Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) by Judith A. Jance Page B

growled back at her. “My grandparents are on their honeymoon. I expect them to be left undisturbed.”
    â€œThat remains to be seen,” Agent Dulles responded. “I’d like to speak to you in person at your convenience. We could do that in the privacy of your cabin, if you wish, or someplace more public if you’d prefer. I’m at your disposal.”
    Like hell you are! I thought. “Name your poison,” I told her.
    â€œHow about if I come to you, then,” she offered brightly. “It might be a little less awkward.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” I told her.
    â€œGood. I’ll be right there.”
    She was, too, in less than five minutes and without needing to be told where my cabin was. As soon as I opened the door and found her standing outside, I recognized her as someone I had seen before, although I couldn’t place her. She was tall and slender with wide-set gray eyes. Her hair, brunette with flecks of gold, was trimmed in one of those chiseled cuts where the back is cropped close to the skull and the front and sides swing free. I doubted a single hair on her head ever had nerve enough to be out of place.
    â€œMr. Beaumont?” she asked. “Or should I call you Beau?”
    Since she wanted to play the game as though we were old pals, I decided to string along. “Beau will be fine,” I agreed grudgingly, beckoning her into the room.
    â€œAnd I’m Rachel,” she returned, smiling and holding out her hand. It was while we were shaking hands that I noticed that her gray eyes, like her hair, also contained flecks of gold.
    â€œWon’t you have a seat?”
    She walked over to the sofa that was part of the junior suite’s sitting-room area. She was wearing one of those cruise-type pantsuits—dressed-up navy-blue sweats made of some kind of silky material with appliquéd anchors and other seafaring items sewn on in gold. As she walked away from me, however, I noticed the slight but distinctive bulge that revealed the presence of a small-of-back holster. She might be dressing the part, but Agent Dulles was no casually cruising tourist.
    She sat down, crossed her legs, and turned on a surprisingly warm smile. “You didn’t sound especially overjoyed to hear from me on the phone,” she said. “But I couldn’t be happier that you’re here. I’ve come to ask for your help.”
    I was thinking about everything Naomi had told me earlier in the afternoon—about her relationship with Harrison Featherman and about her last confrontational conversation with the missing Margaret. If Agent Dulles asked me questions about that, I would be obliged to answer even if the information I gave resulted in the investigation turning its microscopic focus on Naomi Pepper.
    â€œSue always spoke highly of you,” Rachel added.
    â€œSue?” I asked stupidly.
    â€œSue Danielson,” she returned. “Your former partner.”
    â€œYou knew her?”
    â€œYes, I knew her. You probably don’t remember me because there were so many other people at her funeral, but that’s where I met you. We were actually introduced. I saw you again at the Fallen Officers Memorial when you were there with Sue’s boys. That was a very nice thing to do, by the way, making sure they were able to attend.”
    So that’s where I had seen Rachel Dulles before—at Sue Danielson’s funeral. And that’s also why I hadn’t remembered her name. Funerals for murdered police officers bring together law-enforcement folks from all over the country, who attend in order to pay their respects. Those two separate events had been attended by hundreds of people, most of whom I hadn’t known personally. But I have to admit, hearing Sue’s name mentioned right then rocked me. I had come on this cruise hoping to escape my nightmarish memories, yet here she was cropping up in casual conversation.
    â€œHow did