"I need to report a murder."

     Murder?  Steed McGraw lost all interest in the file on a rash of convenience store robberies and turned his attention to the troubled female voice.  "Excuse me, ma'am?"  He waved over the statuesque, dark-haired beauty who seemed strangely familiar and a bit out of sorts.  "Did you say a murder?"

     "Yes, my best friend was murdered.  The officer at the front desk told me come on back.  Are you Detective McGraw?"

     Steed nodded as she approached, his train of thought centered on the knee-high skirt of her black halter dress and her shapely, seemingly endless mocha legs.  Stiletto heels added several inches to what he gathered to be nearly six feet of height, but she had no trouble keeping her curvaceous form upright as she closed the distance from the door to the empty chair in front of his desk. 

     She crossed her legs, exposing more of her gorgeous limbs to his female flesh-loving eyes, and eliciting reactions in his body that were anything but professional for an on-duty law enforcement agent.  Steed shook off his lust.  It was time to be a cop first and a man second. 

     He added the robbery file to the growing stack next to his computer and gave his complete, all-business attention to the upset woman.  "Your best friend was murdered?"

       "Yes."  She nodded.  "Somebody shot him."

     Him?  Why did so many beautiful women have male best friends?  Steed reached for a pen and his notepad. "What is the victim's name?"

    "Kenneth Warwick."

     Oh, boy.  Steed dropped his pen.  Even in September, with the countdown to fall well under way, that summer sun was doing its damndest.  That lady definitely had too much heat today.  Murder.  Sterling, like most growing small cities in the country, battled a rising drug problem, which led to more robberies and assaults, but the people here didn't kill each other, they just drew blood.  

Steed closed the pad and dragged his fingers through his hair.  After he explained things to this lady, getting a trim would be the next item on his ‘Things to Do' list.  The dismissal of one detective and the resignation of another over the last two months had left him carrying the workload alone, but a few minutes for the barbershop had to be found.  He had no desire to look like the brunette twin of that guy on the cover of romance novels. 

"Look, ma'am..." Steed began.

"Darci.  Darci Clarke."

Darci Clarke.  She was familiar.   The Sterling native who had made it big in New York with her hard-hitting journalistic approach and contributing reports for the high-rated TV magazine show "Heart of the Matter" and the network news.  In the nearly three years he'd lived in the town, he'd heard her name enough, but the pictures he'd seen around the local eateries, and even at Warwick's house, didn't do her justice. 

He'd spoken to her on the phone after Warwick's death.  Her upset had been obvious, and her information the same as Warwick's family, co-workers, and acquaintances--he was happy and everything seemed fine.  The man's funeral was today.  That would explain her being back in South Carolina, but it wouldn't explain her complaint.

"Ms. Clarke, Mr. Warwick's death was a suicide."

"Kenny wouldn't kill himself."

"According to the coroner and M.E. he would and did." Why a young, healthy man with financial success, scores of women, an incredible house, and no enemies to speak of would do himself in remained a mystery, but it wasn't Steed's job to read Warwick's mind.  He was an investigator, and he'd done that.  "Ma'am, Mr. Warwick shot himself in the head at point blank range.  I'm sorry, but this case is closed."

Darci sniffled.  "It shouldn't be."  She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her teary black pearl eyes.  "Something's not right here.  I know Kenny wouldn't kill himself.  This needs further investigation."

Steed winced.  He was never good with tears.   Making his way to the corner water cooler, he filled a small plastic cup and offered it to Darci.  "Here, take a drink of this." 

Their fingers brushed.  A strange fluttering, like a million butterflies juggling for space to expand their wings and take flight, filled his stomach.  Darci smelled of fresh summer peaches, with skin just as soft.  It took everything he had not to bury his head in her neck and inhale.  What was that strange fluttering about? And why was his body tingling?

Darci cleared her throat.  "Thank you," she said, taking a drink.

Her voice broke his reverie.  Since when did perfume and soft skin get him off track? Steed shook the cobwebs from his head and returned to his chair.  "You're welcome."

Darci's tongue brushed the glistening water droplets from her full lips. The weird tingling shot down his spine.  What was going on with him?

"When will you continue the investigation?" she asked.

Steed grimaced.  Maybe he should have offered her a shot from his private stash.  Jack Daniel's would probably do her more good than water.  And after his reaction just now, him, too.  "Ms. Clarke, I can see you're upset, and you have my deepest sympathies, but there's nothing more to investigate.  I am an investigator, and I have done just that.  I have been doing it for a lot of years."

"But--"

"Mr. Warwick was a television newsman.  He was a celebrity around here.  Not nearly as celebrated as you, but famous enough.  I gave his case the time it merited and then some.  If you look around," he jutted his head in the direction of the two empty desks along the front and side walls, "you'll notice things are a bit thin in the way of detective personnel.  I can't afford to waste time on a case that was practically solved the moment after it happened."

"I understand, but..."

"Look, I hate to be blunt, but your friend blew his brains out.  I'm waiting for final results from his autopsy, but cause of death is not in question.  The point of entry rules out anything other than self-infliction, his fingerprints were the only set on the gun, the gun was his, and powder residue was found on his hand. There were no signs of forced entry or foul play. It's pretty much open and shut.  My investigation and all reports confirm Mr. Warwick committed suicide."

Darci took another sip of the water and placed the cup on the desk.  "Then you and all the reports are wrong."

Steed sucked in a breath.  Now she was starting to irritate him.  "Ms. Clarke, what would you have me do differently?"

"I would have you find who killed my best friend."

Before he could comment, Jackson, the front desk officer a month into his rookie year, entered.  "Detective McGraw, the chief wants to see you," he said.

Steed welcomed the interruption, but this momentary reprieve from the gorgeous but pushy woman wouldn't keep him from giving Jackson a piece of his mind for sending her back here in the first place.  Find the killer of a man who committed suicide.  His time was too precious for this.

"I'll be right there." 

Jackson nodded and left. 

Steed gave Darci a tight smile.  "Sorry, I have to go."

"Fine." She crossed her legs and settled into the chair.  "I'll wait."