Hatfield and McCoy, Page 2

  “What?”

  Hearing the single word explode in the FBI agent’s decidedly masculine voice, Julie winced.

  Apparently, he wasn’t very happy, either. He’d already heard about her, she realized. And he must have put two and two together and realized that she was the woman with whom he would be working.

  “What?” Again he said the word. It wasn’t a question. She was tempted to leap up and go striding into the chief’s office.

  Curiously, she was able to grant that he was an attractive man, despite his awful arrogance.

  It had only been seconds that she had really seen him with those dark glasses removed. And in that little bit of time before he had crossed into the inner offices, his eyes had touched upon her.

  They went well with his jaw.

  They were steel-gray eyes. Eyes as hard and rigid as the structure beams for a skyscraper, eyes that were truly gray, without a hint of blue. He had sandy blond close-cropped hair, a bronzed face with rugged, well-defined features, and curiously dark lashes and brows for the blondness of his hair.

  All in all, the combinations and contrasts created a very interesting face. And the face went well with the tall, taut, well-muscled body that could move with such startling ease and grace for its size. She’d barely heard his footsteps, but then she’d really only been aware of his eyes, those steel-gray eyes with their dark, probing ability.

  Suddenly his voice exploded again. “I don’t believe this! You want me to work with a witch of some sort? Me? Of all people. A voodoo priestess? That—that child out there!”

  Smile tiger, smile! she ordered herself. And she did so, grinning to Patty. “I really don’t think he’s pleased,” Julie murmured.

  Thirty-year-old Patty had a pleasantly pretty freckled face and light red hair that was swept up in a ponytail. She arched a brow at Julie’s words.

  “No, I don’t think so, either,” she murmured.

  Julie gritted her teeth. She’d come across the attitude often enough, and it barely disturbed her anymore. She’d controlled her temper, and she’d made herself credible by being entirely calm and dignified. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to make her feel quite so angry.

  “Arrogant bastard,” she said softly to Patty.

  “Oh, he’s really not that bad,” Patty said quickly.

  It was Julie’s turn to arch a brow.

  “Well, all right,” Patty responded. “He is a toughie. I really had no idea who the bureau was sending, but, yes, he is going to be tough. But the man is good, Julie. And he can be a real heartthrob when he wants. He sometimes has a smile that could melt rock, I swear it. And he’s good, Julie, so good. Thorough. So he growls a bit. When he isn’t growling—”

  “He’s probably trying to bite,” Julie interrupted.

  Patty laughed. “Okay, so he’s hardheaded and—”

  “Ruthless?” Julie suggested.

  “Well, there’s sort of a deep, dark mystery about the man, too. He’s originally from this area, but apparently he spent about ten years out in California. Something happened out there. I don’t know what it was. No one does. He doesn’t talk about himself.”

  “No,” Julie said. “He doesn’t talk at all. He just barks.”

  “But still,” Patty said with a sigh, “there’s something about him … I admit, my ticker has gone pitter-patter often enough over Robert—”

  “No! It’s absolutely out of the question!” Good old heartthrob Robert was spewing again.

  A quieter voice of reason must have spoken in the inner offices against the man’s tirade, but that voice of reason was apparently getting nowhere. The man’s argument was rising again, and Patty’s cheeks grew red as she stared at Julie. The man must know that he was being heard very clearly—by everyone.

  “It’s not out of the question!” Julie said firmly, her unsolicited reply in the outer office just as quiet as the man’s statement in the inner office had been forceful.

  “Not out of the question at all,” Julie continued, flashing a smile at Patty. “I was asked in. I’m staying. Even if it upsets Mr. Robert—” She broke off, looking at Patty with a frown. “What’s his name?”

  Patty opened her mouth to speak, then quickly paused. A long, “Oh!” escaped her.

  Julie stared at her blankly. “His name is Robert Oh?”

  “Oh! No, I mean, no, of course not,” Patty said quickly. “It’s just that …”

  “Well, what?” Julie tapped her long nails against the leather of her handbag.

