The Shaman Part 2

"Why not?"

The restaurant was crowded. Charlie was a little surprised, considering the hour. She'd thought most small towns rolled up the sidewalks at dark.

She discovered when she crossed the threshold, with Dr. Bob's hand planted intrusively on her waist, that it was a combination restaurant/tavern and either the most popular one in town, or the only one in town. Bob guided her to an empty booth near the back and gestured toward the bench seat facing the wall. Charlie ignored him and took the seat facing the restaurant.

Smirking, he slipped into the seat beside her. Charlie gave him a look. "We'd be more comfortable, I think, if you sat on the other side."

He laughed, as if she'd told him a hilarious joke, but got up and moved to the other side. "Just checking."

Charlie smiled thinly. "Let's just keep this professional, shall we?"

His smile slipped a notch. "We're not working now. Relax. You might enjoy yourself."

"If I didn't have a rod up my a.s.s, you mean?" Charlie asked sweetly.

He laughed, a little too heartily to Charlie's notion.

She glanced around the tavern. Her heart skipped several beats when she spied Greywolf, lounging against the end of the bar, one foot hooked on the rung of the bar stool, the other leg splayed with only the heel of his boot against the floor. His arms were back, his elbows on the bar behind him.

He'd changed clothes-or rather put some on. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans and a western style shirt, open almost to the waist. The wear pattern on the jeans was almost as indecent as the small tear near the crotch. As she stared, mesmerized, at the tiny patch of flesh visible, wondering if it was his thigh or--something else, he reached down and adjusted himself with slow deliberation.

Charlie felt the neon glow return to her cheeks even as her gaze flew upward, encountering a smoldering glance of interest. She shifted her gaze abruptly to the clock on the wall just to the left of his shoulder, then looked down at her watch.

She seriously doubted he'd fall for it, but it was worth a try.

Dr. Bob, noticing her lack of attention, glanced around.

"So," she said, catching his attention once more. "What time do you think you'll have those samples ready for me?"

He shrugged. "Let's not talk shop. It's been a h.e.l.l of a day. What'll you have to drink?" he added as he spotted a waitress heading their way.

Charlie frowned. His evasiveness boded ill. She supposed his explanation for performing the autopsy without her was plausible. She didn't like it any better, but she couldn't accuse him of deliberately excluding her-even though she suspected he had. Now he didn't even want to discuss the samples she'd asked for.

So maybe he was tired and just didn't want to talk shop, but Charlie had the distinct feeling that she was going to arrive at the morgue in the morning to discover he'd 'forgotten'.

She looked up at the waitress. "Any chance of getting an iced tea?"

"You're not going to have a drink?" Bob asked, feigning horror.

Charlie smiled with an effort. "Not on an empty stomach ... maybe later."

"The booths are for the diners," the waitress pointed out at almost the same moment. "In that case, I guess we'll need menus," Charlie said, firmly suppressing the temptation toward biting sarcasm-shall we just guess what's available? Or can we look at a menu?

The waitress dragged a worn menu from the pocket of her ap.r.o.n and tossed it on the table, then scribbled on her note pad. "What're you having, Dr. Bob?" she asked, giving him a warm smile. He favored her with a predatory smile. "You--on toast?"

She giggled, slapping his hand. "What? You're not going to break my heart by telling me you're not available, are you?"

She smirked. "You know I'm married."

He made an attempt to look shattered and finally shrugged. "In that case, light beer, steak, potato and salad."

"How would you like that steak?" she asked, all business now.

"Just slap it on the a.s.s and cut me a piece off as it runs by."

She grinned. "Rare. And you, miss?"

Despite the nauseating by play, and a very frustrating day, Charlie found that she was starving. "I'll have a steak, too, medium well, please-and a salad."

The waitress nodded and moved away. Unable to resist, Charlie risked another glance toward Greywolf. There was a shapely young thing wedged between his sprawling thighs now. Greywolf's hands were each cupping an a.s.s cheek, snuggling her firmly against his groin. The faint smile on his lips, however, coupled with the fact that there wasn't a shred of pa.s.sion on his face, said 'bored'. Charlie studied her hands, frowning, wondering if she'd misread his expression. She had no idea what the girl looked like head on, but from the back she had a killer figure and absolutely 'to die for' hair. Sleek, and black as midnight, it hung in a cloud that just brushed her tiny waist.

