“I’m on vacation.”
“Oh really?” He eyed her speculatively. “For the Fourth?”
She nodded.
“Where are you headed?”
She smiled. “Wherever you’re going.”
15
Saturday, June 30
8:30 am
The pounding was incessant.
Jessica groaned and rolled over in her bed, yanking the pillow out from under her and positioning it over her head, hoping to drown out the noise.
Unfortunately, she was fairly certain it was coming from her own head.
She’d had another beer after Jarrett had said goodbye. She’d needed it to get through Megan’s inquisition. Her friend had been brimming with questions, demanding answers, and Jess needed liquid fortification to get through the interrogation.
But three beers on a stomach filled with a smattering of chips and a handful of trail mix meant she would be feeling the effects come morning.
And was she ever.
The pounding got louder and she moaned again. If this was what a mild hangover felt like now, she shuddered to think what was in store for her ten years from now.
Faintly, she heard a voice over the pounding. She opened one eye and shifted the pillow off her head.
The voice was muffled. Was she imagining it?
She knew it wasn’t Megan. She’d driven them both home, put away the snacks, and then headed to Brendan’s, her boyfriend, for the night. Jessica hadn’t minded. All she’d wanted to do when they got home from the concert was take a shower, go to bed, and try to forget the conversation she’d had with Jarrett Pryor.
She could have kicked herself, a dozen times over, for spilling her guts to him. She was still in total disbelief that she’d basically word-vomited all of her hopes and dreams to him in a single ten-minute conversation. And sure, the alcohol had definitely had something to do with it. Her inhibitions had been lowered, he had seemed vulnerable, and she was feeling particularly low about her job on the force.
But that shouldn’t have warranted a monologue better suited to a peaceful room with a therapist on hand, sitting in a chair with Jess splayed out on a couch, sharing all of her hopes and fears, desperate for advice and words of comfort.
Instead, she’d decided a nighttime concert and the local news reporter she sort of had the hots for was a perfectly acceptable alternative.
She groaned again, but this time it had nothing to do with the pounding in her head or the banging on her door.
Her eyes opened wide as shock registered.
Her door.
She sat up straight.
Someone was knocking on her door.
She jumped out of bed, wincing as the sudden movement jostled her brain. She was definitely going to need some ibuprofen.
“Jess? Are you here?”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Shit.
It was Jarrett.
She stood in her room, frozen in place, staring in the general direction of the front door.
What the hell was he doing at her house at…at—she glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand—eight thirty in the morning?
The pounding stopped.
She no longer heard him calling for her.
And she didn’t think; she just reacted.
Her bare feet padded down the hallway and she threw open the front door.
Jarrett was at the end of the sidewalk, and he turned around at the sound of the door opening.
He smiled, and her heart fluttered. Every word she’d said to him came crashing back to her. She still couldn’t believe the things she’d told him. Things she hadn’t told anyone.
“You ready?” he asked.
She self-consciously raked a hand through her hair. It was surprisingly untangled, which meant she’d probably slept like a dead person and barely moved in bed. “Ready for what?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Ready to go investigate.”
She frowned. “Right now?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Well, I have about ten minutes I can spare. But then I’m going. With or without you.” He grinned. “I’d rather go with you, though.”
Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.
“How…how did you find my house?”
Jarrett chuckled. “I’m a reporter, Jess. It’s my job to find out things.”
She stood there, rooted to her spot in the doorframe.
“So…” he said, toeing the sidewalk with his shoe. “You coming?”
She blinked.
Was she coming?
The beers might have completely mangled her judgment the night before, but they’d done nothing to mute the memories of all that they had discussed.
Jarrett was going to pay a visit to Katie Simmons’s boss. To ask him about the party.
The party she had told him about.
And she had asked—practically begged, actually—to go with him.
And here he was, standing in front of her house, inviting her along.
Just like he said he would.
She was more careful in her thought process this time, but after a moment’s deliberation, she responded.
“Yes.” She rubbed at her eyes, clearing the sleep from them. “Can you give me like ten minutes? To change and get ready?”
She couldn’t believe she was standing there talking to him while wearing her pajamas. Talk about feeling vulnerable.
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Do you…?” She hesitated. “Do you want to come in? I can make coffee or something.”
Jarrett shook his head. “I’ll wait in the car. And I have coffee. Two, actually. Rosie knew how you took yours, so I got one for you, too. And a scone. She said you like the raspberry chocolate?”
Jess gaped at him but managed a small nod. A thrill ran through her as she registered what he’d done. He’d stopped at Lulu’s to pick up drinks and food, and he’d thought to ask Rosie what Jess might like.
Just because.
“Five minutes,” she told him, cutting the estimated time in half.
