Cold Case Affair

by Loreth Anne White

  “The police? Listen to yourself, Jett! It was someone on that same police force who helped sabotage an FBI investigation into a mass murder, and who let a killer walk free. This is a conspiracy.”

  Jett rubbed his brow. He couldn’t deny that someone had been taking serious potshots at Muirinn, and at him. And he’d seen someone in camo gear flee north into the wilderness.

  The seriousness of her allegation bored more deeply into him. Along with it came an ominous chill.

  Muirinn gasped suddenly, clutching at her stomach. Jett’s heart lurched and he reached for her. But she shook her head, smiling wanly. “It’s just kicking again,” she whispered, awe filling her incredible eyes. She grasped his hand quickly. “Here, feel.” She placed his palm on her belly.

  Tears burned into Jett’s eyes as he felt her child moving. He looked up into Muirinn’s face, a sense of wonder rippling through his body. She met his gaze, and together they felt her baby move again, rolling over in her womb, and a powerful, sensual bond shuddered between them.

  Jett’s breathing quickened.

  This was the exact privilege she’d denied him when she was pregnant with Troy. Now she was denying some other man this same sense of wonder.

  Anger surged afresh through Jett, his grip on control cracking at the thought of just how close she and this little baby had come to getting killed—at the pain the father who’d sired this child would feel upon receiving news of his baby’s death, regardless of whether or not he was still seeing Muirinn.

  “Get in the truck,” he said crisply, trying to hide his own emotions. “I’m taking you straight to Dr. Callaghan. She knows what she’s doing. She’s delivered tons of babies, and she’s Troy’s doctor.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, Muirinn. It’s your baby.” Jett’s words came out far harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You had no right going out there if you knew your life would be threatened.”

  He went around to the driver’s side, got in, slammed the door and rammed his truck into gear. “Buckle up.” He fired the ignition.

  “I didn’t know I was in danger, Jett. Not until I was shot at. I was still piecing together—”

  “Oh, so you just brought that .22 with you for fun?” He hit the gas, fishtailing back onto the dirt road, taking his frustrations out on the truck. “What were you expecting—a bit of hunting along the way? I know you, Muirinn. You think you can go playing Nancy Drew without considering—”

  “You know nothing about me, Jett!” she snapped. “You’re talking about someone you last saw a decade ago.”

  The truth sobered him, made his eyes cool, his heart hard. His jaw tight. “You might be doing this baby gig on your own, Muirinn,” he said very quietly, hands gripping the wheel tightly. “But somewhere out there is still a father who might just give a damn that his kid actually lives! You were always so damn selfish, O’Donnell.”

  “What is this really about, Jett?” she said quietly. “What are you really trying to say to me?”

  That you gave our son away without thinking of me, and that you still haven’t told me the truth.

  “All you ever think about is yourself, Muirinn.”

  She stared at him in silence, blood beginning to trickle out from under the butterfly suture on her brow. Jett drove faster, knuckles white on the wheel.

  “There is no man, Jett,” she said softly.

  His head swiveled. “What?”

  “There is no father. I did this in a doctor’s office. With sperm from a donor bank. Artificial insemination, Jett. Just me. Solo.”

  He stared at her in shock.

  “Watch out!”

  He swerved, just missing a tree on a bend, and slammed on the brakes, the vehicle sliding to a stop on the grit-covered road. He turned off the engine.

  Dust settled quietly around the truck. He could hear the soft rush of wind in conifers outside, feel the cooler air against his face.

  “God, I’m sorry.” He dragged his hands over his hair. “I was just so worried about you, about your baby, Muirinn.”

  She looked out the window, avoiding his eyes.

  He swore softly at his idiocy. “Why?” he said quietly. “Why’d you do it?”

  “I want a child.” She turned to face him, fresh tears and old mascara tracking down the dirt on her pale cheeks. Her hair was a matted mess of dried blood and silt. But she’d never looked more beautiful to him. Or more available.

  “I want a family, Jett. I want to be a mother. What’s so wrong with that? And I couldn’t find the right man—a man who’d want to do this with me. So I’m doing it alone.”

  She really was totally free.

  And she wanted all those things that he’d wanted from her all those years ago. All that wasted time suddenly yawned out in front of him. Jett didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Instead, he turned on the ignition.

  As he drove, he tried to process everything she’d said, and a humming started in his muscles, his whole body soon vibrating like a tuning fork.

  A second chance.

  Was it really possible?

  What would it take to get there? It would take Muirinn telling him about the boy she’d given up for adoption, that’s what—that was Jett’s line in the sand. He needed to hear this in order to find a way to tell her about Troy.

  And before Jett could tell Troy that Kim was not his mom, Jett needed to be damn sure that Muirinn was committed, that she was going to stay right here in Safe Harbor, and be here for their son.

  He gripped the wheel more tightly, the possibilities suddenly so frighteningly fragile inside him. But the excitement wasn’t without remorse, because Muirinn could have a family eleven years ago.

  With him.

  Whatever move he made now, Jett told himself, his son had to come first. He owed that to his boy. Because just as easily as Muirinn had thrown it all away the first time, she had the power to do it again.

