by Jen Talty
Jag had to admit, at least to himself, that those same questions filled his mind, but it didn’t make sense if he pulled it back to the beginning. “What were you doing when the first murder took place?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a junior reporter, and you didn’t even cover that case. I was a beat cop. I had just taken my detective test, but it was a full year before I got my first case.”
“Which was the fourth victim,” she said. “And that was the second murder I covered.”
“I know. You pissed me right the fuck off when you gave the killer a name and then publicly made the connection between a couple of the murders before we were ready to make that announcement.”
“People have the right to know there is a serial killer in the neighborhood, but I now see how I went too far sometimes.”
“You were just doing your job,” he said.
“Wow. Who are you, and what did you do with my ex-fiancé?”
He spit out half his beer as he burst out laughing. “We were engaged for less than a day, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word and my name in the same sentence.”
“It did feel very weird on my tongue.”
“Don’t turn your head or anything, but we’ve got company,” he said.
“Who? Where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the car, but someone is definitely sitting in it. Without causing alarm, I want you to quickly go inside.
“What are you going to do?”
“Call my officer on duty. I always have two. And have them do a sweep while I sit here with my gun.” He pulled it out of its holster and put it on the table. “And watch.”
“I’ll be inside.” She scurried through the front door, shutting it quickly. At least she didn’t argue. That was a change from the days of the past. She always had to be in the thick of things. Right there with him on the front lines. The story meant more to her than anything else, including him.
But who was he to talk? She often took a back seat to his job.
He stuffed his AirPods back in his ear. “Hey Siri, call Jenna Earls.”
It rang once. “Hey, Chief. What’s up?”
“Are you in your patrol car?”
“Yup. Just sitting up at the corner by the motel waiting to get someone for a rolling stop.”
He laughed. “I need you to drive down to my neighborhood and check out a car parked just at the bend by my house.”
“Be there in five.”
He tapped his phone but left the earpiece in while he pretended to kick back and enjoy his second beer. Which actually felt really good as it bubbled down his esophagus and into his stomach.
Headlights cut through the dark night.
The car in question flicked its lights on and eased down the road.
His cell buzzed.
“Hey, Jenna,” he said.
“I’ve got the plate, and I’m running it now. Do you want me to follow…well, now, that’s interesting.”
“What?”
“The car is registered to Bailey Redding.”
“Of course it is,” he said. “Yeah. Follow her. Find out if she’s staying here on the island and if you can come up with a reason to pull her over, do it.”
“She’s got a taillight out.”
“Perfect. Feel free to give her a ticket,” he said. “We need to feed the beast that all women cops are bitches.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” she said with a laugh.
He’d known Jenna for years. They went through the academy together and for a short time were partners as beat cops. They didn’t come any better than Jenna.
“I won’t argue that point,” he said before ending the call. He finished his beer. Time to head inside and try to get some sleep.
It was going to be hard with Callie in his house.
Worse, because she wouldn’t be in his bed.
Chapter 4
Callie leaned against porch railing and looked out over the sound. Life on Whidbey Island seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. A year ago, she could only tolerate that for a day, maybe two. Now, she thought she might like to live this way for the rest of her life.
The view alone soothed her aching heart. His house sat up on the hill in the back of the neighborhood and looked out over everyone else. It was if the chief of police was actually keeping an eye on his citizens.
One of his neighbors walked down the street with a dog in tow. She glanced up and waved with a puzzled expression.
Small towns.
People would be talking, but she suspected Seattle was already abuzz about her return. She might not be famous, but she certainly left an impression, and the video still occasionally made the rounds on social media.
She blew into the oversized mug. She’d managed to make a pot of coffee without blowing anything up. She had horrible luck with appliances. Back in the day, she’d broken so many of Jag’s gadgets that he banned her from his kitchen.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
She jumped, sloshing her coffee all down the front of her white pajama shirt. “Mother trucker.”
“Yeah. That’s not coming out.”
“Probably not, so let’s be glad I stole this shirt from you.”
He raced inside and quickly returned with a small towel, pressing it against her chest.
She held the half-empty cup to the side and glared at him. “Really? Are you done feeling me up?”
“They’re a little bigger than they used to be.”
Snagging the towel, she twirled it and whipped it at his shoulder. “Asshole.”
“Ouch, that hurt.”
“Good,” she muttered, wishing that she didn’t enjoy the banter. Their relationship had always been one of yin and yang. Tit for tat. Their world views were identical, but how they approached everything couldn’t be more opposite. It made for some pretty intense conversations that turned into passionate lovemaking sessions.
“Guess who managed to get my cell,” she said.
He laughed. “Oh, let me take a wild stab at that one.” He tapped his foot and raised his hand, flicking his index finger against his temple. “The pope?”
“Haha, funny guy.”
