Blood in the Ozarks

6. Hotel Hell

I finally made it to my hotel—a Hampton Inn right off the freeway with minimal scum in the bathtub and a continental breakfast guaranteed to be lukewarm in the morning. But as long as there was a bed with clean sheets, I wasn't too picky. I could probably even be swayed on the sheets if my day had been long enough, which this one was getting there.

After throwing my suitcase on the second double bed, I stripped off my jacket and threw my hair up in a no-mirror ponytail. What I really wanted was a hot bath and some takeout, but knowing my laptop was sitting there with dozens of files I needed to go through for the case not including the ones I would need to write up myself kept me from flipping on the TV and calling it a night.

I started to drag myself and my laptop on to the bed when my phone rang out in the silent room. I left the laptop open on the bed as I frantically searched for my phone. The ominous tune of "The Imperial March" sounded muffled as I tried to figure out which bag or pocket I had shoved the phone into before coming up the stairs.

I finally found the damn thing in the bottom of my suitcase, a logical place for anyone to keep their phone for easy access.

"This is Agent Ross." I got out hurriedly, hoping I had caught the call before it rolled to voicemail.

"Is this a bad time...agent?" A distinct baritone filled my ears and sent a wave of calm sailing down my back.

I smiled into the phone. "No, it's perfect timing. I just got to the hotel."

"Are you sure? You sound drained. Bad news with the Palafax thing?"

"Is it ever good news?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "I haven't seen the first body yet, but by the looks of the new one I have no fucking idea what could have done this."

"Hey now, is that any way to talk to your supervisor?"

"I don't know. Should I be sleeping with my supervisor?" I smiled coyly knowing what his reaction on the other end would be. Cian was always a professional. And he answered as if on cue.

"Ellery," he scolded. "This call could be monitored. Or even recorded."

"Wouldn't you be the one in charge of making that decision?" I asked already knowing the answer. Cian Harding was the Supervisory Special Agent in charge of the Classified Investigations Unit and subsequently my fiancé.

"There's only so much I can do around here." He gave a long sigh into the phone. Then lowered his voice. "It would be a lot easier if the department knew about us."

"They will soon," I assured him. "It's not like we can have a wedding without the entire Bureau knowing."

"I'm beginning to think that's what you're hoping for," he mumbled.

He didn't know it, but he was right. But I didn't need everyone I worked with in my business. Not again.

"I'm sorry," I apologized not for the first time. "You know why I don't want to tell people. You even agreed it was a good idea." Dating a colleague was never easy. But dating your supervisor was loads harder. I didn't really fear being asked to move units, but more so the amount of people who would talk. I worked hard for my career, and I didn't intend to fork it over without a fight. "We'll tell people soon. Besides, I don't know how else I would explain this massive ring to people."

I rooted around in the backpack I used to carry my laptop, and found the square, velvet box among several stray pens and notepads shoved into the eternal pits of the bag. Holding my phone between my cheek and shoulder, I carefully opened the box to reveal the sparkling emerald cut diamond.

He chuckled. "Plucked it from a case?"

"And never submitted it into evidence," I finished. "I'm sure my supervisor would let me get away with that."