  Chapter 8

  Jett paced like a caged bear in Dr. Pat Callaghan’s waiting room. He’d brought Muirinn straight here instead of taking her to the hospital because he trusted Pat. Her specialty was obstetrics and her office was rigged for ultrasound.

  She’d also taken excellent care of Troy when Jett had first brought his tiny infant son home to Safe Harbor, feeling nervous about being a new dad at the tender age of twenty-two.

  The exam room door opened suddenly, and Jett spun around.

  A band clamped tightly over his chest as he saw Muirinn’s wan face, the neat little plaster over the fresh stitches on her forehead, the bandage on her shoulder under her ripped shirt.

  But despite her trauma, there appeared to be a subtle new determination in her stride as she exited the exam room with the doctor. Pat smiled, nodding to Jett as she picked up a clipboard and pen. “We just need to fill out some paperwork and mom and daughter are good to go.”

  Daughter?

  Jett’s heart stalled.

  He could barely focus on the doctor’s next words. “I had your grandfather on Digoxin, Muirinn.” She filled in a form as she spoke. “It’s a generic digitalis preparation.”

  “Could an overdose have possibly caused his cardiac arrest?”

  Pat’s pen stilled, and she looked up. “Well, yes. But—”

  “Either way the ME would have expected to find digitalis in his system, right?”

  “Yes, he would. But the ME’s involvement in Gus’s case was a formality, really, because the cause of death was clear, especially given Gus’s preexisting condition—”

  Muirinn interrupted. “Does it honestly make sense to you, Dr. Callaghan, that my grandfather hiked all the way out to Tolkin with his heart condition, and then climbed all the way down that shaft? I mean…” she hesitated. “Everyone keeps reminding me that he was eccentric. But I need to know, in your professional opinion, was my grandfather of sound mind these last couple of months?”

  Dr. Callaghan placed
a hand on Muirinn’s arm, and smiled comfortingly. “It’s always tough to lose someone, Muirinn. But I can assure you that Gus was mentally agile, if somewhat creative in thought. Plus he’d started taking daily walks on my recommendation, so he might easily have included the Tolkin property along one of his routes.”

  “It’s fifteen miles from his house. I clocked it on the odometer.”

  The doctor returned to filling in her form. “That’s really not far for a good hike if you take it slow, you know.” She set the clipboard down. “Your grandfather had a really good life, Muirinn. He died active, busy. Not tied to a wheelchair, not in a hospital bed. Gus wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  “I know.” She glanced down. “It’s just that…I guess I was wondering, given the unusual circumstances.”

  “I don’t believe the circumstances were that unusual, especially knowing your grandfather. Gus had always been obsessed with that mine, almost pathologically fixated, in my opinion. Both the ME and I were satisfied, upon examining his body, that it was the heart condition that caused his death, and resulted in a small tumble. This is not unusual in cardiac arrest.”

  “He was down a mine shaft.”

  “And according to the police, there was absolutely no sign of foul play. He’d simply been poking around there when he collapsed.”

  Muirinn shot Jett a glance.

  The doctor smiled again, compassion fanning out in warm crinkles from her hazel eyes. “Now go and get some rest, Muirinn. Take care of that baby girl of yours.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  Jett swallowed against the dryness in his throat, the thought of what they could have shared eleven years ago suddenly so stark, as he led Muirinn out into the street, back to his truck.

  “Did you tell the doc what happened at the mine?” he said, holding open the passenger door.

  “No, I just told her I was out for a walk, and that I slipped and fell down a bank.” She hesitated. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange that Gus’s case was basically rubber-stamped by the ME?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He went around, climbed in the driver’s side and started the engine. “From Pat’s point of view, what she said makes sense, Muirinn.”

  “Well, I think the ME should have done a more in-depth investigation, and done toxicology tests…something.”

  “Are you saying you don’t trust Doc Callaghan and the ME now, either?”

  She strapped herself in. “I’m just trying to figure out what in hell happened, Jett.”

  Jett pulled out into the small main road. “Why were you asking about Gus’s medication?”

  “I was wondering if he might have been poisoned. Technically, a heart attack could have been induced using Gus’s own meds, in an effort to make his death seem as if it were from natural causes.”

  Jett focused on the road ahead thinking how absurd it seemed to be having this conversation at all. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Muirinn had almost been killed, and that they couldn’t go to the police with this information.

  One way or another the cops were going to find Gus’s burned-out truck at the mine, and questions were going to be asked.

  This was going to come out somehow.

  Bitterness leached down his throat as he thought of the historic blast, and what it had done to this town. He tried to imagine how much that bomber and his accomplice might stand to lose now, if the truth came out that they were responsible for one of the biggest mass homicides north of 60.

  Who wouldn’t kill to keep something like that quiet?

  “We need to get to the bottom of this, Muirinn,” he said quietly as he drove. “You need to show me those photographs, and Gus’s notes.”

  “I don’t want to involve you, Jett,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  “I can’t let you do this on your own, Muirinn. Not now.”

  She sat in silence. He could sense the nervous tension rolling off her in waves.