He laughed. “I take it you mean Bailey. Did you answer? Respond?”
She shook her head. “She left a message last night at nine thirty, asking me to call her first thing. She wants to meet me for an informal late lunch or early cocktail to discuss the possibility of doing a sit-down interview in the studio about the book.”
“Are you going to meet her?”
Callie took the last sip of coffee and set the mug on the railing. She folded her arms across her chest. The wet shirt clung to her skin, sending a slight shiver across her body. The temperature was in the seventies, which was unseasonably warm for May in Seattle, but she’d enjoy every second of it. In a few hours, things might be gray, misty, and cold, like usual. “I’m planning on it, but I have no intention of doing an on-camera interview. Not now anyway, and not with her.”
“If you did do one, who would it be with?”
“Jackie from Channel 8,” she said without hesitation. In all of Callie’s career, her biggest competition for ratings had been Jackie Cash.
“Wow. She used to drive you crazy.”
“Only when she got the story before I did,” Callie admitted. “Those days are over, but Bailey is a backstabbing bitch and with how she handled the coverage of my sister’s murder and our breakup by putting them up on her social media to use as her first big break into reporting, well, I don’t want to give her shit. Jackie and I were always professional with each other.”
“Yeah, Jackie’s not so bad.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I took her out a few months ago.”
“I never needed to know that,” Callie said.
“Then maybe you don’t want to know I also took out Bailey.”
“Gross.” She held her stomach. “Why would you do that? Jackie I can maybe understan
d. But Bailey?”
“Yeah. She was a mistake. Rebound to get over you. But Jackie was different.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Are you jealous?” He winked.
“Maybe a little, but only because they are both in the same profession, and before you and I hooked up, you used to say, and I quote, ‘Reporters and journalists are the devil. Wait. Nope. They are worse. They are the armpit of the earth.’”
He burst out laughing. “I did say that. And if it makes you feel any better, the date with Jackie didn’t even get off the ground. We ordered drinks and an appetizer, and before we ordered a meal she was like, you’re a jerk.”
“What did you do? Make some sexist joke?” She shook her head. “I’ve never understood why you do that when you’re really the furthest thing from a misogynistic pig.”
“Actually, I was a perfect gentleman. The problem was I couldn’t stop talking about you. I guess I wasn’t ready to start dating again.”
“Are you dating now?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. You?”
“I don’t have the time with a deadline looming. Speaking of which, I need to know if—”
“You will never get an interview from me for that book, just so we’re clear on that.”
She figured as much, but she realized that since she’d been back in town, she’d never done the one thing he deserved most. “You’ve been really kind to me since I returned.”
“I don’t know about that. Had you not been threatened, I’m not sure I would have given you the time of day.”
“I’m sorry.” Tentatively, she took a few tiny steps forward. “I said a lot of hurtful things to you at my sister’s crime scene and again at home. And what I did to you on national television, well, it was just uncalled for, and if I could go back in time, I’d do that all differently.”
“But you’d still give me my ring back.”
She reached out and cupped his cheek with her palm. “Considering everything, it was for the best.”
He curled his fingers around her wrist. “I appreciate the apology.”
“I had to blame someone that I could see, feel, and touch. The Trinket Killer was either dead or nowhere to be found. You were standing right in front of me. You had lied to me, and I didn’t feel like I could trust you.”
“We lied to each other, and for the record, I had to. I couldn’t tell you those things we were keeping from the public and the press. I was on thin ice as it was because you always seemed to be one step ahead of all the other reporters.” He pulled her to his chest. “And let’s not forget you hacked into my computer and read reports you shouldn’t have. That’s criminal, and I could have—”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t done that and I never used that information.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. “Until I tossed my engagement ring at you in front of the world.”
“I’m lucky I have a job, and you’re lucky you’re not in jail.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, forcing her to rest her hands on his strong shoulders.
“We both made a lot of mistakes.” She tilted her head and stared into his deep dark eyes. A year ago, she thought she couldn’t live without him. He’d been everything she wanted in a man.
Or so she thought.
It still hurt that he hadn’t listened to her theories about the Trinket Killer. She knew it might not have saved her sister, but she’d never know because he never looked into it.
“What are you trying to get out of this book?” His hands gently roamed up and down her back, massaging her tight muscles. To be in his arms again, felt like she’d come home. Her brain told her to take a step back and protect her soul.
Her heart had other ideas and didn’t seem to care that it would soon be bleeding out on the floor if she caved to any of her desires.
She clasped her fingers together behind his neck. “Closure.”
“We may never find the killer.”
“Have you totally stopped looking? Have you given up completely?”
“No,” he whispered as he pressed his mouth against hers in a sweet kiss. He tasted of a combination of bitter coffee and cinnamon. His tongue eased between her lips, igniting a fire that started in her toes and slithered across her body like a snake, hitting every erogenous zone, ensuring her knees went weak.
