"So, you're going to just...start over? Completely trash Rogers' entire investigation?" Cole asked, his brows drawn together as he studied her.

Tessa nodded her affirmation. "If Rogers decided one lead wasn't worth following, there could be other leads that he ignored, too. I can't trust his work."

Cole's eyes narrowed for a moment as he weighed her words. "I'm game. And you're right. Rogers might have compromised the entire case.  And he should know better. I mean, by damn!  He's a twelve year veteran of this office!"

This very situation happened in police work every day, unfortunately. Detectives were swamped with cases, the hours were long and tedious, and a human mind could only take so much before it just tired out and gave up. When that happened, bad decisions could be made.

Of course, some detectives were simply bad at their jobs. Law officers were just regular people, after all. They weren't super human. They were showing up at the office so they could get a paycheck and pay the bills and that was how they treated the job. Like a paycheck.

Looking away from Cole and back down to the file in front of her, she flipped to the next photograph in the stack, finding a picture of everything that had been inside Hallie Whitmore's purse, all neatly laid out on a stainless steel table. The next couple of snaps were close ups of those items, so they could be documented and cataloged into evidence.

Surveying the items, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. There was a wallet, opened to reveal credit cards and a driver's license, a sizable amount of cash in a variety of denominations, hair brush, a foldable hand held fan with a cheap pink tassel, a fancy gold compact and matching tube of lipstick, cell phone, a charger cord, stray tissues...

It seemed that other than the body of Hallie Whitmore, there really was nothing of any worth inside the car. So, it was time to put that aside for a while.

"Here you go, Tessa," Zeb spoke as he wheeled himself up to her desk and held a file folder out toward her. "We have the pictures of Etienne Montrose and everything I could find on her, which wasn't more than her address and a single speeding ticket from three years ago."

Closing the Whitmore file and placing it onto the stack beside her, she took the one being offered, opening it to find herself looking down at a slightly dim and grainy picture of a man and woman, taken from some yards away. Despite the distance and the fact that it was taken at night, she could clearly make out Mr. Nathan Rutherford, who was standing with a young woman, his finger pointed at her, mere inches away from her face.

The next photo showed Nathan Rutherford with his hands clamped down onto the young woman's upper arms and he was leaning down toward her, almost nose to nose with her, his mouth open as he raged. However, though he was blatantly angry, the young woman on the receiving end didn't appear to terribly afraid. In fact, though the dark haired woman was captured only in profile, she seemed rather stoic.

She wasn't screaming back. She was visibly upset. She didn't even seem to be trying to get away. Instead, Etienne Montrose was standing stock still, her expression neutral, despite having a towering man clutching her arms and screaming in her face.

It was a very strange reaction.

"I can't get a cell number for Etty Montrose, but the DMV has her current address. 1600 Manor Road," Zeb stated.

"That's over in The Flats," Cole put in. "She's one of the pipeline Montroses?"

"Yes. She's the granddaughter of Charles and Merle Montrose, the founders of Southwestern Enterprise Products, which owns fifty thousand miles of natural gas, oil, and petrochemical pipelines," Zeb explained, gearing his explanation toward Tessa.

She knew nothing about oil pipelines, but she knew that a family who owned something like that surely didn't have much to worry about. "What does Nathan Rutherford do for a living?"

"He works for his father's luxury real estate development firm," Zeb supplied.

"Real estate firm?" she repeated. "Hallie Whitmore was from an oil family and Etty Montrose is from a pipeline family? Isn't there a wealth gap there?"

Cole made a sound in the back of his throat. "I'd say."

"Compared to most people, Rutherford's family is wealthy.  But, the Whitmore and Montrose families are just plain old filthy rich," Zeb quantified.

"Why? Does that raise any flags for you?" queried Cole.

Tessa shook her head. "Not really. I'm just wondering why two filthy rich women would want anything to do with a man who isn't as filthy rich as they are."

