“How long has it been?”
She looked at him steadily. “A while.”
He looked back and inclined his head. She could practically see the wheels turning. “So your time off wasn’t voluntary, then.”
“Who are you? The Pine Ridge version of Sherlock Holmes?” she shot back.
That earned her a full-fledged grin, and it set butterflies alight in her stomach. She told herself it was the coffee on top of the Jameson.
“Fine. I was put on administrative leave,” she said finally.
“Why?”
“I refused to sign off on a ruling. My supervisor didn’t find that acceptable.”
Patrick was quiet for a moment, the amused glint fading as he appeared to really think about what she’d said. Then, he nodded. “The ruling was wrong.”
Morgan stared at him. As much as she appreciated the assessment, he didn’t know enough about her to make a call like that, and sadly, her opinion of him went down a little. “And you’ve reached that conclusion how?”
“Like I said, I looked you up. And I’ve seen your notes. You’re detailed and thorough and base your observations on facts, not conjecture. That’s not the work of someone who refuses to sign things because she's being difficult.”
“No, I don’t,” she agreed, wondering exactly what information his research had uncovered.
“See? There you go.”
“And what else have your powers of deduction revealed to you, Sherlock?”
Rather than be offended, he said, “That you, like me, can’t just walk away from something that isn’t right.”
He was two for two. Either he reallywasgood at reading people, or he was a skilled manipulator, appealing to her core values.
She shrugged. “The evidence doesn't support the preliminary ruling as a medical event. Someone should be asking why.”
“Agreed. I was able to fill in some gaps,” Patrick said.
“How did you manage that?”
“Simple pattern recognition.” No ego, just fact. “You're good at reading scenes. I'm good at reading patterns.”
“I thought you were good at reading people.”
“That too. Same skill, different applications.”
She looked closer, as if she could read the truth in his striking blue eyes or that distracting half-smile. She might have to recalibrate her read of Patrick Callaghan. The charmi and easy confidence were still there, but they were sitting on top ofsomething more substantial—an intelligent mind that was even more attractive than his physical appearance.
She decided to reserve further judgement until she heard what he had to say. If he was simply posturing, it would become apparent soon enough.
“Okay. What do you know about the case?”
She didn’t think he would be as forthcoming as he was. He told her about the property records, the ownership history, the preliminary medical event ruling that didn't hold up under basic scrutiny, the missing persons search that had returned nothing.
Those were all things that had been brought up in the online sleuthing forum, which meant he really did have some skills beneath that easy smile.
“What was he doing at that campground?” she mused. “It is—was—privately owned. Not on any public campground maps.”
“Maybe he’d been there before.”
“If so, did he know that the campground was no longer operating, or was that something he discovered when he got there?” she mused aloud. “The absence of a vehicle is significant. How did he get there? What shape were his clothes in when he was found? Most importantly,whywas he there?”