As he let Patches out of the SUV and scratched her ears, an apology for his erratic driving, he couldn’t help glancing around for the big blue truck. Then he shook his head and muttered, “I think I needed a longer break, Patches.”
She stared up at him, her soft brown eyes telegraphing sympathy.
He’d considered taking a vacation between finishing his term on the Rapid Deployment Team in DC and moving out to Anchorage. But the job opening had seemed perfect and the idea of Alaska had felt so different and enticing that he’d jumped on it. He’d been sure the cases he’d see here would be tiny compared to the mass casualty events that had burned him out over the previous three years. But this bombing was bringing it all back.
Apparently, that stress was making him imagine threats where there were none.
Movement in the distance made him jump and his gaze darted to the woods bracketing the restaurant. Then he froze in awe.
A moose, much bigger than he’d imagined the animals to be, paused and stared back at him.
When Patches took a slow, curious step forward, Jax grabbed her collar and his rapid movement sent the moose running.
Letting go of a breath along with Patches’s collar, he said, “Let’s go see Keara.”
Woof! Woof!
Grinning at his dog’s suddenly wagging tail, echoing his own feelings, Jax led her into The Lodge. There were small tables scattered throughout the main space, centered around a fireplace. Near the front was a section that carried food, like a small specialty grocery store.
It wasn’t very big, so he could tell immediately that despite his detour, he’d still beaten Keara here. Probably due to his erratic driving. Good thing there hadn’t been a cop around to pull him over for speeding. That would have been embarrassing—and not just because Keara would have heard about it.
Jax ordered himself a chai latte, while the teenage girl behind the counter cooed at Patches, and then he sat at one of the cozy tables. It looked like a spot to take a date, not the sort of place you’d sit and talk about an old murder and a new bombing.
His nerves picked up again, for an entirely different reason, as Keara entered the restaurant. She spotted him across the room, a hesitant smile tipping her lips before she turned and ordered herself a drink.
Then she was walking toward him and Jax couldn’t stop himself from cataloging all the differences from last night. Her hair was tied up in its typical tight bun and as she unzipped her coat, he discovered she was wearing her police uniform. Everything about her—including the serious look on her face—broadcasted that today was all business.
He tried to respond in kind, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her lips. Couldn’t keep his mind from revisiting the feel of those lips against his, the taste of her mouth as she’d kissed him. The sudden desire for a big glass of cabernet filled him.
When he dragged his gaze back to her eyes, they were slightly narrowed. The hands around her mug whitened at the knuckles. Her gaze drifted to his mug and then a smile quirked her lips. “Are you drinking chai?”
“Yeah.”
That smile quivered again, making him wonder if he’d missed something, and then Keara cleared her throat, her expression turning serious.
“So there are no other bombs with this symbol?” she demanded. “Not anywhere in the country over the past seven years?”
Woof! Patches went to Keara and nudged her, making her reposition her mug to prevent her drink from spilling.
From the smell that wafted toward him, she’d opted for hot chocolate. He tried not to wonder what that would taste like on her lips.
“Sorry, Patches,” Keara said, taking a seat and petting his dog.
Finally, she turned back to him with raised eyebrows.
“No. And when it comes to bombs, since the FBI has the biggest lab in the country dedicated to bomb evidence, we probably would have seen it. Unless—”
“Unless the other bombs exploding destroyed the symbols,” Keara finished for him. “Maybe we were never intended to see that symbol at all. Maybe that’s why Rodney had to kill Juan, because even if Rodney didn’t kill Celia, the crime was now connected to the symbol.”
“Killing Juan doesn’t change the case file,” Jax reminded her.
“No. But Juan was the only one showing any interest in Rodney,” Keara shot back, her expression as desperate as it was determined.
Jax stared at her, dread sinking to his stomach. This tenuous connection between the murder in Texas and the bomb had reignited Keara’s hope that her husband’s case could be solved. Based on the way she’d responded to the symbol the first time she’d seen it, that was something she’d given up on until now.
This new chance could be making her see connections where there weren’t any. Was his hope that she could move on making him do the same?
If so, were they both fooling themselves that they could possibly solve Juan’s cold case?
* * *
SHE NEEDED TO keep her distance from Jax.
Maybe not physically, since he was helping her investigate the bombing—and hopefully her husband’s murder. That was giving her access to information she’d never be able to get from the FBI otherwise. So simply staying away from him wasn’t an option. But separating herself emotionally was.
Sighing, Keara signed another document in the huge stack of paperwork on her desk and set it in her outbox. Being chief, even in a small town, meant a lot of paperwork. It had taken her several years to get used to the amount of time she spent at her desk, rather than out in the field. A small town in a place like Alaska—with more than twenty percent as much land as the whole of the lower forty-eight, but the lowest population density anywhere in the country—meant she still had to take calls personally. That fact had made the transition easier.