His hands cupped her ass, heaving her even closer.
She raised up on tiptoe, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head telling her that this was a bad idea.
But it felt so good.
So right.
But it’s wrong, said that damn voice.
“Jag,” she said, sliding her hand down his taut pectoral muscles. She moaned.
He raised her hand and kissed her palm. “I need to go shower. I have to be at the office in a half hour. I left you a set of keys on the kitchen table. Promise me you’ll keep me up to date on your whereabouts? I’m taking that note seriously, and if I had the manpower, I’d have someone on your tail twenty-four seven.”
“Other than meeting Bitch Bailey, I plan on staying right here on this front porch and working.”
He pointed to the corner of the house. “Just an FYI. I’ve got cameras covering all entrances.”
“And inside your home?”
“Just in your shower.” He chuckled. “I’m kidding. I have no cameras inside. I left you a detailed sheet with internet and all that on the table. You can call me if you need me. I’ll drive by when I’m on patrol.” He kissed her nose, and with that, he turned on his heel and left her standing there with her fingers on her lips, wondering what the hell just happened.
Callie sat on the rooftop of Georgio’s Bar and Grill and stared out over the water. She could get used to this kind of life, only she would definitely miss fast food, since about the only place you could find that on the island was at the ferry depot.
And that wasn’t the kind of fast food she craved.
She glanced at her watch. God, she hated it when people were late. When she worked as reporter and journalist, she always made sure she was at least five to ten minutes early for any prearranged meeting.
She pulled out the paper copy of the manuscript and a pen. She might as well make good use of the time.
The waitress pushed through the door and headed in her direction. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything while you wait?”
“Yeah. I’ll take a glass of your house Pinot Grigio. The nine ounce.” Normally, Callie wouldn’t dare think of having a glass of wine before five, but screw it. Three in the afternoon wasn’t that far off. Getting through any meeting with the likes of Bailey would require taking the edge off.
“I’ll be right back with that.”
No sooner did the waitress disappear than Bailey burst onto the rooftop with her perfectly styled shoulder-length dark hair. “So sorry I’m late. We’re doing a piece on the distillery, and we went over a little.”
“So, your camera crew is with you?”
Bailey nodded. “They are getting burgers down the street. I didn’t want you to think I was going back on my word.” She adjusted her chair and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Callie couldn’t say the same, but she’d do the fake bullshit ex-coworker thing because there was no point not to. “You as well,” she said. “I’ve caught a few of your reports over the last few months. You’ve settled in nicely.”
“Thanks. Your shoes were tough to fill.”
Of course they were. Oh, she really needed to stop being so resentful. The girl was just doing her job. Something Callie used to do and not much differently.
“I want to make sure all of this is off the record,” Callie said just as the waitress reappeared, setting her glass of wine in front of her. She actually wished she hadn’t ordered it now. Especially when Bailey ordered a sparkling water. They both ordered the salad special.
“Full disclosure. We’re doing a piece on your return whether you lik
e it or not,” Bailey said.
“Why am I not surprised,” she said with a sarcastic laugh, shoving the manuscript back into her bag.
“There’s a lot of buzz now that you’re back and a lot of discussion about the book deal. I have a conference call with your publisher and editor. Your agent hasn’t returned my call. I was hoping you’d be able to facilitate that.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll be asking my agent not to speak to you. That said, I’m sure my publisher will enjoy the publicity.” Bad press was better than no press. She lifted the wine glass to her lips and took a good gulp. “Let me give you a little piece of advice. When dealing with someone who doesn’t want anything on record, don’t come out of the gate with both barrels loaded. You’ve basically told me that anything I say might as well be used against me.”
“Oh no,” Bailey said. “I’m sorry if I came off too aggressively, because that wasn’t my intention at all. I will only use what I’ve gathered on my own, which is all public, and what your publisher tells me. People are curious, though, as to what you’ve been up to.”
“I’ve been writing a book,” she said matter-of-factly.
“There are a lot of rumors around about the title of the book and how that might affect your fiancé.”
Callie let out a dry laugh. She wanted to tell Bailey that they knew she’d been the one sitting outside of Jag’s house last night, but instead, she’d rather fuck with the little pain in the ass reporter. “He’s my ex-fiancé, and I’m still working with the publisher on the title. I actually sent them over a few more ideas this morning.”
“Care to share?”
“I do not,” she said.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Bailey raised her glass before taking a slow sip. A short silence filled the air while the waitress refilled their waters and set their salads on the table.
Bailey leaned across the table. Her gaze darted left and right as if she were checking to make sure no one was paying attention. “This isn’t my place, but you’re so much better off without Jag. He’s such an asshole.”
“Really? And what makes you say that?”