  Patty suddenly smiled, then laughed. “His name is McCoy. Robert McCoy.”

  “Oh!” Julie said. And then her mouth curled into a smile, and she was laughing, too. “Well, maybe that just figures. Mr. Robert McCoy …” Her voice trailed away, then she added, “If he’s looking for a feud, Patty, he’s going to get one. I’m needed on this case, I know it, I feel it. And I’m here to stay.”

  The deep, thundering burst of a bald expletive came from the inner office. The hostility and anger behind it were enough to make Patty feel as if her red hair were standing on end at the base of her neck.

  But Julie Hatfield was undaunted. Small, delicate, with a fine, beautiful bone structure and the sweet face of an angel, she sat straight on her chair. She was almost regal with her sun-blond hair caught back from her face and swept into an elegant French braid. She appeared not to have heard Robert McCoy at all.

  But then Julie’s eyes touched Patty’s. Hazel eyes, they had the ability to glisten like gold. And they were glistening now.

  Patty smiled. Perhaps Mr. Robert McCoy did need to watch out this time around.

  Miss Hatfield was ready to do battle.

  Inside the chief’s office, Robert McCoy was prepared to go to war.

  He stared hard from Chief Pettigrew to his sergeant, Timothy Riker, still unable to believe what he had just heard.

  Timothy Riker, obviously dazed that he was between the chief and McCoy, looked up as a dark red flush stained his features. Robert was sorry to see Riker so uncomfortable—he was a good man, young and dedicated, but he should have known that what was going on would touch off Robert’s temper.

  It was all entirely unacceptable.

  Timothy cleared his throat. He was loyal to the death, trying to help out Petty.

  “Lieutenant McCoy—” Riker broke off. Steel-gray eyes were fixed mercilessly on him. Thankfully, the chief broke in.

  “Robert, these orders aren’t from me, and they aren’t from any of the local police stations involved. They came direct from your own office. Now, I do admit that we’ve worked with—”

  “This quack!” Robert McCoy said flatly.

  “She’s not a quack, honest, sir!” Riker piped. Then he was flushing again.

  Curious, Robert decided. It was obvious that Riker was fond of the woman, whoever she was. This Julie something. Ah, but that, my young man, Robert thought, is because of your very youth! A pretty face, a soft word …

  He fought to control his temper. If time wasn’t entirely of the essence, he might even have been amused, intrigued.

  No, he couldn’t be amused. Or intrigued. He’d met others like this woman before.

  He inhaled. Exhaled. That was the past. A closed door. He was going to be coolly amused. And more.

  Determined, even, to unmask this so-called psychic.

  And a child’s life was involved.

  He was good, a damned good investigative agent, and he knew it. His work was his life. He could find clues few other men would seek, and during the instances when he had been in direct contact with a kidnapper, he had been somewhat startled to realize that many of his long-ago psychology classes had paid off—he was capable of setting up a communication that could save a life.

  Maybe it wasn’t the psychology classes. Maybe it had just been life itself.

  Life was often a wicked, wicked teacher.

  None of that really mattered now. There were numerous local police stations involved in this region w
here the states of Virginia, West Virginia and Maryland came together in a grand cataclysm of nature. But he was the federal agent, and the man put in charge. Not that he was so much of a loner—he could work well with others. He had to. So many experts were needed, men who could comb woods, technicians who could magically read minute drops of blood and come up with incredible information. He needed others. Men and women who had some sense and could work with logic.

  Not some kind of a mystic quack!

  Chief Pettigrew, a man with bright blue eyes, graying hair, a salt and pepper beard and the look of a department-store Santa, sighed softly and tried once again. “Robert, give the girl a chance, eh? She’s been a tremendous help in other cases.”

  Robert McCoy was startled when his fist landed against the desk. “Time, Petty,” he said. “Time! There’s a little girl missing, Petty, an eight-year-old child. We just don’t have time to bring in a soothsayer!”