  He cursed to himself.

  He didn’t want this any more than she did. What he needed was some distance between Muirinn and himself, so he could try to figure some things out. Everything was moving too fast, and he was scared of what it might do to all of them.

  But he was also the only one who could protect her right now.

  The only emotional barrier he had left was the fact that Muirinn thought he was married. And the more he was forced into her proximity, the harder that secret was going to be to keep.

  But, damn, he needed to keep it right now. It was the only way he’d be able to keep his hands off her.

  They drove in tense silence along the twisting coast road, the late evening sun turning the ocean into beaten copper.

  “Is it really a girl?” he said suddenly, thinking again that the child had no father.

  Muirinn nodded as she placed her hands on her tummy. “I wanted it to be surprise, but after being in that shed, convinced I was going to die…” She inhaled shakily. “When Dr. Callaghan gave me an ultrasound just to check that everything was okay, she asked if I knew the sex, or if wanted to know. I said yes.”

  “You happy?”

  “I am. I…I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

  “What about a son?” There was something in the tone of his voice that made Muirinn glance at him.

  But Jett didn’t return the look, and she couldn’t read his eyes. Yet his hands had tightened on the wheel, and his neck was tense. She studied the lines of his rugged profile, his thick dark hair, his strong arms. And she loved him all over again. Age had been good to him. She wondered what might have been if she hadn’t left, if they’d raised the boy she gave away for adoption. Guilt and confusion twisted inside Muirinn like a knife.

  She was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate desire to open up, spill everything about the fact she’d had a son—their son—that she’d given him away. But it was all too much to handle right now. A part of Muirinn even wondered if was better that Jett didn’t know.

  He had his own family now, and she didn’t want to tamper with that.

  The other part of her was afraid of how much he might truly hate her if she told him all these years later.

  “Yes,” she whispered, remorse thickening her voice. “I wanted a son, too.”

  He turned into her driveway, came to a stop and sat silent for a several beats, staring out the windshield. Then his gaze flashed to her, fierce suddenly. “Look, I can’t let you stay here alone, Muirinn. Not after what happened today. You need to pack a bag and stay at my place until…until we’ve figured this out.”

  Fear, anxiety, attraction erupted in a dangerous cocktail inside Muirinn. She could not be forced into such close proximity to this married man, alone with him in his house, his wife away. “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jett.” Her voice caught, turning husky as his eyes bored hotly into hers, the intense stare of a hunter. Anticipation rustled through Muirinn like a wild and lethal thing.

  She swallowed. “I just can’t do it. I…cannot be with you, not in your house…I still have…”

  “Still have what, Muirinn?” His voice was low, gravelly, his gaze drifting down to her lips.

  “You know that I still have feelings for you, Jett,” she whispered.

  His eyes darkened, and lust etched into his face. Heat arrowed through her body, her world swirling to a narrow focus, logic fleeing.

  Jett raised his hand to touch her face. He wanted her. To feel her hair, her skin, her body wrapped around his. But he couldn’t go down this road again. Not yet, not before both of them had confessed the secrets between them. He exhaled slowly, lowering his hand.

  Her body sagged visibly at his rejection, and her eyes glistened sharply with hurt. The pulse in her neck was racing, the emotion in her face so raw. “Muirinn, I—”

  He just couldn’t stop what came next. Cupping her jaw, Jett bent down, sliding his hand under her hair and he lowered his mouth to hers. His heart pounded as his lips met hers. There was no rational thou
ght at all, as he felt her mouth open under his.

  A small sound came from her throat as his tongue entered her mouth. She kissed him back, hard, desperate. And he felt the wetness of tears against his skin.

  She hooked her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, her tongue tangling with his as she melted into him. Jett felt her pregnant body press against his, and something inside him cracked. His body burned as he kissed her harder, deeper. And they moved faster—urgent, hungry, angry, digging down deep for something neither of them seemed to be able to reach in the other.

  Jett pulled back suddenly, rocked, breathing hard.

  Muirinn stared at him in wide-eyed shock, chest rising and falling fast, cheeks flushed, panic flickering in her features.

  Her hand covered her mouth, horror dawning in her eyes at the reality of what had just happened.

  He didn’t say a word, didn’t move. Couldn’t.

  “Jett…” Tears streamed fresh down her face. She turned suddenly, flung open the door, slammed it shut, and stumbled up the stairs to her house.

  Chapter 9

  Muirinn’s hands were shaking too hard to get the key into the lock.

  Jett’s truck door banged behind her. She heard his footsteps crunching on gravel, heard him coming up the stairs. She wanted to sink into the floor, be swallowed by a hole.

  He stilled her hand, took the key from her and opened her front door. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, holding the door open. “It won’t happen again. Please, just get your things, Muirinn,” he said. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I’m not coming to your house, Jett.”

  “Then I’ll stay at your place,” he said, following her into the hallway. “But it’ll be easier the other way. I have my work at home.”

  She spun around to face him. “I never wanted to put you in this position, Jett. I didn’t—don’t—want your help.” Just as she hadn’t let him help her eleven years ago when she found out she was pregnant.