Cole lifted a brow and grinned crookedly. "Well, Ms. Stark, I've heard that a woman's heart is a fickle thing. I've also heard there's no accounting for taste. Add those things together and you get something that makes absolutely no sense and that you'll probably never figure out."

She actually couldn't disagree. "So, where are we on the meeting with Rutherford? Still not answering his phone?"

"No, ma'am. I've been trying all morning," Zeb stated. "I tried the lawyer's office twice, also, but the receptionist put me on hold both times and never got back to me."

"Welp, how do you feel about some good, old fashioned foot work, Special Detective Stark?" Cole inquired.

"I'm thinking it probably won't get us very far, but let's hit the bricks," she told the man, closing the folder and adding it to the stack. "Will you keep these handy, Zeb? Just to compare notes, if I need to?"

"Yes, ma'am," came the response. "Call me if you need me."

She and Cole both got to their feet at the same time, Cole straightening his shoulder holster while she went for her messenger bag. On this day, he wasn't in his shirt sleeves, but instead a dark blue tee shirt that showed off his sizable biceps and lean waist, which made her feel a bit less unprofessional in her tank top. Though, no matter how it looked, it was just too damned hot to worry about it overly much. Harris County was lucky she was still choosing to wear jeans instead of opting for shorts.

"I'll drive," stated Cole as he began leading the way across the gallery and toward the exit at the back.

Through that glass door, they stepped out into the mid-morning sunshine, as well as a wall of prickling heat, and headed through the maze of vehicles that made up the municipal lot. Reaching his jeep, they belted in and drove through the automatic security gate, merging with the stream of traffic filling the street.

"He more than likely won't speak with us," said Cole, breaking the span of silence that had stretched out between them. "We'll probably have to start harassing lawyers, banging on his mommy's door...basically just making a nuisance out of ourselves."

"I can do that," she declared.

She'd dog Nathan Rutherford's every step, day and night, if that's what it took to wear him down enough to agree to sit and talk with her. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, though. It didn't stand in every case, but people tended to have a different reaction to her than they had to other law officers. Especially when those people were men.  Her previous interaction with Senator Richard Whitmore not withstanding.

Typically, given her small stature and her better than decent looks, men were caught off guard. Rather than regarding her as a threatening authority figure, they tended to minimize and undervalue her badge and gun and focus on the fact that she was an attractive woman. Some men wanted to humor her, almost as if they were simply allowing her to play pretend with them. Some men wanted to puff out their chests and come to her aid, hoping to give her some piece of useful information that might help her...and help her to remember them later. And some men, even the guilty ones, just wanted to sit and talk to her for as long as possible, even if they had nothing useful to say. But, no matter their reactions, they nearly always agreed to allow her to question them. So, with any luck, Nathan Rutherford would fall into one of those categories and make it easier on all of them.

"You've already seen the back way to the Rutherford place. So, I'll take you through town this time," said Cole as they braked for a red light and she nodded her agreement.

This time, the trek took them slap through the city, nearly from one end to the other, it seemed, and due to the heavy traffic most of the way, the drive took over an hour, as opposed to the first trip, which had taken only thirty minutes or so. By the time they entered the South Southwest neighborhood, she didn't wonder why a person might prefer to drive out through the desert to get to and from home.

South Southwest was a small enclave of fine homes, these more contemporary in nature, meant to blend into the landscape rather than stand out against it. The homes had very angular planes and lines and contained more windows than actual walls. It was a very upper class, neuro-surgeon, high end divorce attorney type of neighborhood that rather put her off for some reason.

They drove through the quiet streets for a while and then Cole turned them down a street running to the right, and several miles along that road, they found themselves facing the wide expanse of open desert. And there, looming just in the distance, was a hulking structure that happened to be the only thing in sight.

As they drew closer and the full of view of the house broke, Tessa found herself trying not to gape. The house—if it could be called a house—was a huge three story behemoth constructed of glass and stone, with varying levels of flat rooftop, and two giant stone columns supporting a drive under portico. Placed a few yards away from the house was a patio area, dotted with furniture and umbrellas, and a glistening swimming pool with a large waterfall at one end. The guest house was situated a stone's throw behind the main house and was an exact replica, only smaller in scale.

