“Are we good?” she asked, wondering at what they’d planned.
“We’re good. They’ll stay all night and run hourly checks on the grounds,” Jackson advised and opened the door on his cruiser to remove the pizza Declan had given them.
At her questioning gaze, he said, “Dinner. A man’s got to eat.”
Despite his comment, he handed her the pizza box at the front door and said, “First, a quick check through the house, although I doubt whoever did it is in here.”
“Why?” she wondered aloud.
“If they really wanted to do damage they’d have torched the house. The shed was intended to be a warning,” he said and, once again, drew his weapon.
He didn’t need to say the words. His warning glance rooted her to a spot by the door, pizza box in hand.
She waited, patiently, as Jackson did a sweep of his living room, dining room and kitchen, and then went up the stairs. Long anxious moments later he came bounding down the stairs, his gun holstered once more.
“All clear,” he said and took the pizza from her. But as they entered the house, the smell of smoke on them was powerful.
She wrinkled her nose and said, “I think I’d like to shower and change.”
Jackson sniffed the air, as well, and said, “Me, too. I’ll get this in the oven while we shower.”
“Thanks,” she said and rushed up the stairs and through her shower.
She beat Jackson to the kitchen, scrounged through his refrigerator to make a salad and set place mats and cutlery on the breakfast bar, trying to stay busy. Keeping busy was definitely a way to keep from thinking about the fact that someone was trying to stop their investigation.
Was Matt that desperate? she wondered, but didn’t have time to dwell on it too much as Jackson came into the kitchen in a T-shirt and sweats. The T-shirt hugged hard muscle, and the sweats hung loose on his lean hips. Her brain went somewhere dangerous, especially as he came by to snag a piece of lettuce from the salad and brushed against her.
He smelled of soap and man. All man, but she had to contain that awareness of him. It was just too dangerous, too distracting, considering all that was happening. But try as she might, it was impossible to ignore his presence. Powerful. Comforting. Tempting in a way that no man had ever tempted before.
And surprisingly, despite all that had happened that day, hunger awoke as Jackson pulled the pizza from the oven. He cut the slices with a big knife, his movements competent. Almost elegant, which made her itch to sketch him. She’d been so crazed in the last couple of days she hadn’t even touched her sketch pad, but maybe she’d try tonight.
If Jackson would model for her, that was.
Working together as if they were an old married couple used to routines, she served the salad and he brought over the pizza and sodas. A glass of wine might have been nice, but they had to stay alert, not to mention that a little wine might make him even more dangerous to her control.
The pizza was delicious and unusual. “I’ve never had grilled pizza with barbecued chicken before.”
“It’s one of Deck’s specialties. People love that he turns things on their heads,” Jackson said and stuffed the last bit of crust into his mouth.
“He’s been great. Please thank him for me,” she said, grateful for all that Declan had done.
Jackson leaned back in his chair and focused his gaze on her, his eyes locked on her face. “Your dad was a police officer?”
She nodded and nibbled at the pizza crust. “He was. My mother was a music teacher, like Selene.”
Jackson dished out the last two slices onto their plates and said, “I guess that explains the information you gave me. It was as neat and complete as any case file I’ve ever read.”
“Dad was a stickler for being orderly and for doing the right thing,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.
“That also explains why you’re so determined to make things right for Selene,” he said, grabbed his slice and took a big bite.
Although she picked up her own slice, she held it before her, unsure how to answer without having him worry. But he’d been nothing but honest with her, even admitting that assisting her might cost him the position as chief. So she charged on. “The only thing that would make things right is to have Selene home again, Jax. That’s what I want more than anything.”
Jackson set down his slice and this time when he gazed at her, the gray of his eyes was almost charcoal with worry. “I know you want that—”
She raised her hand in pleading. “Let’s just leave it at that. Please.”
He did as she asked, finishing the rest of his slice in silence while she nibbled at hers.
They washed dishes much the same way, standing side by side in silence, Jackson washing and Rhea drying. When they were done, Jackson leaned against the counter. “It’s not that late. What would you like to do?”
It came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “I’d like to sketch you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jackson lifted a brow. “Sketch me?”
She mimicked drawing on paper with her hands. “It helps me relax.”
It might help her relax, but being the object of her attention would do little for his peace of mind. Still, it had been a challenging day for her, far more than for him, so if it would help her, he’d suffer it.
“If it’ll help.” He pointed toward his living room. “Mind if I start a fire?” he said, even though between the bonfire and the shed destruction he’d almost had enough of flames and wood smoke. But, as night had fallen, a chill had settled in the air and in him.
One of her dark brows flew upward, as if questioning his sanity, but seeing that he was serious, she acquiesced with a tilt of her head. “I’ll get my sketch pad and pencils.”
