Free Unseen by Nancy Bush Page A

a couple of summers after high school graduation.
    Will rarely wore a hat, and as he entered the building he ran his hands through his dark hair, pulling out rainwater. Indian summer had departed as if it were in a hurry to get somewhere else, and they were facing slanting rain, the kind normally reserved for late November and into winter.
    The reception desk was behind a wall of glass. Bulletproof glass, ever since one of the crazy meth-heads had come in and threatened with a gun. No more relaxed Mayberry offices after that.
    Will waved to Dot, the receptionist, who buzzed open a metal door. Behind it was a utilitarian hallway that led to the offices whose windows were not bulletproof, which only proved that governmental disposition of funds made no real sense and everything was management by crisis only.
    The shoulders of Will’s uniform were dark with rain and his shoes were soaked through so that he could feel a clamminess in his toes. Barb was seated at her desk, so her back was to the door; Will’s desk faced the entry. She swiveled when she heard him enter and her dark eyes gave him the once over.
    “Umbrellas not manly enough for you, Tanninger?”
    “Didn’t have one.”
    “Wouldn’t use it anyway,” she observed. “Or a hat.”
    “Rain’s gonna stop today,” Jimbo said as he walked by. James Sanchez, lean, mean, and full of swagger, worked Narcotics. His near-black hair was long and scruffy and his uniform was a pair of dirty jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt. He’d come from Portland on a task force and he’d stayed on. He played by big-city rules. The sheriff didn’t quite know what to do with him, but Jimbo could get the job done that others couldn’t. No one believed he was attached to the sheriff’s department. No one.
    Barb ignored him. “You’d rather just get rain running down the back of your neck,” she said to Will.
    The slant of her look as he rounded his desk was decidedly sexy. Will inwardly sighed. They’d worked together over a year before they’d gone out on their first of two dates, and it had been pleasant and uneventful. Barb was a flirt, but Will hadn’t really been interested. Then one night she’d walked into a pub where he sometimes stopped after work to grab a beer and a sandwich, and they’d ended up spending several hours together. He’d gotten the impression she wanted them both to head to her house afterward, and as a means to sidestep the problem, he’d invited her out to dinner the next Friday evening. That had been a mistake. From the frying pan to the fire. Barb had dressed for the occasion in a silky dress that showed off every bump and scoop of her trim body, and she’d swayed in her seat at the restaurant to the soft jazz. She’d wanted to dance but there thankfully was no dance floor. Will had extricated himself from the evening somewhat awkwardly. He’d taken her back to her condo and excused himself after one nightcap. She’d wanted him to kiss her and when it was clear he was uncomfortable with that, she’d gotten mad and snarky. He’d left in a hurry and she’d been pissed at him the whole next month. She had only softened up—at least sort of—after he’d told her he just couldn’t go there right now. He hadn’t given her a specific reason; there was none, really. He just wasn’t all that attracted to her. But he’d treated her fairly, and slowly her fury had turned to a low simmer. Now she teased and verbally jabbed him, a play for attention, but it was better than the anger. Some of the other guys shot him looks of amusement or fake sympathy, but so far there hadn’t been any remarks that would have resulted in Barb getting all furious with him again.
    “Hey, Burl knows your hit-and-run friend from Quarry,” Barb said. “He lives around that area. Gave us a whole rundown on the LaPorte family. Colorful. Very colorful.”
    Will grunted. His interest was piqued but he didn’t want to share that with Barb. She