A slight commotion drew her attention once more, and she looked up in time to see the girl thrust herself away and stalk off, her expression petulant.

There was nothing quite like throwing yourself at a man and being turned down.

When she glanced back at Greywolf, he was staring at her again, his expression brooding.

"You interested?"

Charlie glanced at the doctor. "What?"

He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. "I couldn't help but notice you seem mighty interested in John Greywolf."

"We had a minor dispute a little earlier over the crime ... the accident scene."

Bob's brows rose questioningly. Charlie shrugged. "He was burning something when I got there."

Bob chuckled. "Hoodou, voodou?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's the local witch doctor-the shaman. He was releasing the spirit of the dead."

Chapter Four.

"You're not serious."

He grinned but shrugged. "He is."

Charlie flicked a glance in Greywolf's direction again. Either the woman that had been hanging on him earlier had decided playing hard to get wasn't working for her, or another woman had decided to try her luck. The hair was shorter. This one was a little heavier, too.

Charlie frowned, staring down at her drink. No wonder the man was so obnoxious. He must have an ego the size of Texas the way the women around here threw themselves at him.

"He didn't tell you?"

"He didn't mention it, no."

"It's just as well you decided against arresting him. I doubt it would've gone over well with the locals. Particularly in a case like this."

"I don't let politics, local or otherwise, interfere with my job," Charlie said. "I didn't arrest him because I saw no reason to take him in for a slap on the wrist." She decided not to mention the fact that she'd also been in a hurry to get back for the autopsy. There was no point in emphasizing how totally p.i.s.sed off she was about that ... any more than she already had.

Their meal arrived. Dr. Bob used it as another excuse to flirt with the waitress, who, married or not, didn't seem to mind flirting back-and Charlie wasn't convinced it was purely for play. If she'd been a betting kind of person, she would've been willing to bet Dr. Bob saw his share of action around here. Not that she cared. Dr. Bob was personable enough, but he was a long way from irresistible ... given the current situation.

She supposed, if she was honest, she would have been very interested under other circ.u.mstances. He was, she realized, what she generally thought of as 'her type'-a well educated professional, clean cut, personable-and fair. Most women seemed to go for the 'tall, dark and handsome', but she had always leaned more toward the beach boy type, medium height, lean or preferably athletic, and blond.

She was short and tall men, particularly big and tall, didn't thrill her. They made her nervous as h.e.l.l.

Like the jerk at the bar that was currently fending off female number three. What did he do, anyway? Rub honey all over himself?

"You think he's serious about it?" she asked casually.

"Who?"

"Greywolf."

He shrugged. "I don't really know him that well. Could be. I get the impression that it's sort of a hereditary position, though, so maybe he does and maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's just keeping up the traditions. The natives are big on traditions."

Another mark in the deficit column for Dr. Bob. Given his obvious contempt for the red man, she had to wonder what he was doing working at a reservation clinic. "I take it you're not a big believer when it

comes to the paranormal?"

He chuckled. "I'm a doctor."

Charlie lifted her brows. "And this means...?"

"I don't have time for fairy tales."

Charlie said nothing, concentrating on her meal, which was surprisingly good.

"Don't tell me you believe in that voodou nonsense."

Charlie merely shrugged.

He chuckled. When she gave him a look, he stifled his amus.e.m.e.nt with an effort. "Seriously? This is a

side of you I wouldn't have pictured. Mysticism?"

Charlie frowned. "I like to think I'm open minded."

"That's a little off the charts though, isn't it?"

"So was a round world a blink of an eye ago."

He shook his head. "I guess everybody wants to believe there's still some magic in the world."

Charlie frowned. She didn't particularly want to get into a discussion of her beliefs. The sc.r.a.pe of a chair

distracted her and she looked up to discover Greywolf had sauntered across the bar and dragged up a chair. Setting it at the end of the table, he straddled it and propped his forearms on the back.

She felt her jaw go slack, wondering how she could've failed to notice him moving toward them.

If he'd been a felon, he would've had a bead on her now.

Dr. Bob, she saw, was giving him an a.s.sessing, not very friendly look.

"Mind if I join you?" Greywolf looked directly at her as he asked the question.