Taking in the property, it reminded her more of a fancy resort than an actual home and for a brief instant, she found herself feeling oddly out of her depth. Her work usually did not involve standing toe to toe with dizzyingly wealthy people who lived in literal glass houses.

"Looks like its our lucky day. We happened right up onto Mr. Nathan Rutherford," Cole pointed out, hitching his thumb toward the pool.

Glancing that way, her gaze landed on the form of a person emerging from the pool and heading across the patio, a trail of water sluicing along behind him, his...completely bare flesh...on display.

"How do you want to play this?" questioned Cole as he braked to a stop on the side of the road and threw the jeep into park.

Tessa smoothed her hands over her hair and unbelted, sliding to the ground. "There's a naked man over there, who's probably not expecting company.  So, why don't you hang back a ways?"

"You'll get no argument from me," was Cole's riposte as he left his seat.

Rounding the front of the vehicle, Tessa started forward across the property, Cole lingering several feet behind. Crossing the sweep of hard packed earth that was scattered with clusters of massive succulents and decorative grasses, she kept her eyes fixed on the young man who'd made his way to a lounge chair, stretching out on it and resting his hands behind his head as he watched them approach.

Reaching the stone patio—and really, really trying to ignore the blissful sound of the waterfall splashing down into the pool—she made her way across the expanse and over to the lounge chair, making sure to keep an affable expression on her face.

"Mr. Nathan Rutherford?" she asked the stark naked man, who was looking up at her with something of a brash air.

"Maybe. Who are you?" the young man returned as his large, sparkling green eyes swept up and down her, landing for a split second on the badge at her waist, before then moving upward and pausing on her breasts.

Giving him the same treatment, she allowed herself to look up and down the length of him, taking in his muscular limbs, his washboard stomach, his...adequate...package, which had been waxed smooth.

"I'm Special Detective Tessa Stark," she introduced herself, once again meeting his gaze. "Is the water cold today?"

A deep, smooth chuckle slipped past the man's throat. "It is, actually. Its nice, though." His bold green eyes ran over her again, from head to toe. "You're a cop?"

"I'm a Special Detective, yes," she told him, taking another peek at his...area...and suddenly realizing that she much preferred a bush over the squeaky clean look.

The naked flesh there made it seem as though Nathan Rutherford was a prepubescent boy rather than a grown man. It was incredibly repellent.

"And who's he?" wondered Nathan Rutherford, lifting his chin in Cole's direction. "Your body guard?"

"If that's what she needs," came Cole's statement, his voice gruff.

"Mr. Rutherford, I've been brought in to investigate the death of Hallie Whitmore. Would you mind talking to me for a while?" she asked him. "I'd really like to ask you some questions."

"I already gave a statement to the other cop. Maybe you should go back and read it," Nathan Rutherford suggested easily, settling more comfortably into his lounge chair.

"I can't," she stated, deciding to give him a slightly colored version of the truth. "I'm starting the case over. If I go through the original detective's notes, it might bias my investigation."

The young man lifted a dark brow at her. "So, you're not here because that other ass wipe decided I'm the one who killed Hallie?"

She gave her head a firm shake. "Absolutely not. I'm starting over from square one. Which means I'll be interviewing everyone in Ms. Whitmore's life. I'm just beginning with you because you happened to discover the victim. And you were engaged to her, which at least puts you in the running, according to statistics."

A sardonic expression flickered across his chiseled features. "Statistics? Is that why the first guy splashed my face all over the news?"

Tessa shrugged. "I have no idea what his reasons were. I'm just here to try and clean up his mess."

Her words brought another chuckle out of Nathan Rutherford, a harsher noise than the last. "That ass wipe did make a mess. Do you know what happens when you're named a person of interest in your fiancé's murder, Special Detective Stark? It ruins your life. And...it ruins your family's life."

