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  He could see her relax just the slightest bit and knew he was on the right track with what she needed to hear: that Spangler’s actions were inexcusable.

  No contest, as far as Jon was concerned.

  He walked over and helped her lower the umbrella, which had reopened when she’d turned to talk to him. “Look, I’m sorry if I came across too strong a minute ago. But if you could take a few minutes out of your vacation to talk to Jasmine Houze, the victim, and see if there is anything you can help her remember, that would really be helpful.”

  Sherry looked at him and then quickly looked away. “Caroline told me none of the women had really gotten a look at the attacker. Is Ms. Houze any different?”

  Jon grimaced. “Based on preliminary reports and what she told the doctors, no. It doesn’t look like she got a good look at the rapist’s face.”

  Sherry began stuffing all her beach items into a large bag. “Then you don’t really need me. I can’t help you.”

  Jon tamped his irritation down again. “All I’m asking is for you to try. You’ve got an excellent track record with cases like these, and you’re a woman, which might make Ms. Houze more comfortable. Maybe she didn’t see her attacker’s face, but she might remember something. You’re our best shot.”

  She looked as though she was going to say something but then stopped. Jon frowned as she took the long-sleeved shirt from around her waist and put it on as if she were chilly.

  That would be fine if it wasn’t ninety degrees outside right now. Jon was already wiping sweat from his face, and he was in a short-sleeved shirt. She was actually buttoning hers up.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah. I just caught a little chill, that’s all.”

  Okay, that was odd. She’d been shivering yesterday at the hospital, too. Interesting. An illness?

  “Are you sick? Running a fever?”

  “No. I just...” She shrugged one delicate shoulder not hidden under her long shirt. “I just get cold sometimes.”

  Jon wanted to pursue it further, but now was the time to push about the interview, while her defenses were weakened.

  “Sherry, Ms. Houze needs you. There is no one else because of the licensing laws in Nueces County. If you don’t try, Frank Spangler is the next best option.”

  Jon didn’t say that there was no way that was going to happen, not with him here. But revealing that wouldn’t help his argument with Sherry.

  “I really can’t help you.” She huddled farther into her shirt.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “I’m just asking you to try. An hour of your time? If you can’t help after that, at least you tried. You didn’t sit here doing nothing.”

  There was a long pause as she looked at him. She seemed to huddle down farther into her shirt.

  “Okay, when?” she finally asked.

  “Right now would be best.” He didn’t want to give her a chance to change her mind or to decide to make other plans.

  She looked at him for another long, silent moment. “Fine, Agent Hatton. I will go and talk to the victim. I wouldn’t expect anything to come of it, if I were you.”

  Jon nodded. “Just try. That’s all I ask.”

  Chapter Six

  This was not going to be pretty, in any sense of the word. Sherry dropped all her beach items in the screened-in porch attached to the back of the house. She would worry about the beach stuff later. Right now she needed to take a quick shower and change.

  She was meeting Jon at the hospital. He’d offered her a ride, but after his pinball attitude toward her on the beach, Sherry knew driving herself was a better plan.

  Once he saw she wasn’t capable of drawing, she might be stranded in town if she rode with him.

  He was pretty much a jerk. Handsome, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, but still a jerk. And if he thought she didn’t know that he’d just handled her out there—pouring on his considerable charm and bright smile once the intimidation factor didn’t work—then he was well mistaken. She knew she’d been managed; it had happened enough times with her parents for her to recognize the pattern.

  The thing was, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to help out Jon or Jasmine Houze—what kind of unfeeling wretch would she be if that was the case?—but she didn’t even think she was capable.

  She would try. That was all she could do. All Agent Hatton had asked her to do. They’d see if he still felt that way when the pencil wouldn’t move because of her shivering.

  The thought brought on a bout of cold, despite the fact that she didn’t have the air-conditioning running anywhere in the house. Sherry headed to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, turning the water as hot as it could get without scalding her. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in there long enough to really get warm—that would take so long, Jon would be in here managing her again—but at least it took a little of the edge off, warming the outside of her body if not the inside.

  After her shower she dried her hair, which because of its thickness and length took a long time, but she knew better than to go out with it wet in a situation like this: if she got a chill, damp hair would just exacerbate it. She slipped on black jeans and a long-sleeved dark plum sweater and then pulled on her boots. After a touch of makeup—she wanted to look professional, for Jasmine Houze, not Jon Hatton—she grabbed her sketch pad and a set of pencils, and was out the door.

  The drive to the hospital went faster than Sherry would’ve liked. She focused on a number of different things: the traffic, the scenery, the number of pickup trucks she could count, anything to keep her from thinking about what was coming up. She didn’t want to be a shivering mess before she even set foot in the hospital.

