her skin, the hot width of it penetrating her fingers, branding a path up the length of her arm. She wanted to jerk her hand back, but he held it tight as he reached for the cup.
    His head turned into the light and she noticed a faded scar that spread small talons over his right jaw. It added to the aloofness that oozed from him.
    He took the cup and finally released her hand. “Thanks.” His voice held too much warmth as he made direct eye contact.
    Fala stepped back from him, putting a good three feet of personal space between them. His nearness made her feel vulnerable somehow. She wasn’t one to lose her cool over a guy’s touch. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him as she found her voice. “You must be Agent Winter.”
    â€œThat’s right. You can call me Stephen, or Ice Storm.” He didn’t smile as he extended a long-fingered hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Detective.”
    She eyed the proffered hand. She wasn’t falling for that one again. She nodded uncomfortably, catching a hint of a ruthless sneer on Winter’s lips. Had he sensed the reaction she’d had to his touch? Clearly, he was messing with her.
    â€œLet’s skip the niceties. Why are we on this case?” she asked, meeting his gaze now that she stood a safe distance away.
    â€œBecause Senator Osgood Kent is involved, and my superiors thought you’d help solve it quicker.”
    â€œBefore the press gets wind of it, you mean.”
    Joe interrupted. “What’s the senator got to do with this?”
    Bergman picked up an evidence bag near his case and handed it to Joe as if answering the question. “We found this in a pocket of the jogging shorts.”
    Joe looked at the contents, then handed the evidence bag to her. She examined the small card-carrying case. Then she looked at Katrina Sanecki’s license, Senate ID card, and a twenty-dollar bill. No denying the girl’s beauty. Blonde, blue-eyed, dimpled smile, perfect teeth, tiny nose and flawless skin. But it didn’t explain anything. “Who is she?”
    Winter sipped the coffee, made a face as if it were too bitter for him, then said, “The senator’s aide.”
    â€œSo we’re assuming the vic is Sanecki?” Joe asked.
    Winter nodded.
    Fala asked, “How did the feds learn of the case so soon?”
    Winter angled a brow at her. “My department follows cases where the possibility of the public interest could be considerable.”
    â€œA nice way of saying it involves a U.S. senator, a vicious murder and a wealthy victim,” Fala said.
    â€œAll