Cold Case Affair Page 5

  “Yeah, he wasn’t that impressed with the city. He told us about it.”

  Her lips flattened. “And for his birthday, I sent him a ticket to Spain. I met him in Madrid. Gus had a thing for Hemingway—he wanted to see a bullfight…” Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “Damn, I’m so sorry,” she said brushing them away.

  “Sorry for what? Caring?”

  Her eyes shot up to his.

  “Look, I guess I just don’t understand why you didn’t even come back for his memorial service, Muirinn. Or when you first heard he was missing.”

  “I didn’t know he was missing!”

  “Someone must have told you.”

  “I was unreachable, Jett, on assignment in the remote jungles of West Papua—”

  “With no cell phone? No satellite connection, nothing?”

  “Nothing.” She rubbed her face. “That was the whole point of the assignment, to be inaccessible. For myself, an anthropologist and a photographer to spend some time with one of the world’s last truly isolated tribes. Part of my story was to be about that sense of isolation. Our goal was to feel it.”

  “But you were—are—pregnant.”

  “And in good health. Women in those tribes have been bearing children in that jungle for centuries. The photographer was also a paramedic. I was not at risk.”

  “What if there had been an emergency?”

  “That’s the point, Jett. Our society can’t conceive of living without phones, Internet, radios. We don’t know how to cope on our own anymore. We go into a total panic at the mere notion of not being in contact, but it’s not necessary. Besides, I grew up here, remember? My grandfather raised me to be self-sufficient.”

  “Stubborn is more like it,” he muttered.

  She glanced at him. “You disapprove of me.”

  Jett inhaled deeply, thinking how she’d run off pregnant with his baby, never allowing him to share in the joy of a pregnancy, the birth of his son.

  “It’s not just you that you need to think about,” he said. “You have a responsibility toward a child now.”

  “You’re still angry at me, aren’t you?” she whispered.

  He wanted to be. He needed something to shield himself from this woman. Anger was all he had to protect himself right now.

  Jett got up suddenly, went to the truck.

  “You’re avoiding my question,” she called after him.

  “I’m doing what Mrs. Wilkie called me over to do,” he said coolly, as he opened the door. “What happened when you tried to start it?”

  “Nothing at all. I think it’s an oil leak,” Muirinn said, getting up and following him to the truck, sun burning down hot on her head as it rose higher in the clear blue sky.

  He climbed into the cab. “There’s a bunch of gray silt on the floor here,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. It clicked but the engine didn’t start. “You’ll need to clean this thing out if you want your city clothes to stay all fancy,” he said, shooting her a glance. “And you’re going to need better sandals, too, if you actually want to get around.”

  “I was going into the office, to meet Rick Frankl,” she replied crisply. “And then I was going to see the police chief—”

  He crooked up a brow. “Chief Moran?”

  “Whoever.”

  He turned the key again and frowned. “Oil light is on.”

  “Doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

  Jett scowled, popped the hood and climbed out of the cab.

  “What do you want to see Moran for? To complain about Gage?” He checked the oil as he spoke, then stripped off his shirt.

  Muirinn’s heart skipped a beat as her gaze tracked over his naked torso, down to the dark hair that ran in a whorl into his jeans. Heat flooded her veins and she swallowed, feeling a small bead of sweat roll down between her breasts.

  His eyes darkened—he was clearly aware of the effect his naked, sun-browned abs were having on her. This made her cheeks flush red and her pulse race. “I…uh, there was another break-in, at Gus’s newspaper office.”

  “What?”

  “According to Rick, nothing was taken,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat. “Officer Gage responded to that incident as well. He should’ve said something to me, and I intend to take this up with his superior, because this can’t be a coincidence. Someone is looking for something that belonged to Gus.”

  He was looking at her mouth. But he tore his gaze away, got down on his haunches and slid himself under the truck.

  Muirinn stared at him, the way his thigh muscles flexed under the fabric of his jeans. Her mouth turned dry. This was wrong, so wrong.

