Native Born. Jenna Kernan

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       Chapter Six

      Clyne looked back to Field Agent Walker, who glared at him from the outer office, her eyes now glinting like sunlight on a blue gemstone. She held her navy parka in her lap, because he had not offered to hang it and wore a blazer, presumably a different one. One without a bullet hole in the back. Her drab gray button-up shirt did not quite hide the flak jacket beneath, and her practical lace-up nylon boots showed salt stains on the toes. Fully erect, she didn’t even reach Clyne’s chin. Her blond hair had again been yanked back into a severe ponytail but the March wind had tugged the side strands away and they now floated down about her pink face. If she were Swedish, he did not think her skin could be any paler. Outwardly, they were completely different, but they had one thing in common. They were both fighters. So why did his chest ache every time he forced himself to look at her?

      She seemed ready to spit nails. He lifted one of the fists he had been braced upon from his desk and motioned her forward as a Tai Chi master summoned his next challenger.

      Walker’s fine golden brow arched and her pointed chin dipped. He lowered his chin as well, as one ram does when preparing to butt heads with another. He thought he welcomed the fight, but her proximity raised a completely different kind of anticipation. He identified the curling tension of sexual desire and nearly groaned out loud. Not for this woman. No. Absolutely not.

      Her stride was staccato and devoid of any female wiles. So why was he breathing so fast?

      Now he noticed how her eyes seemed not quite sapphire, but more ocean blue and flashing like a thunderstorm.

      She marched into his office with her coat clutched at her left hip, leaving her gun hand free.

      “Just so we are clear,” said Clyne, “I haven’t changed my mind.”

      “Good afternoon to you, too, Councilman.”

      He ground his teeth. Something about her made him forget his manners. He had a reputation for charm but this woman stripped away that veneer like paint thinner on varnish. He felt about as enchanting as a prickly cactus. He glared at her, deciding if he should retreat, advance or return her greeting.

      “I don’t need protection,” he said.

      “I have a slug in my body armor that says otherwise.”

      “That was down there in your world.”

      She lifted a brow. “Well, I really don’t own the whole thing. I’m just a renter.”

      He scowled because if he didn’t he feared he might laugh.

      “So do you want to tell me if your problem is with my world, the FBI or just me?”

      “You don’t have that kind of time.”

      “Try me.” She folded her arms and braced against the door frame.

      “Well, let’s start with single white women adopting poor little Indian children.”

      She sucked in a breath as his first blow struck home. “I was married when we adopted our daughter.”

      That announcement set him back and he didn’t think he hid the surprise. Clyne quickly reevaluated. He’d assumed she was one of those career women who wanted it all and had decided that if she didn’t want the physical inconvenience of being pregnant, she could just buy a baby.

      “Was?” he said.

      FBI personal records were sealed. Even Gabe, the tribal police chief, could find very little information about her. That put him at a disadvantage here because she likely knew a great deal about him. Perhaps his brother was right. They should know what kind of a woman had raised their sister.

      Was she one of those modern women who thought life came as an all-you-could-eat buffet? Clyne knew better. Life was all about difficult choices.

      Should he press or drop it? He studied her body language, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle as she braced against the solid wooden frame. She was in full-out protective mode. But he was off balance now, fighting with a hand tied behind his back.

      “Yes, was,” she said.

      “So you are now unmarried?”

      She inclined her head like a queen consenting to give a response.

      “But you have sole custody. Jovanna’s only guardian?” asked Clyne, refusing to use the word parent as he considered the possibility of having to go through another custody battle with her husband.

      “Guardian? I’m her mother. And yes, I am her sole guardian.”

      “Then you should take a desk job,” he said. Her flashing eyes made it clear what she thought of his suggestion.

      “Risk СКАЧАТЬ