She rushed out and, if Jackson was reading her right, she was anything but relaxed. Despite that, he intended to go along with her request, no matter how dangerous it might be to his self-control.
He marched to the living room, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. Since he always kept the fireplace ready, it took little time for the tinder to catch and spread flames to the logs neatly stacked above it. Much like Rhea’s dad, he was also a stickler for being orderly and doing the right thing. Which meant, no matter how tempting Rhea might be, he had to control himself.
At the wall of windows facing the deck, he hit a switch to engage the privacy blinds built into the panels. He didn’t normally use them, preferring to see the woods and stars beyond, but the last thing he wanted was for a colleague doing his rounds to see him modeling for Rhea. He’d never live it down with his friends at the station.
She returned to the living room with her sketch pad and pencils, and took a spot in a chair directly opposite his big leather couch. “Would you mind stretching out there?” she asked, peering at the couch.
He stretched out there often after a hard day at work, the fireplace lit and the television turned on to one of the fix-it channels or a baseball game. But doing so for her...
Sucking in a breath, he lay down and spread out on the couch, his toes touching one arm while he tucked a pillow against the other arm and set his head down on it.
Half-facing her, he tried to inject comfort into his voice as he said, “Here I am. Draw away.”
A half smile, the smile of a siren luring men, graced her lips while she flipped open the pad and grabbed a pencil. “Would you mind...?” She didn’t finish, only did a little wiggle of her finger that communicated her wishes.
Despite being filled with trepidation, he pulled off his T-shirt. She rose and shut off the light on the table beside him, leaving only the firelight for illumination. It created intimacy in the room. Maybe too intimate since desire seemed to catch and flare like the tinder and logs in his fireplace.
Instead of returning to her chair, she sat on the e
dge of the coffee table and skimmed her hand over his shoulder to adjust the position of his body. But her touch changed as she ran her hand along the muscles on his arm and down his side, getting lighter. Even hesitant, but it did nothing to quell the passion rising within him.
He grabbed her hand to stop her, but found himself twining his fingers with hers and drawing her close. “I thought you wanted to sketch me?”
With a big swallow, she said, “I did. I do.”
“The wisest thing would be for you to sit back in that chair and draw,” he said, his voice husky to his ears from the strain of not pulling her close.
A light huff escaped her before that siren’s smile drifted across her lips again. “That would be the right thing to do. So would this.”
She leaned down and covered his mouth with hers, her lips mobile against him. Wet. Warm, so warm.
He cradled the back of her head to keep her near as they kissed over and over until they were both breathless. And while he wanted to urge her down beside him on the couch, he mustered his last bit of self-control.
Sweeping his hand around to cradle her jaw, he applied gentle pressure to shift her away. He locked his gaze on hers, a turbulent navy blue with desire. “I want this... I want you.”
She nodded, clearly understanding where he was going. “You do the right thing. We do the right thing.”
Clapping her hands on her thighs, she shot to her feet and sat across from him. She snatched her sketch pad from where she’d laid it earlier, picked up her pencils, crossed her legs and leaned the pad on her knee.
Rhea worked furiously at first, pencil scratching against the paper as the initial lines of the drawing took shape. The rough shape of the sofa. The long lines of his strong body, lying there with tension in every muscle. The power nestled in the shadows between his thighs...
“Relax,” she said and inhaled deeply to do the same, slowing the stroke and pressure of her pencil to add dimension to the drawing. She normally did landscapes and still lifes, rarely portraits, but she was pleased by the image slowly coming alive on paper.
“You look...pleased,” he said, a sexy huskiness in his tone.
She was and flipped the pad so he could view the drawing.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you see me?”
She turned the pad around and examined her work. The man in her sketch was passion personified, his gaze heavy-lidded. A sexy smile on his lips that promised the pleasure she had experienced barely minutes earlier.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
He shifted to sit, fingers laced together, forearms leaning on his muscled thighs. His features were troubled, his brow furrowed and his gaze nearly black. “I think it’s time for me to do another walk around the property and check in with my colleagues.”
Without waiting for her response, he grabbed his T-shirt and jerked it on. Pushed to his feet and marched off. After the snick of the front door opening and closing, Rhea leaned back in her chair and sighed.
What am I doing? It was crazy to get involved with Jackson, and not just now, when all their focus and attention had to be on the case. She had her life in Denver that she loved. The gallery, her apartment and the vibrant city life. But she couldn’t deny that despite Selene’s disappearance in Regina, the town called to her with its beautiful downtown, homes and the surrounding countryside. And, of course, Jackson. She wanted to explore what she was feeling for Jackson, both emotionally and physically.
And he clearly felt the same.
He wanted her and she him, but it would have to wait.
She collected her drawing supplies, determined to avoid Jackson. Determined not to crawl into bed with him. This time it wouldn’t be because she was afraid or needed comfort. When she did join him the next time...