  Time had been important to him once before.

  Pettigrew stood, then sank back in his chair. Robert McCoy wasn’t a stranger called in to take charge of one of his cases. Robert was the son of one of Pettigrew’s oldest and dearest friends.

  He wasn’t going to be intimidated by the son of a friend, he assured himself.

  It was just that, well, McCoy was an intimidating man. Maybe he even had the right to be so furious about this call. And despite this dark display of temper, he was a damned good man, too, Petty knew, from past experience. McCoy was passionate about his work. And he was smart, smart as a whip. He’d studied criminal law in school and he had proven time and time again his ability to analyze the mind of a criminal. He could be a hard man, almost ruthless in the pursuit of his objectives.

  Especially since California. No matter how hard a man he appeared to be. No matter how silent. He had changed. And he was capable of being ruthless.

  But that was exactly why he had been called in on this case. A child’s life was at stake.

  Of course, it was exactly why Julie Hatfield had been called in on the case, too.

  “Robert!” Pettigrew leaned toward his towering blond friend. “We have nothing on this case. Nothing at all. We know that the girl disappeared from her own street, and that’s all we’ve got. That and the suspicion—” He broke off. They all knew what the suspicion was. There had been a similar case in a neighboring county not six months ago. A young woman had been abducted from her home. A ransom letter had come, and a ransom had been delivered. But the woman had not been returned.

  Julie Hatfield had been called in on that case. And she had found the young woman, barely in time, buried, but alive, in an old refrigerator upon the mountaintop.

  Six months before that, there had been another similar case. The young woman taken during that abduction had never been found.

  The kidnapper, assuming it was one and the same man—or woman—had struck again and was moving between state lines. And that was why Robert had been called in.

  “Robert,” Pettigrew said wearily. “We need Julie on this one. She can help. You just don’t know her.”

  McCoy ran his fingers through his hair and sank into an office chair beside Timothy Riker. Why was he so furious? Because working with this girl could take time? Yes, of course. He was also bone weary. He’d just returned from a sting in Florida, and he’d thought he’d have some time off. It was moving into late spring. The fish were jumping. His own little mountaintop was beckoning to him, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted some time off.

  And he was scared, too. He was always scared, though he never let it show. Dear Lord, it was always scary to hold someone’s life in your hands. And now, it was a child’s life, and more. The lives of her parents, her family, her friends. If she was lost forever, they would be, too. No one ever forgot the loss of a loved one. Ever.

  Ever.

  And he was mad, of course, that anyone could claim the things that the charlatan in the front office was pretending she could do.

  It could lead to nothing but false hope.

  Maybe worse.

  No one but God could see into the hearts and minds of other men. No one could see the pathetic remnants of a case gone bad except for those poor investigators sent out to retrieve the body.

  “It came down to us straight from the top, Robert. They say that we must use her on this one,” Pettigrew said very softly.

  Robert McCoy rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger.

  “How many hours now since the little girl was taken?”

  “Three,” Timothy Riker informed him quickly. “And we’ve had men and women out scouring the neighboring woods since the call came in.”

  “Three hours,” Robert mused. He glanced quickly at the chief. “And there’s no possibility that she just ran off with friends? That she saw something interesting—”

  “No, none at all. Tracy Nicholson is a very conscientious little girl. She never strayed at all. She would have never worried her mother so.”

  This had to be murder for old Petty, Robert thought, and he was sorry again for his outburst of temper. This was a small town, and Petty was friends with little Tracy’s parents, and with Tracy herself.

  “Signs of a struggle?” Robert said. He had to ask.

  Riker nodded. “Scuffs in the dirt right off the road. She was definitely taken, sir.”

  “We’ve had men combing the woods since.”

  Good and bad. If the little girl was near, she’d be found. And if not, well, valuable clues might have been trampled into oblivion.

  Riker cleared his throat again. “The child’s parents are waiting at their home.”

