Murder Mix-Up. Lisa Phillips

turned to the sheriff then. “Want to tell me again how you were being helpful?”

      Three other agents had drawn up around them. Ball caps, with NCIS on the front. Office attire and rain jackets, badges and guns. All of them had protective stances. They’d go to battle for this woman, their boss. And the local sheriff ranked about as high in their estimation as a stinkbug.

      Declan looked at the dead body again. Relief swept through him once more, quickly followed by that grief. Someone had died. It just hadn’t been his brother. The sorrow he’d nursed since that phone call early this morning was still there.

      I’m sorry for your loss had to be said. But to who? The next of kin wasn’t here. It was supposed to be him.

      He caught her dark-brown gaze. Her hair hung past her shoulders, layered curls in different shades of brown. Her clothes were professional, but not so stuffy-looking that she didn’t seem completely at home out here in the mountains. The woman was an enigma for sure—and he hadn’t been that curious about a woman for a long time. Not that he allowed himself to dwell on it long enough to do more than register the feeling. She was not a mystery he planned on solving.

      Declan’s head was too full of work. Being a Secret Service agent on the president’s detail was taxing to the extreme. A killer schedule. Long days. He didn’t know how the man kept going for that long, and it pushed them all to keep up with him. Considering they were the best of the best of federal agents, that only made him respect the president all the more.

      She said, “I apologize for the fact you had to come all the way out here.”

      Declan nodded. “Thank you.” And he was sincere. He really did appreciate her apology.

      The medical examiner and his assistant pushed the stretcher to their van, and the sheriff followed along behind. Which left Declan with the four NCIS agents.

      The woman in charge glanced at her team. “You guys head back. I’ll follow shortly.”

      The redhead and the younger man started walking in the direction of the vehicles. The third NCIS agent teammate said, “Boss?”

      “I’m good, Lenny.”

      Declan could appreciate the guy not wanting to leave a woman alone with an unknown man. She was also this Lenny’s boss, so he respected her answer. But the look he shot Declan spoke clearly that he didn’t like the idea.

      “Like I said—” She shot him a professional smile. “—I’m sorry you got dragged all the way across the country.”

      Declan shrugged. “We might not be super close, but he’s family.”

      “And now we’ve wasted your time.”

      Maybe not. “I have a few days off. I’d like to know who this man was, carrying my brother’s ID.”

      “He probably had it made recently, considering the photo is of our victim but the name is your brother’s.” She pulled her phone out. “You have a contact number for him?”

      “I...usually just email him.” He gave her the address, and she typed it into her phone.

      “We’ll figure it out.”

      He stuck his hand out. “I’m Declan Stringer.”

      “Secret Service, I know. Again, I’m sorry the sheriff wasted your time.” She put her hand in his and they shook, his cold hand to her wool glove. “I’m Portia Finch.”

      “NCIS Special Agent, I know.” He couldn’t help the smile. “And thank you for apologizing, I really do appreciate it.”

      She nodded, and a smile curled one corner of her lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Declan. Despite the circumstances.”

      “I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. I mean, I am, but someone is still dead.”

      “I’ll keep you apprised of what I find out.” Portia pulled a card from the inside pocket of her coat and handed it to him. Office number. Email address. Cell phone.

      He’d rather stick around and see what they learned than be filled in later. “Thanks.” He managed to get the word out, even while he decided it was just professional courtesy.

      She wasn’t giving him her number for any other reason, either. Despite the first flicker of what he recognized as attraction on his part.

      Just a little zing. Could be more. Was he going to find out? No. Declan didn’t need the added complication of a relationship when he was facing some unsettling feelings about the toll his job was taking on him. He had four days off, and a decision to make. One that had to be all about him and what he wanted for the future. It didn’t need to be about a cute brunette with serious eyes, who was just doing her job.

      The medical examiner’s van pulled away, followed by the sheriff’s Jeep. Her teammates took a little longer, idling for a minute in their car before they trailed after the others. That left his rental and her car.

      “Time to head out?”

      Portia Finch nodded. “Two-hour drive back to the office, then a whole lot of work to do to sort out this mess.” Her gaze snagged on something over his shoulder. “I—”

      Before he could ask her what it was, shots rang out.

       TWO

      A bullet smacked the tree beside her. Portia ducked and rushed to another tree for cover, whispering a prayer for protection. Where that inclination came from, she didn’t know. And now wasn’t the time to figure out why she was praying after so long.

      She scanned the area and searched for the shooter. Declan had found a tree ten feet from her and huddled behind it, his gun held in a loose aim. Ready. She could appreciate a competent man she didn’t have to coddle.

      The next shot hit the tree beside him.

      Not good, but it gave her an approximate location for the shooter. Portia raced toward the origin, moving in an arc that would put her on his right flank. Another shot rang out in Declan’s direction and she heard him return fire.

      She caught sight of their assailant then. Dark blue jacket. Ball cap. Caucasian. Forties, maybe. She couldn’t get a good enough look at his face.

      “Drop the gun!”

      He swung it toward her.

      Portia fired, then dived. Forced to hit the ground as the shooter did the same. She heard his muffled cry of pained alarm, then footsteps cracking branches and shifting leaves. She’d hit him.

      “Portia!” Declan raced toward her while the shooter got away. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine. Go get him!” Nothing bruised but her ego, she stood and brushed leaves from her behind while she ran after him.

      An engine fired up, and what sounded like a diesel truck roared away.

      “He got away.”

      Like she couldn’t see that for herself? “I don’t suppose you managed to see a license plate?”

      Declan shook his head. “Tan truck. Chevy.”

      “Older model, diesel.”

      His eyebrows lifted.

      Portia shrugged one shoulder and headed for her car. “It chugged a little before the engine turned over. Could just be cold, but more likely he has a clogged fuel filter.”

      Silence. “He was holding his shoulder. I think you hit him.”

      She nodded. Listened to his footsteps bringing up the rear. Shame this wasn’t a leisurely hike through the park. Not that she did anything in a leisurely way, but she enjoyed recreation. So long as no one pestered her with comments or questions, she could