She bolted down the hallway, stripping her tank top off as she headed into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror wearing nothing more than her bra and the shorts she’d slept in, she yanked a brush through her hair and quickly brushed her teeth. She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror, wondering for half a second if she had time to put any makeup on. But her skin was tan and the dusting of freckles on her nose, although noticeable, didn’t feel like particular eyesores today, so she decided against it. She had a lip gloss in her purse; that would have to suffice.
Back in her room, she grabbed a T-shirt out of her dresser drawer, an olive-green V-neck that was one of her favorites. She slid it over her head as she shimmied out of her pajama shorts. A minute later, she was zipping up her pair of denim jeans and hunting the closet floor for her favorite pair of black sandals. Satisfied that her appearance was at least passable, she picked up her phone from the nightstand, shoved it in her pocket, and headed out of her bedroom.
She gave one last backward glance at the rumpled covers on her bed and frowned. She hated leaving without making it. It was the one thing she did every day, regardless of what time it was that she rolled out of bed—and with her night shifts, it sometimes meant getting “up” for the day at two o’clock in the afternoon. But it didn’t matter. She always made her bed, without fail. Because even on the crappiest, most unproductive of days, it would always serve as a visual reminder that she’d accomplished at least one thing.
Except today.
She wasn’t willing to keep Jarrett waiting a second longer than she already had.
Not when he’d spent who knew how long pounding on her front door.
She hurried out to his car, locking the front door behind her as she went, and only realized as she was opening the passenger door that she hadn’t left a note for Megan. They’d made tentative plans to go shopping that afternoon.
She grimaced.
And then field the dozens of texts from her roommate, demanding every last detail.
Maybe she would make up something rather than tell Megan the truth. It would be far easier on Jess to do that, even though the guilt would probably eat at her.
“That was fast,” Jarrett commented as she closed the passenger door. He handed her a tall to-go coffee. “Should still be hot.”
“Thanks.” She took a sip, not caring at all that the taste of coffee mingled with the lingering mint from her toothpaste.
Jarrett motioned to a small brown paper bag. “Scone is in there.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Jess said. “What if I hadn’t been home? Or couldn’t have come?”
He pulled away from the curb and back into the street. “Guess those were chances I was willing to take.”
She said nothing and took a sip of her coffee. A spiced vanilla latte, which was pretty much heaven on Earth as far as she was concerned.
Jarrett maneuvered the car toward the highway and headed north.
“Where are we going?”
“To see a Mr. Bill Lewis.”
“Katie’s boss?”
Jarrett nodded.
“Is he working today?” Jess asked doubtfully. It was a Saturday, after all, and she was pretty sure most government agencies were closed on the weekends.
“Nope.”
“No?”
He glanced in her direction. “We’re going to his house.”
She raised her eyebrows. “We are?”
“Figured that would kill two birds with one stone. Talk to her boss and see where she was last seen.”
“And how did you find out where he lives?” She paused, feeling a smile tug at her lips. “Oh, I remember. Because you’re a reporter. It’s your job to find out things.”
He grinned. “Bingo.”
She smiled back.
Jess wasn’t quite sure what to make of their first few minutes spent together in Jarrett’s car. She’d started to mentally brace herself for some sort of fallout after the conversation they’d had the night before, when she’d waxed poetic about her desire to be a detective and her frustration that absolutely nothing was happening to move her forward in that department.
But he’d said nothing.
Granted, they were less than five minutes into their car ride. And it probably wasn’t weighing nearly as heavily on him as it was on her.
But still.
She wondered if he was going to bring it up.
More importantly, she wondered what the hell she was going to say if he did.
She was embarrassed that it had been such a lengthy topic of discussion the night before. Not discussion, she corrected. There hadn’t been any real back and forth between them. It had been all her, bemoaning the current state of her career. Her life, really.
She swallowed another mouthful of coffee, mostly so she could hide the frown she was wearing.
“He lives in Sauk Rapids,” Jarrett said, out of the blue. “Apparently right on the river.”
“Did you talk to him? Does he know you’re coming?”
Jarrett shook his head. “Nope. His address was readily available online, so I figured I’d just pop in and say hello.”
“What if he’s not home?”
“Then he’s not home,” he said simply. “And I’ll try again another time.” He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and reached for the bakery bag with the other. He handed it to her. “Here. Eat. You probably need it.”
“Why is that?”
He shot a sidelong look at her. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you probably didn’t have much to eat last night.”
Jess felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
“And I’m pretty sure you’d just rolled out of bed when you came to the door.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Am I right?”
He glanced at her again and she nodded.
She opened the bag and peeked inside. It was her favorite scone, just like he’d promised, and her stomach growled in anticipation. But she didn’t reach for it.
She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about last night.”
“Sorry?” He sounded slightly bewildered. “What are you sorry about?”