  Sherry had made it through her last two cases with the cold seeming to permeate her. She could make it through questioning one woman who they suspected hadn’t seen anything. But, honestly, whether Jasmine had seen anything would be beside the point. Because either way, Sherry was going to have to walk with the poor woman through the worst day in her entire life.

  She sighed as a chill rushed through her. Count pickups now. She’d be dealing with monsters soon enough.

  As she found a parking place at the hospital, already having to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering, Sherry’s resolve was firm. She saw Jon standing by the door and she told him, with no holds barred, what was on her mind.

  “This one time, Agent Hatton,” she said. “I will talk to Ms. Houze today, but that’s it. I don’t want any further details about the case or the women involved, or anything. You’re going to need to find someone else.”

  His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but then he nodded. “Call me Jon. And I understand. You’re on vacation.”

  She was pretty sure he didn’t understand anything. That he thought she was a spoiled brat who didn’t care about anybody but herself. She could admit that bugged her, but she knew she had to take care of herself. Knew she had to find a way of getting past this coldness if she ever hoped to really work as a forensic artist again. Or at this point, to even be able to draw again ever.

  Not having her art in her life was not an acceptable compromise.

  A little warm, she pushed up her sleeves. At least talking to him had taken care of most of the chill. “That’s right, I’m on vacation.”

  Let the jerk think what he wanted. She brushed past him on her way indoors. She was actually relieved to feel the air-conditioning.

  “We need anything that Ms. Houze can give us,” Jon told her as they walked down the hall. She noticed he already knew most of the nurses. They waved to him and immediately began whispering to each other. No doubt about the tall, dark-haired, gorgeous agent hallowing their hallways.

  Let them have him.
/>   “Anything,” he repeated. “A full description of the perp’s face would, of course, be optimal. But anything at all would be helpful.”

  Sherry nodded. “You probably shouldn’t hope for too much.” From me or her.

  Jon grimaced. “I know you don’t want to know anything about the case. But we have nothing, Sherry. This guy is really smart. So when I say anything Ms. Houze remembers, I mean anything. No matter how small.”

  “I’ll do my best.” As they arrived at Jasmine’s door, Sherry explained how she worked. “I’m going to leave the door open, but I need you not to come inside. With a case like this, and especially after what happened yesterday with Spangler, it’s important for you to stay out. Allow me to build a rapport with her.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Even if you feel like it’s going too slowly or I’m asking questions that don’t pertain to the case, you still don’t get to butt in.”

  He looked a little affronted at that. Good. That was how she felt every time he muttered the word vacation.

  “What I do takes time, so I hope you brought a People magazine or something,” she continued.

  He rolled his eyes. “How about if I just listen out here and take notes? I don’t think a gossip magazine will be necessary.”

  “Fine. Just don’t interrupt unless it’s an emergency. No matter if you think I’m off target or missing something.”

  “I got it. No interruptions. Take as long as you need.”

  “She knows I’m coming, right? And that’s okay with her?” After what had happened yesterday, Sherry wouldn’t be surprised if the woman didn’t want to see anyone from law enforcement again.

  “Yes, we cleared it with her, although I think she is planning to have a family member in, just in case. I okayed it with the doctor, also, just before you got here.”

  “Fine.” She looked at him again. “Just don’t expect too much.”

  “Trust me.” Jon’s eyes were tight, frustrated. “Anything you can give us is better than where we are now.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  Sherry was afraid her best wasn’t going to be anywhere near enough. She straightened her shoulders and walked into the room. This wasn’t going to be pretty. But at least she wasn’t cold.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER Jon sat in the hallway outside Jasmine Houze’s door. Sherry was wrapping it up, he could tell. She and Jasmine were talking about insignificant things: shoes, sales at different stores, favorite place to grab a margarita.

  Really more than half of the time Sherry had spent with the woman had been used talking about seemingly insignificant things. Jon understood now why she had warned him not to interrupt. Obviously in the past she had been interrupted by people who thought she should be getting to the root of the issue—the actual drawing—more quickly.

  While Jon could see why someone might jump to that conclusion, he wouldn’t have interrupted today even if Sherry had never asked any questions about the attack. She very masterfully built a rapport with Jasmine. There had been nothing fake about it. Every question she had asked seemed sincere.

  Jon didn’t really know how well the woman could draw, but she could question a victim as well as, if not better than, many seasoned law-enforcement officers. Not just ones like Spangler who had no business being around victims. Sherry was excellent at what she did.

  No wonder her supervisor held her in such high regard. She had patience, sincerity and an easygoing manner. Jon could tell just from hearing her talk. She knew when to press and when to back off. She’d let Ms. Houze tell her story in pieces, as she was ready, not ever forcing it, but gently bringing her back around to the questioning when they got too far off track.

  What Sherry did with so much ease and naturalness couldn’t be taught. She had instincts that were right on. As someone who also had pretty good instincts where most people were concerned, Jon was able to recognize it easily in Sherry.