Slowly, she’d gotten used to being the boss. Of maintaining a certain distance between herself and her colleagues. Of being tougher on her officers than she would have wanted in their place, because she knew how important it was not just to maintain her authority, but also to keep them safe.
It wasn’t easy. Not just the loss of the camaraderie she’d had when she was just one of the force, but also being hard on her officers. She’d even fired one, a rookie who’d had tons of promise and she’d liked personally, too. But he’d ignored direct orders, actually broken the law. Yes, he’d done it to save someone, and in his place, she might have done the same. But that didn’t matter. Not now.
She had to do whatever it took to make sure none of her officers’ spouses ever faced what she’d experienced. It was a responsibility that weighed heavily on her every day.
Still, most days she loved being a chief in Desparre. She loved the way a town known for its self-sufficient, independent citizens would pull together and look after each other when needed. And she was proud of the officers who worked for her, proud to call herself their chief.
There were definitely days when she missed being a detective. Missed working closely with a partner, unraveling a puzzle to give someone justice. She’d made the conscious choice to put that role behind her after Juan’s death had gone unsolved. But now...
She shook her head and pushed her chair back from her desk, then stood and stretched. She’d been dealing with paperwork for hours, ever since she’d left The Lodge.
Coffee with Jax and Patches had felt more like a date than a professional meeting, despite the fact that they’d only talked about the case. Her fingers pressed against her lips, remembering the feel of his kiss, wishing she could get it out of her head.
She hadn’t dated since Juan had died. Not really. Sure, she’d gone on a few “you’d get along so well; what’s the big deal; give it a try” kind of setup dates. The kind where she’d met a guy for a drink, tried not to feel uncomfortable as he asked her what it was like being new to Alaska, what it was like being a police chief, then finall
y gone home. A couple of times, the guy had called for a second date and she’d let him down easy.
She’d told herself it was just too awkward to date in a town where she was the top law-enforcement official. She’d told herself that one day this would feel more like home and the timing would be better. But maybe that was an easy excuse. Because somehow, here it was, six years later, and Desparre did feel like her home. Yet, she hadn’t gone out on a single date since those early setups.
Maybe it was pure bad luck, because she’d also never felt a connection to anyone like she’d been feeling with Jax over these past few days. At least, not since her husband.
The thought made her fingers drop away from her mouth and her stomach cramp up. Why did the first man who’d made her think about moving forward have to be one who was also forcing her to face her past?
Spinning away from the glass wall that gave her a view into the bullpen where some of her officers were working, Keara stared through the small window at the back of her office. The view was relaxing, the edge of a dense forest that butted up against this part of town. On the rare occasions that she opened the window, it filled her office with the chirping of birds and occasionally the call of a wolf. Once, she’d spotted a bear off in the distance.
When she’d first walked into this office, knowing it was going to be hers, she’d felt like she could breathe deeply for the first time in a year. Alaska had given her solace, a place to start over and hopefully, to heal.
Now, for the first time, she wondered if her family was right. Maybe she wasn’t here to move on. Maybe she was here to escape the constant reminders that had been everywhere in Houston. The home she’d shared with Juan, their favorite restaurant, the streets they’d once patrolled together. Even the shared friends, the family who meant well but cringed and didn’t quite meet her gaze when someone mentioned Juan’s name.
Being in Houston, knowing Juan’s killer was out there somewhere, walking free while Juan was gone, had filled her with a constant rage on top of the grief. And then there’d been the weight of failure, the knowledge that she—a police officer, a detective—hadn’t been able to get Juan justice.
Coming here had made it all fade into the background. But it was returning now, that familiar weight that seemed to suffocate her from the inside.
She couldn’t run forever. Maybe the bombing wasn’t connected to Juan’s murder. But whether it was the key or not, regardless of the fact that she had no jurisdiction, she was going to investigate.
The thought made the grief and anger and frustration burning inside her coalesce into something more powerful. Determination.
Keara glanced at the picture she kept framed in a corner of her office, almost hidden behind stacks of paper. Juan stared back at her, serious and proud in his police uniform from when they’d first started dating.
“I promise you,” she whispered to that picture, her voice cracking, “this time I’m not giving up. I’m not running away. I’m going to figure out who killed you.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Has there been any progress in the FBI’s investigation? Are we any closer to knowing who did this?”
Justin Peterson’s questions were full of frustration, but far less anger than when Jax and Patches had last visited the man. Maybe that was because today the visit was in his home, instead of the hospital.
“Absolutely,” Jax said, leaning forward even as Patches continued to do her work.
She’d sat beside Justin as soon as the man led them into his living room. He’d been absently petting her ever since. His three-year-old daughter, Lily, was sprawled on the floor, chatting nonsense to Patches.
Every few minutes Patches would suddenly drop to her belly, full of puppy energy, and Lily would burst into giggles and pet her.
“What is it?” Justin asked, but this time he cracked a smile as Patches did more of her antics and Lily laughed again.