She swallowed. “Sorry for…” What was she supposed to say? “Sorry for dumping everything on you like that. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he told her.
“But—”
“No buts. I liked talking to you,” he said simply. “Listening to you. I liked getting to know you.”
The butterflies in her stomach felt like birds.
She’d done most of the talking last night, but she still felt like their friendship, if that was what this was, had crossed a new threshold, even if she was hard-pressed to label it. And she still felt like she’d shared more than she should have.
It wasn’t like her to dump her problems in someone else’s lap. Hell, she hadn’t even really voiced much of her frustration over her job to Megan, and she was Jessica’s best friend. They’d had conversations, of course, but Jess had always kept the conversation more even keeled, more matter-of-fact. More positive.
Because despite her frustrations with her job stagnation, she was still doing what she wanted to do.
No, scratch that. She was still doing what she’d promised herself she would do.
Be a police officer.
Last night had been the culmination of an abysmal couple of weeks: feeling like she’d missed out on the Superior Metals case and then finding Katie Simmons’s lifeless body on the banks of the Mississippi…and knowing her part in the investigation was essentially over the moment Nate and the other LEOs showed up.
It was only natural that she would feel some frustration—okay, a lot of frustration—and needed to vent about it.
Jarrett just happened to show up at the perfect time to be on the receiving end of her rant.
That was it, she decided as she sipped more of her coffee.
That was all it was.
Timing.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Jarrett was so easy to talk to. So warm. So encouraging.
Nothing to do with that at all.
16
Saturday, June 30
9:45 am
Bill Lewis’s house was easy to find.
Perhaps because it was the largest on the block.
The almost hour-long car ride to Sauk Rapids had the potential to be awkward, especially considering the initial start to their conversation, where Jess had started to apologize for the previous night’s exchange. He could tell almost immediately that she was a little out of sorts, even worried about the aftermath of their conversation at the concert, and he hoped his words had put her at ease. He hadn’t said them just to placate her; he’d been speaking the truth when he said he liked talking to her. Listening to her.
As soon as they were done discussing it, he’d directed the conversation to the 5K, and then Jess had told him about the Clothing Closet and Megan’s hope of opening a homeless youth shelter, which then prompted Jarrett to tell her about the Planning Commission minutes he’d read. The conversation had flowed easily then, and they chatted comfortably over the music piping softly out of the car speakers.
“Wow,” Jessica breathed as her eyes focused on the Lewis home. She’d picked at her scone during the ride and had just popped the last tiny piece in her mouth. “Now that’s a house.”
Jarrett nodded in agreement.
He knew property tended to be more affordable the farther people got from the cities, but he also knew that homes on the water would always be more expensive, more valuable. The river was behind the house, barely visible, but Jarrett knew it was there, and he couldn’t imagine how much the view inflated the cost of Bill Lewis’s home.
He pulled up to the curb an
d killed the engine. “You ready?” he asked Jess.
It was a question he should have been asking himself. More of a rhetorical one, of course. He was a reporter, so he was always ready to ask questions, to ferret out information, but this story felt different. A little more personal.
Coupled with his mom’s current condition—he’d called her before leaving for Jessica’s and she was having another slow morning, where pain was keeping her in bed—and Charlie’s texts, asking for more information about his conversation with Dorothy, this story should have been a welcome reprieve, a chance for him to escape into a different story.
Except this one sort of involved him. Or at least someone he knew.
And he was still trying to wrap his head around that.
He glanced at his companion, waiting for her response.
Jess brushed the crumbs from her shirt, trying to catch them in her free hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He stepped out of the car and she followed suit, dumping the handful of crumbs on the curb.
“What do you want me to do?” Jess half-whispered. “Or say?”
He was still working through that himself.
“Just follow my lead,” he told her.
They didn’t see Bill Lewis right away. Instead, an older woman kneeling in front of a massive flower garden greeted them. A wide-brimmed straw hat hid most of her face, and the large sunglasses she was also wearing shielded the rest of her countenance from view.
Jarrett held up his hand in greeting. “Hello,” he said. His eyes swept over the flowerbed. “Lovely flowers you have.”
The woman pulled off her sunglasses. She wore a warm, friendly smile. “Thank you. These are definitely my labor of love.”
Jarrett pointed at a patch of small blue flowers. “Are those columbine?”
The woman looked impressed. “Why yes, they are.”
Jess shot him a look, too, and he smiled. Her expression was a mirror of the woman’s. He had his mother to thank for his knowledge of flowers. She’d been an avid gardener, and he’d spent lots of summer mornings helping her in the garden.
“Do you live in the neighborhood?” the woman asked. “Or are you here to pick up Donovan’s jacket?” She chuckled. “I swear, that man would lose his head if it wasn’t securely attached.”
Dire Straits_Aspen Falls Novel Page 10