  Unfortunately, despite all of Sherry’s interviewing abilities, Jon knew without even seeing, there was nothing she would’ve been able to draw. Jasmine Houze never saw her attacker’s face and, despite Sherry cleverly questioning her from multiple different angles, never saw any distinguishing marks or any information that Sherry could’ve transferred onto paper in a way that would help them find the rapist.

  Sherry had listened to Jasmine talk about the attack—details about it that had made him wince, and knew it had to have affected Sherry, also. Listening to such horror, and then subtly asking the poor victim to repeat it, was difficult.

  For the first time Jon felt a little bad about how he’d mentally ripped into Sherry about the whole vacation thing. Her job as a forensic artist obviously was hard; that much was clear after listening to her for a couple of hours. No wonder she’d wanted a break from it for a little while as she was on vacation.

  Although he knew she didn’t want any more details about the case or to be involved in any way, after seeing how good she was today, Jon didn’t think there was any way he was going to be able to let her walk away. Maybe if she would be willing to talk to the other victims. Maybe one of them would remember something that could lead to a crack in the case.

  Hell, maybe Ms. Houze might still remember something. Talking to her again a few days from now would be customary in a case such as this.

  Sherry should really be the one to do that, since she’d already built the rapport with her. It would be easier for everyone involved.

  Except Sherry, of course.

  Jon winced. Perhaps he could get her vacation extended or something. Or—and this didn’t sit well with him, but he’d do it if he had to—maybe he could get her supervisor at the Bureau to put pressure on her to help with this case.

  Either way Jon knew he needed to keep Sherry on this case with him. No matter what he had to do to make that happen.

  He heard Sherry make her goodbyes to Jasmine and the two members of her family who had stayed in the room, wishing them all the best and promising that law enforcement was doing everything in its power to find the person responsible. Wishes and encouragement to stay strong. And to be sure to contact them if Jasmine thought of anything—even the smallest detail—she had forgotten before. To call anytime day or night. She even gave her personal number.

  These were things Jon would say if he was in there, but he knew his presence there would just be intrusive.

  Sherry backed out of the room, saying one last goodbye before pulling the door closed behind her, still facing it.

  “Hey, you did amazing work in there,” Jon said. “Honestly. I know she didn’t remember anything, but—”

  Jon cut himself off midsentence as Sherry turned to face him. Dear God, her lips were almost blue, her entire body completely tensed to keep from shaking.

  “Sherry, what the hell?” Jon reached for her as she took a shaky step.

  “I’m c-cold,” she said.

  “I see that. Is this one of your cold spells you were talking about?”

  She nodded. He wrapped an arm around her and led her to a bench across the hall. He sat, holding her as close as possible, trying to transfer some of his body heat.

  “Let me get one of the doctors to look at you.”

  “No, it’ll pass. I’ve already seen a doctor. It’s...” She trailed off. “It will pass.”

  “You’re sure you’re not sick?”

  “Not physically.” She tapped her head. “It’s all in here.”

  “I don’t really understand what you’re saying.” He was relieved to see her face was beginning to regain color and her shuddering was easing. They sat in silence for long moments as she gathered herself.

  “This is why I’m on vacation. For the past few months every time I’ve done any work at all as a f
orensic artist, I’ve been overcome by these cold spells.”

  “What did your doctor say about them?” he asked, keeping her pinned to his side.

  She looked away. “Well, I didn’t actually tell him about them. I just had him do a complete physical so I was sure I didn’t have a tumor or something. Since he deemed me in perfect health, yet I’m sometimes cold when it’s ninety degrees out, I figured it must be psychological.”

  Jon didn’t need to be a doctor to know what was going on here, and was sure her doctor could’ve figured it out if Sherry had given him all the information.

  Sherry was suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. He had seen it in more than a few of his closest friends at Omega over the years, to varying degrees and with different symptoms. Some not totally dissimilar from what Sherry was experiencing.

  Trauma affected the brain. Whether you experienced it firsthand or not, the brain could only take so much before it started taking measures to protect itself. Sherry’s mind was trying to stop her from doing further damage to her psyche.

  And the time she needed to heal was time Jon didn’t have.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days later, sitting next to Caroline on the beach, Sherry was still considering what Jon had said to her in the hospital hallway. That she was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress.

  Sherry had never even considered that; had thought that was only something that people who’d been in the military went through. After some research she realized she’d been wrong. Anybody who had experienced or witnessed a traumatic event could suffer from it.

  Sherry was positive she didn’t have PTSD. That was a serious, very real disorder that affected thousands of people, and she didn’t want to take away from the very real trauma sufferers had gone through by comparing her situation to theirs.

  But it gave her a starting place about what the heck was going on with her. A reassurance that she wasn’t going crazy, but just needed to find some better coping mechanisms when it came to her job.