Driving that image from her brain, she bounded up the stairs and to her room. As she did so, she heard the front door open and close again, as well as the grate of the lock. Glancing toward the stairs, she caught sight of Jackson and closed her door. It was the coward’s way out, but she didn’t trust herself not to give in to what she wanted.
Jackson.
Leaning against the door, she took a bracing breath and listened for his footsteps as they came near and stopped by her room. A long pregnant pause followed, but then the footsteps moved away, down the hall to Jackson’s bedroom.
The breath rushed out of her. Arms wrapped around her sketch pad, she walked to the bed and quickly changed into her pajamas. As she slipped into bed, she took hold of her sketch pad and opened it to the drawing of Jackson. Ran her fingers over it, imagining it was his skin beneath her hand, but not tonight.
Closing the pad, she grabbed her tablet, too wired to go to sleep.
With a few quick strokes, she was in Jackson’s digital notebook. As she did, the program notified her that Jackson was likewise reviewing the information, and she shook her head.
In some ways, we’re too alike, she thought and gave herself over to considering the evidence. Again.
THE LITTLE ICON at the top of the menu indicated that Rhea was likewise logged on to the notebook with the case file.
It seemed almost silly that they were both working on the materials separately, yards apart, but Jackson understood. Being together right now was too dangerous.
With the evidence they’d gathered in the last few days, it pointed to the possibility that Selene’s death may have happened in Regina and not Avalon. He opened the file with the information that detailed the witness accounts of Selene’s visit to the lake and the possible presence of a second vehicle.
First, he reviewed the approximate times against the spillway activity logs Rhea had obtained. The spillway had opened for a short stretch of time early that night, but even with adjustments for possible witness error as to the time Selene had been at the lake, the spillway had likely been closed when Selene had been killed.
If she’d been killed, the little voice in his head challenged.
Despite that being one of the possible scenarios, it just didn’t seem plausible. If she had run away from Matt, Jackson had no doubt she would have run to her sister.
And then there was the text she’d sent.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. I’m finally going to do something about it.
What had that “something” been? he wondered. Had it been ending her life? If it had, the timing of that text would put her by the lake. Wouldn’t she just have walked into the lake to take her life? Especially since her purse and cell phone had been sitting in her car, supporting that supposition. And if so, they were back to the fact that her body should have been found in the days after her disappearance.
He and his colleagues had searched the lake and surrounding shores with a fine-tooth comb and had not found her nor any evidence of her.
Blowing out a frustrated sigh, he opened his nightstand and pulled out the pad and pen he kept there because he often got ideas about cases at the oddest times.
He switched to the page in the notebook with information on the timeline for Selene’s trip from Avalon to Regina. Setting aside the laptop, he took the notes and transferred them to his pad of paper, confirming what they had discussed before, namely, that Selene had spent way more time on the road between leaving Avalon and arriving at the lake in Regina.
Since he was well familiar with the route, he listed a few places Selene might have stopped that night. Since Selene had rushed off according to Matt, she might not have been prepared for a trip to Denver. That possibly meant a stop for gas.
There were two different gas stations near Regina to check in the morning.
She might have also been hungry or thirsty. Maybe tired and needing a pick-me-up, like a cup of coffee. There was a general store and coffee shop right off the highway, as well as two different restaurants on the street leading to the lake.
He jotted
down those names and, for good measure, grabbed his laptop and searched the route using one of the online mapping services. That had him adding a chain pharmacy location, as well as a local pub. It was the kind of place a single woman might go for a quick hookup, but Selene would not have known that. She also would not have known that on occasion a rougher crowd frequented the location.
A chirp on his phone alerted him to a message.
She had to have stopped somewhere along the route to the lake. Maybe the coffee shop. She’s a caffeine fiend.
He texted back, I agree. I made a list of spots we can check in the morning.
A long pause followed before she texted, Thank you. I appreciate all that you’re doing.
He wanted to say that it was his job, but it had become more than that to him. She had become more to him.
Fingers over his phone screen, he hesitated, but then finally wrote, We will find out what happened. Together.
Breath held, he waited for her response and smiled when it came.
Together. Good night, Jax.
Good night, Rhea.
Chapter Fourteen
Morning came way too quickly.
Jackson woke just as the first rose-and-purple fingers of dawn were clawing their way into the sky. He dressed in his uniform, strapped on his service belt and chatted with the two officers in the cruiser.
“Nothing happening, Detective,” said the one young officer.
“Thanks, Officer Troutman. I’m going to take a walk around the property, just in case.”
He reconnoitered the grounds, but everything was in order, except of course for the burned shed, including the charred remains of his favorite chain saw and ax.
When he went back inside, Rhea was also dressed and putting up a pot of coffee.
“Good morning, Jax,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.
He walked to her and laid a hand at her waist, urging her around. “Everything okay with us?”
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