  “Looks like the oil sump was ruptured by something—a sharp rock maybe,” he called out from under the vehicle. “It’s been leaking out for some time.”

  He came out from under the truck and got to his feet in a fluid, powerful movement. He reached into the cab for a rag. “A new sump, some oil and it’ll be good as new,” he said wiping his hands on the rag, avoiding her eyes now. He put his shirt back on, ruffled his hand through his hair and then hesitated, as if unsure, nervous.

  Then he handed Muirinn her purse from inside the truck. “I’ll drive you into town. I can pick up a new sump and oil while you meet with Frankl, then I’ll go with you to the cops.”

  Anxiety licked at her. “You don’t have to do this, Jett.”

  He moistened his lips, still avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, I do. I don’t like these break-ins, either. And I don’t like the way Ted Gage treated you. Besides, Chief Don Moran can be a bear at the best of times—”

  “Don—is he chief now? As in Bill’s little brother?”

  “Keeping it in the family, those Morans.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach into his eyes. “Things really went to the collective Moran head when the youngest brother’s wife was elected mayor. Now they think they run this town.”

  Jett touched her elbow gently as he led her to his truck.

  “You mean Chalky Moran’s wife? Who did he marry?”

  He opened the passenger door for her. “Kate Lonsdale. She’s been mayor for the past year now.”

  They drove in tense silence along the twisting dirt road that clung to the ragged shoreline, dust billowing out behind them.

  Muirinn wished she could rewind the last half hour, retract Mrs. Wilkie’s call to Jett. She should never have let this happen, never should have let him touch her. Because she’d seen in his eyes that, hidden behind that brittle shell, he still felt something for her. And she sure as hell felt everything for him.

  But he was married. Out of bounds.

  And Muirinn owed it to his wife, his son, to him, to stay away, leave the past where it belonged.

  She felt him glance at her and she swallowed, cheeks flushing hot as she looked away.

  And in that moment she knew it was too late. She was already in trouble.

  They both were.

  Chapter 4

  Chief Don Moran shut his office door and motioned for Muirinn and Jett to take a seat. Through his glass walls Muirinn could see Ted Gage watching them intently from his desk across the bullpen. She could feel the other officers watching, too, and wished Moran would lower the blinds.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. O’Donnell?” Moran said as he took his seat on the opposite side of his metal desk, his eyes flicking to Jett. He was clearly not surprised to see her back in town, nor was he overly thrilled about it.

  Don looked unnervingly like his much older brother, William “Bill” Moran, from his father’s first marriage. It was as if Don had somehow morphed into his brother with age.

  While Don had been just a twenty-two-year-old rookie at the time of the Tolkin blast, Bill had been the Safe Harbor police chief. It was Bill who’d approached Muirinn’s mother in the snow that day, and told her that her husband was among the dead.

  Seeing Don looking so much like his brother threw Muirinn off guard. Gray images of that tragic, snowy spring morning suddenl
y filled her mind, and for a disconcerting moment, she was nine years old again.

  She cleared her throat. “My grandfather’s—my—house at Mermaid’s Cove was broken into last night—”

  “I saw the report, yes. Vandals, most likely.”

  She leaned forward. “I don’t think so, Chief Moran. I’ve just learned that Gus’s newspaper office was also broken into, two days ago. Nothing was taken there, either.”

  Moran glanced discreetly at his watch, telegraphing mild impatience. “What is it that seems to be the problem, Ms. O’Donnell?”

  “I believe the break-ins have to be connected, and that someone was looking for something in Gus’s papers or computer files.”

  His eyes turned flat, inscrutable. Silence hung for a beat. “What gives you that idea?”

  Muirinn felt Jett stiffen beside her. She placed her hand on his knee to steady him—and take support from his proximity. “Pardon me, Chief, but what wouldn’t give me that idea? Gus was—” suddenly she didn’t want to mention the Tolkin file, the photographs, what Gus might have been working on. She had a bad feeling about it all, about the way the other cops were eyeing her from the bullpen.

