Lena Diaz - Smokies Special Agent

His eyes widened and he, too, stepped back, giving her more space. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His jaw tightened and his dark blue eyes looked down toward her side.

She followed his gaze and realized her left hand was balled into a fist and half-raised, as if she was going to slug him again. Her face flushed hot and she forced her fingers to uncurl. “Sorry. You...surprised me.”

“Like Kurt Vale surprised you up on the ridge? Right before you shot him?”

Her face grew hotter. “He had a gun.”

“The only gun I saw was in your hand.”

“That’s because you saw my gun first and assumed that I was the threat. You probably never looked at him after that. If you hadn’t attacked me, you’d have noticed that he was pulling out a weapon, too. A Glock 19, 9 mm.”

He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’d like to believe you. I really would. But it’s hard to support your story when only one gun was found—yours. A crime scene unit processed the scene. The evidence they collected where Vale was lying included bloody gauze and a broken cell phone. That’s it.”

“Broken?”

“From the fall. The phone fell out of his pocket. Hit some rocks on the ground beside him, which shattered the screen.”

“Why did it fall out, unless he was pulling something else out of his pocket and knocked it loose?”

His brows arched. “Like his hands? To hold them up and show you he was unarmed?”

She pressed her lips together.

He sighed. “Let’s take it step by step.” He motioned toward the table, which had a laptop sitting on it. Across from that were a bottle of water and a container of over-the-counter pain pills. Both were open, their caps lying on the table. “I imagine that shoulder’s hurting quite a bit. Why don’t you get some pain meds on board, before we officially start?”

“He had a gun,” she insisted.

“I’m sure you thought that he did.”

There was no judgment in his tone, no condemnation. Instead, he sounded surprisingly empathetic. Which of course meant that he was good at his job, good at defusing her anger, making her feel less defensive. Not because he cared about her or felt solidarity with a fellow law-enforcement officer, but because he wanted her in an agreeable mood so she’d answer his questions. She wanted to be angry at him for using interview tricks and techniques on her. Instead, she couldn’t help but admire him for it. If she was in his position, she’d do the exact same thing.

She stepped around him and sat in the chair with its back to the door. She figured she’d hear the door if someone opened it. And more important, she didn’t want to turn her back on Duncan, who was still standing by the window where she’d left him, watching her as if he was trying to figure her out. Fine. She’d just watch him right back.

Taking her time with the pills, she studied him from beneath her lashes. He was a handsome man, no denying that. He wasn’t much older than her, maybe thirty or so. His tanned face was a study in angles and hard edges a camera would love, made even more interesting by the combination of nearly jet-black hair and midnight-blue eyes. But it was his height—about six foot three—and those broad shoulders and toned, muscular body that made her hyperaware of her own small stature. If he was just a man, and she was just a woman, she’d have probably been excited and intrigued by his size and strength. But as a federal agent with her freedom and her career on the line, he intimidated her, which made her resentful.

Two long strides later, he was sitting across from her, pulling his laptop toward him. His gaze settled on her with an intensity that was unnerving. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. But from the skeptical look on his face, she didn’t think he believed her.

“Everything in here is recorded.” He waved toward the camera anchored near the ceiling on the wall to her left. “For your protection and mine.”

“I saw the camera as soon as I walked in. I assume someone is also watching us through the one-way glass in the top of the door behind me.”

“They could if they wanted. But I think Pops is more interested in finishing his reports so he can leave on time today.”

“Pops?”

“The only ranger in the office right now, the older guy, Oliver McAlister. We call him Pops because he’s been here longer than anyone else and treats us all like his kids.”

He smiled again, making her wonder if he was trying to put her at ease or whether he was one of those people who always seemed happy. Those kind of people got on her nerves and made her fingers itch for her gun. Not having its familiar weight on her hip made her feel naked and vulnerable, a feeling she didn’t like one bit.

“Please state your name and address for the video.”

“Remilyn Jordan.” She listed her street address. “Greenwood Village, Colorado.”

“Colorado? I thought you lived in Tennessee and worked out of the Knoxville field office.”

She shook her head. “I work in Denver. Johnson came over from the nearest field office, the one in Knoxville. But he’s not my regular boss. He’s my pseudoboss while I’m here under investigation.”

“Got it. Greenwood Village, Colorado. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”

“Outside of Denver, about an hour from Boulder, give or take.”

“I bet it’s beautiful there. Great mountain views of the Rockies.”

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded.

“But you decided to come here on vacation, to another mountain range.”

“Is that a question?”

He smiled again. “Before we go any further, I need to remind you about your rights.”

“We can skip that part. Pops Mirandized me on the way down the mountain.”

“I figured he had. But I still have to tell you your rights on camera. Like I said, for your protection and mine.”

Not seeing the point in arguing, she suffered through his recitation of the Miranda warning.

“Do you understand each of these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You have to say it,” he reminded her.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, I understand my rights. Yes, I’m willing to speak to you without a lawyer. Can we just talk this out and get it over with?”

The plastic water bottle crackled between her hands. She hadn’t even realized that she’d picked it up. She set it down.

“I can’t imagine you driving all the way here from Colorado. Did you fly in? Then rent a car while you’re in town?”

“Actually, no. I drove. As you’re well aware, I brought a weapon with me. Driving was easier than going through the headaches that declaring my weapon would require on a plane.”

“Especially since you’re here off duty, on vacation.”

“Exactly.”

He opened his laptop, typed for a moment. “Where are you staying?”

“A motel a few streets back from the main drag in Gatlinburg.” She told him the name.

“You’ve been in town how long?”

“A couple of days.”

“And what have you been doing every day while you’ve been here?”

She hesitated. How much should she reveal? Cooperating was her best chance at trying to avoid any charges. But would her purpose in being here help her, or hurt her?

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” he asked.

“I’ve been hiking trails in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, mainly the Appalachian Trail.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “The same reason anyone hikes, I suppose. To see nature, the beautiful scenery. To get away from the pressures of my job. The Smokies aren’t at all like the mountains back home. I wanted to see something different.”