Actually, she had a bit of personal experience in a neighboring area. "Your family's business, in particular?" she proposed, spotting a crisp white towel lying on a nearby glass topped table.

"Would you work with someone who's son might have committed cold blooded murder?" asked Nathan, watching Tessa as she moved around his lounge chair. "My dad's company has lost millions in contracts in the last month."

Stepping over to the table, she picked up the towel and then re-traced her steps, unfolding it and bending down to lay across the young man's lap, prompting him to hit her with a very...cocksure...grin.

"Are you shy, Special Detective?"

"Not really," she answered. Though the sunlight bouncing off his balls was a bit distracting. "I'm sorry about your father's business taking a hit. But, maybe I can help with that."

Skepticism rolled over Nathan's face. "How can you possibly help?"

"The headlines work both ways, Mr. Rutherford," she pointed out. "A person of interest can very quickly become a person who's been cleared of all suspicion."

Nathan made a scoffing sound as he dropped his hands into his lap. "Why would anyone believe that now? The damage is done. I don't see much of a way to un-fuck everything Detective Earl Rogers fucked up."

"I met Hallie Whitmore's uncle today. Senator Richard Whitmore. I'm sure having him standing in front of the cameras and announcing the name of the person who actually killed his niece would help to un-fuck at least a few things," she offered that scenario up.

The man paused to think about her statement for a moment. "You expect me to just believe that you want to find whoever killed Hallie instead of crucifying me to make a name for yourself?"

"I already have a name for myself, Mr. Rutherford. That's why I was called in," she replied forthrightly, taking a step away from the lounge chair. "But, if you'd rather I leave Hallie's case open ended and your name and family's reputation hanging out there with it, that's your choice." She turned and started away from Nathan Rutherford and back toward Cole, who was standing with his arms crossed as he eyed the situation. "Good luck, Mr. Rutherford. Enjoy your afternoon!"

Meeting Cole, they both pointed themselves toward the jeep. They did not make it far, however.

"Detective, wait!" the deep voice called after her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Nathan hurrying toward them, holding the towel around his waist. "Its hotter than hell out here, Mr. Rutherford, and I don't feel like wasting any more time on an uncooperative witness. You had your chance," she tossed at him.

"Wait!" the young man beseeched as he caught up with them.

Tessa turned back to face Nathan, giving him an expectant lift of her brow.

"Look, I'll make you a deal, Special Detective," he said, fixing her with a devastating grin as he once again looked her up and down.

"A deal?" she repeated coolly.

"I'll talk to you if you'll take a dip in the pool with me," he dangled what was clearly a dare in of her. "It is hotter than hell out here. And I'd kind of like to see you in your underwear."

A wave of ick rolled through Tessa and beside her, she felt Cole tense up. "I don't think so--"

"Come on, Detective. What's the harm?" Nathan cajoled, his deep voice rather silky as he turned on the charm. "You want to ask some questions and I want to get back in the water. I think I'm offering a mutually...satisfying...compromise."

Tessa cast a glance at the shimmering pool with the curtain of water tumbling down at the far end. "It looks kind of deep," she hedged, taking a step backward.

"You can't swim?" came the query.

She shook her head in answer and took another step away, but Nathan Rutherford held a large hand out to her, his green eyes sparking.

"Don't worry, Special Detective. I'll keep you safe," he intoned, his words still edged with the slightest hint of a dare.

Taking another few beats to consider his offer, she reached out and took hold of his hand. "Are you sure you want to talk to me without your lawyer? I'll wait if you want to call someone."

Nathan shook his head. "I haven't done anything wrong, so I'm not worried about incriminating myself. Besides, my lawyers will tell you to leave and I'd rather you stay."

She was led over to the edge of the large pool, where she gazed down into the depths of the crystal clear, deeply blue water that smelled of chlorine and looked like a little piece of paradise.

"Its alright, Detective," Nathan half whispered to her. "Like I said, I'll keep you safe."

He didn't have to bother trying to convince her further. "Alright, but I need you to do something for me first...."

.