“I know it seems like a slow process, but doing it the right way now means we won’t damage evidence that might help us later. It means that we’re checking everything carefully so we get the person responsible. And we will. The FBI has a lot of experience with this kind of crime. And the lead agent managing this case, Agent Nez, has investigated a lot of bombings in his career.”
Justin nodded slowly, finally seeming to believe the words Jax had been repeating for five days now. “Someone should pay for this.”
His gaze dropped to his leg. He’d pulled up the fabric of his pants on his right side to show Jax before Lily had come into the room. A nasty scar traveled all the way from his ankle to his knee, where doctors had dealt with the large piece of metal that had been lodged there. “It ain’t pretty. But at least they saved my leg. At least I’m still here.”
Tears filled his eyes that he quickly swiped away as he glanced at his daughter, oblivious as she rolled over and Patches did the same.
A laugh burst free and Justin muttered, “Maybe we need to think about getting a dog.”
“Yes, Daddy!” Lily screeched, leaping up and throwing her arms around Patches’s neck. “A dog like Patches!”
Woof! Patches jumped to her feet, too.
“Better ask your mom,” Justin said and Lily went racing out of the room. “Careful!” Justin called after her.
“We’ll continue to be in touch,” Jax said, shaking the man’s hand as he stood. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ll keep you updated about the progress. And you can call me if you have questions.”
“I appreciate it.” A genuine smile lit Justin’s face as his daughter screeched from the other room, “Mommy said yes!”
“Good luck,” Jax said, then turned to his dog, who was staring in the direction Lily had disappeared. “Come on, Patches.”
She followed him out the door and Jax felt his own smile break free. He was helping these victims. Slowly, but surely, they were all starting to move forward. Some were taking smaller steps than others and some had much harder journeys, but they’d all get there.
It was why he’d made the jump to the FBI. He was good at this. Maybe Ben and Anderson were right. Maybe he needed to stick to what he knew best, his own job.
As much as he wanted to help Keara, as much as he wanted to be more directly involved in stopping the person responsible, everything that was emerging from the FBI investigation suggested his and Keara’s theories were off base.
There were no other bombs with the symbol. It was possible, though unlikely, that this was the only time the bomber had used the symbol. A bit more likely was that it had only been recovered in this particular bomb. But when Jax had floated that idea with Ben, the agent had seemed unconvinced. More likely, this guy was solely a bomber and the murder in Texas was unrelated. It was what Ben and Anderson believed. They even questioned if the symbols really matched. The loops were so random, they wondered if it was just coincidence, and that Keara, desperate to find connections to the old murders, was seeing what she wanted to see.
And yet...Jax couldn’t shake the feeling he’d had when he’d first seen that symbol, the certainty that it meant something. He couldn’t shake the memory of Keara’s eyes widening, the way she’d swayed and gone pale, when she’d seen it.
Once he and Patches climbed into his SUV, Jax didn’t bother to start the engine. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ben.
“Ben Nez,” the agent answered. Even over the phone, he sounded commanding, the tone of someone who’d been an agent for a long time and was comfortable being in control.
“It’s Jax. I’m just leaving one of the victim’s houses and I have a question.”
“A question or information on the case?” Ben asked, a warning tone in his voice, like he knew what was coming.
Ignoring it, Jax pushed forward. He could take the snide comments about being a wannabe agent. What he couldn’t take was worrying that he’d kept quiet when speaking up might h
ave made a difference. “I’m just wondering if we have any more details on the bomb. You’ve got a lot of experience with weapons like this. Does it seem like it’s the work of someone who’s been doing it a long time? Do you think whoever did this has made bombs before?”
A heavy sigh, meant to be heard, greeted him, followed by a long silence.
Finally, Jax broke it. “This isn’t idle curiosity. What do you think?”
“It’s hard to say,” Ben said, his tone cautious. “The bomb itself wasn’t very sophisticated. You can learn how to make something like this on the internet if you know where to look. But the fact that no one noticed anything unusual, that we don’t have any cameras that caught anything suspicious, suggests this guy isn’t an amateur. Plus, we’ve been looking hard for a motive, since the most likely reason to target this location is to take out a specific person. So far we haven’t come up with anything promising.”
“So—”
“You’re a great Victim Specialist, Jax,” Ben said, cutting him off. “And if there’s information you’re getting from the victims that could help us figure this out, I want to hear it. If you’re asking about this because it’s going to somehow help you in your role, then fine. But being an investigator isn’t something you do off the side of your desk, no matter what you might have seen on TV.”
Jax stiffened. He’d worked side by side with Special Agents and other members of the FBI for four years. He understood all too well how many people—agents, evidence technicians, victim specialists, analysts and more—came together to solve a crime.
“I know I’m not an agent,” Jax said, wishing the words didn’t feel just a little bit bitter. “And I’m not trying to be one.” That much was true. Despite the burnout he was feeling, despite the desire to be more embedded in the investigative side of things, he did love his job. “But this case is different. This case—”
Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 44
