Shadow of Vengeance by Kristine Mason Page B

you did time.”
    “You have no idea,” she said, lowering her tone again and slowing her pace. She came to a halt in front of a door with Dr. Collin Stronach etched onto the clouded glass, then turned to him.  
    Her big green eyes held a hint of vulnerability as she drew in a shaky breath. He almost asked her if she wanted him to handle the interview, but remained silent. She was lead on this investigation. While he preferred her cosseted in the office, away from potential violence or the deadly results of some cases, several times he’d overheard Rachel ask Ian for a chance to work an investigation, and knew being in the field was important to her.
    “Let’s play nice with the professor,” she finally said.
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
    When she leaned toward him, he caught a hint of pink grapefruit, apples and…strangely, marshmallows. The combination made him want to linger outside the door, pull her close and find out if she tasted…
    “Bigfoot,” she whispered.
    The single word knocked the image of kissing a trail along Rachel’s slender neck from his mind. “Right.” He nodded. “I won’t make fun of him.”
    She gave the lapel of his coat a slight tug. “I would hope not. I was thinking more along the lines of the festival. If he’s running the Sasquatch show, we might need his cooperation.”
    “If we need his cooperation, we have the sheriff.”
    “Wouldn’t it be better to have the nutty professor on our side and avoid any possible issues that could hinder our investigation?” she asked, her tone coaxing, alluring.
    “Of course,” he said. He stared between her imploring eyes, her tempting lips, and her small hand tugging at his coat, wondering if maybe he’d been misreading Rachel all along. Maybe behind the sarcasm and insults, she harbored something—
    She quickly turned and rapped the door with her knuckle. Whatever spell she’d held over him broke.  
    As they waited for Stronach to answer, Owen realized he had to be as delusional as the Bigfoot-loving professor. There was nothing between Rachel and him except whatever he’d been concocting in his own mind. Still, he did enjoy the quick moment. For some reason, standing close to her, close enough he could have easily hauled her in for a kiss that would leave them both…
    Like déjà vu, a brief, fuzzy image swam through his head. Rachel looking up at him, her eyes on his mouth as he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.  
    The door opened, snapping him back to reality.
    “Ms. Davis, Mr. Malcolm, please come in,” a man in his early forties said, and motioned them toward a leather couch.
    “Thanks for taking time to meet with us, Dr. Stronach.” Rachel took a seat. “Please call me Rachel.”
    “Rachel,” the professor repeated. “Beautiful in form and countenance.”
    Owen remained standing and folded his arms across his chest. He shifted his gaze to Rachel, whose freckles were now indiscernible thanks to the pretty blush along her cheeks. She’d asked him to “play nice” with the professor, but if Dr. Dickhead continued down this path, things were going to become messy. Rachel was a professional, and deserved to be treated as such.
    “I’m sorry,” Stronach said with a nonchalant smile, and took the chair opposite the couch. “It’s a thing I do.”
    “Hitting on women, you mean,” Owen said, deciding, after the professor’s blasé excuse, he really couldn’t play nice after all.  
    “Owen, please,” Rachel said.
    “No, it’s okay,” the professor said. “Let me clarify. When I hear a name, I like to come up with the meaning. Rachel means beautiful in form and countenance, and aptly suits you.”
    “I thought it meant ‘ewe.’ At least that’s what Sister Margaret had told me in second grade.” With a lift of her shoulder, Rachel smiled. “Do Owen now.”
    Stronach adjusted his glasses, not the typical, thick, horn-rimmed glasses he’d expect from a nerdy professor, but stylish frames