  Good Lord, he was wasting time here, McCoy realized unhappily. Damn.

  Swallow that temper, he warned himself, and swallow the past. It had all been so long ago now. So long. Still, it was hard.

  Hard when he knew his psychic was the soft and delicate blonde in the outer office. That dear, sweet young woman with the angelic face …

  And whiplash tongue.

  And wretched driving skills, to boot.

  “McCoy, I swear to you,” Petty said, “the orders did come straight from the top—”

  “Yes, yes, fine. Riker is right. Let’s get moving. Take me out to meet Miss What’s-her-name.”

  Petty, who had started to lead the way out of his office, paused suddenly and swung back. And despite the circumstances, he was grinning.

  “It’s Hatfield.”

  “Pardon?” McCoy said.

  “Her name.” Petty’s rheumy blue gaze surveyed him with a certain amusement. “Darned if I didn’t just realize it all myself. Hatfield. Her name is Julie Hatfield. Hell, McCoy, this isn’t your feud. The Hatfields and McCoys have been at it for decades, eh?”

  Hatfield. Her name was Hatfield.

  Hell, after everything else today, it just figured.

  He crunched his jaw into the most affable grin he could manage. Only his eyes were steam.

  “Excuse me, Petty.”

  He brushed past the old chief, letting the glasspaned door slam behind him as he strode quickly through the outer office.

  She saw him coming. She stood quickly.

  She was something. Petite, blond … cute. No, actually, she was beautiful. Her features were so fine, so perfectly chiseled. She was elegant. Even in jeans and a light knit sweater. And sneakers. There was still something elegant about her.

  And those eyes of hers. Almost golden. With such a wicked, wicked gleam.

  Two could play … And two could feud.

  She was smiling. A smile plastered into place, of course.

  His own grin could have been rubber.

  “Well, well, so we meet again,” he said softly.

  Don’t you dare think that you’ve won anything! he warned in silence, offering her his hand. She accepted it. His fingers curled over hers.

  “Yes, so we meet again,” she told him politely.

  And somehow, he sensed her silent reply.

  I did win the first b
attle, McCoy!

  His fingers tightened around hers. They were both still smiling.

  And old Petty was beaming away, thinking that his team was together at last.

  Subtly, McCoy pulled her a shade closer. His words were light. In jest. “So it’s to be Hatfield versus McCoy, eh?” he murmured.

  Her lashes, luxurious, long and honey dark, swept her cheeks. And her gaze was regal and sweet when her eyes met his again. All innocence.

  “Oh, no, sir. It’s to be Hatfield and McCoy, I believe.”

  Hatfield and McCoy …

  His grin was suddenly real.

  It just wasn’t meant to be.

  Chapter 2

  They left the station together, and as soon as they were outside, he headed toward his car. She quickly stated that she didn’t mind driving, but the force of his stride had her at the passenger door to his car before she could even complete the words. There was an incredibly firm touch to his hands as he—courteously?—helped her into the car, and an unshakable firmness to his quick, curt words. “I’ll drive.”

  If he wanted an obedient silence from her, he wasn’t going to get it. He might think she was a quack, but she’d come up against the attitude before. He might be as aggressive as a tiger when he chose, but she knew how to fight back.

  Politely.

  “Do you know where the house is?” she asked.

  “I have the address, yes, thank you.”

  “But do you know where the house is? The streets around here curve.”

  He glanced her way with his teeth nearly bared. “I know where I’m going!”

  She simply wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  This was a matter of life and death. They had to get along. And he had to learn that he had to listen to her.

  She leaned back. “Go straight down the road here, then make a left. It should be the third or fourth house in.”

  He glanced her way again. There was a steel sizzle to his eyes. It was electric. She nearly jumped from the power of that gaze.

  But she didn’t. She’d never let him know that he managed to nonplus her.

  Maybe his eyes shot silver bullets, but he didn’t ignore her directions. He turned the black Lincoln just as she had directed.