Read Online A Man of His Word by Sarah M. Anderson - Free Book Online Page A

his Saturday night taking the kitchen apart, looking for hidden cameras and microphones.
    He knew whose side he was on.
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    â€œGood morning, Mr. Armstrong.”
    Dan didn’t even have one foot in the door, and already the receptionist was coming at him with a cup of coffee. Today, he was going to hold steady at two cups, max. “Ms. Donnelly is waiting for you.”
    â€œThank you…Judy.” Her friendly smile told him he’d gotten that right.
    She led him back to the sorriest excuse for a conference room he’d ever been in. To his surprise, Rosebud was already settled in with a banker’s box of files in front of her. “Good morning, Mr. Armstrong.” She didn’t even look up. “You’re on time.”
    She sounded exactly like the receptionist and nothing like a woman he’d kissed two nights ago. “Rosebud.” To heck with this mister and miz stuff. “I thought you would appreciate punctuality.”
    That got her to look up, and even earned him a small smile. Man, how did she manage to shine in a room this ugly? The walls were the color of overcooked oatmeal, and he thought he deserved a buckle for managing to make the eight seconds on that chair last time.
    As quick as that smile had shown up, it disappeared again. He wondered if she had a gun in her briefcase. “Are these your files?”
    â€œNot all of them.” He leaned over to try and see what she was writing, but she caught him and flipped the top sheet back over the one she’d made notes on. “But this is more than enough to keep you busy for today.”
    Dan looked around and was surprised to see that the two extra chairs had disappeared. He’d have to sit in that craptastic chair again. He had to hand it to Rosebud. She didn’t have a lot to work with, but she made the most of it. “Which files are these?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œCecil files, dam files or police files?”
    No reaction this time. He had his work cut out for him today. Right now, not only was Rosebud not a woman who invited a touch or a kiss, but she wasn’t exactly leaving any of her weak spots out in the open. “Police files.” She turned her attention back to her own notes. “You are a man of your word, after all.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Moving cautiously, he lowered himself into the evil chair. It promptly let out a muffled squeak, like he’d sat on a squirrel—or worse. He glanced up to see the amusement on her face. “Enjoyin’ yourself?”
    â€œImmensely.”
    So she was laughing at him. The difference between Rosebud scowling and Rosebud smiling was worth sounding like he’d eaten nothing but chili for the last month. He pulled the top file and started reading the first police report.
    Tanner Donnelly, male, age twenty-eight when he was found by his aunt, Emily Mankiller, with a .22 in his hand and the matching slug in his temple four years ago. Survived by his aunt and his sister, Rosebud. The file noted that the women claimed Donnelly’s dog tags were missing, but the investigators could find no trace of them.
    The FBI agent in charge had been Thomas Yellow Bird. Rosebud had a separate file on Yellow Bird—seemed he was an acquaintance of Tanner Donnelly and had pushed the investigation as far as his supervisors would let him. There was also a log of emails and phone calls with a James Carlson, who was a federal prosecutor in D.C.
    Something didn’t add up, Dan thought as he wrote the name down. A guy named Yellow Bird he could understand, but Rosebud had D.C. contacts? Well, maybe not. The last date she’d written down was over ten months ago. She must have hit a brick wall—which was why she was asking him for help, of all people.
    In addition to police and FBI files, there was a thick file of notes and interviews, some typed and some handwritten in a delicate script. Handwritten? This whole