  He waited for her to continue.

  “I…was just hoping that you’d have one of your men look into it.”

  He inhaled deeply, and stood. “We treat all our cases with due consideration, Ms. O’Donnell.” His gaze lingered on Jett for a moment, his jaw tight. “And we allocate our resources accordingly. But we’re extremely short-staffed, given the city budget cuts.”

  “Looks like you have a few men to spare at the moment.” Jett interjected, nodding his head to the guys watching from the bullpen.

  Moran’s eye twitched slightly. “I’ll see what we can do.” He went to the door and swung it open, waiting for them to leave, his features expressionless.

  “Thank you,” Muirinn said, getting to her feet, but she hesitated in the doorway, bolstered by Jett at her side. “Chief Moran, why did it take so long to find him? I mean, my grandfather was missing for over two weeks. Didn’t anyone see his truck parked out at the Tolkin site?”

  “There was no vehicle parked out there, Ms. O’Donnell.”

  “What?” She shot a questioning glance at Jett. “No one told me that.”

  “Our assumption is that Gus hiked out to the mine.”

  “You’re kidding. With a heart condition? That’s fifteen to twenty miles out of town. In summer heat. I—”

  “Ms. O’Donnell, I really am very sorry for your loss, but I can’t speak to your grandfather’s health condition, nor to his state of mind at the time of his disappearance. All I can tell you is that the ME determined the cause of death to be a heart attack.” His voice softened slightly. “If you want to know more, why don’t you go talk to Doc Callaghan? She was treating your grandfather.”

  “I will. I just don’t understand why it took everyone so long to find him down there,” she said quietly. Now that she’d actually voiced it, she was convinced that there was something seriously amiss with the circumstances surrounding her grandfather’s death.

  “Really, there’s nothing more to it than meets the eye, Ms. O’Donnell.” Moran smiled.

  She met his gaze. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure it’s all…coincidence.”

  Jett thanked the chief for his time, then placed his hand gently on her elbow as he guided Muirinn out of the police station into the harsh sunlight. She put on her shades.

  “You’re shaking,” he said softly.

  “I—” she exhaled nervously. “I guess I am. Must be low blood sugar or something. Why didn’t you tell me that Gus didn’t drive out to the mine?”

  “I thought you knew those details.” Concern softened his blue eyes. “Have you eaten, Muirinn?”

  “I…I just haven’t been hungry.”

  “Come, we’re getting some lunch into you.”

  “Jett, I should really just go home.”

  “Food first, then I’ll take you home.” His tone brooked no argument, and Muirinn allowed him to escort her down to a small café patio with red umbrellas near the harbor, feeling that each second longer she spent with him, the further she was headed past the point of no return.

  People stared openly as they walked, and her sense of unease deepened. The rumors had no doubt rippled through town—Safe Harbor’s prodigal daughter had returned. And now she was seven months’ pregnant, being escorted around town by a married man.

  She wondered, too, how they must judge her for missing Gus’s funeral, coming after the fact to claim her inheritance.

  They had no idea what remorse she was feeling at not having returned once in eleven years to see her grandfather. Even though she’d met with Gus on neutral territory over the years, she now realized that it had probably hurt Gus beyond words that she hadn’t come home.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  She’d done it solely to avoid Jett, yet here he was, the man who had her back now. And she realized just how deeply she’d missed him.

  And how much trouble she was getting herself into.

  “Jett,” she said softly as he pulled out a chair for her at a table under a red umbrella, feeling people watching. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Sit, Muirinn. Just eat something, and then I’ll take you right home.”

  That was the kind of man he was. Like his father, Jett was hardwired to save, rescue. Protect. Emotion choked her inexplicably. She took a seat and a second to compose herself.

  He avoided her gaze as he reached for the menu, but the small muscle at the base of his jaw pulsed. He was as conflicted as she was, and Muirinn could see it.

  I’m sorry to have put you in this position. I promise to stay out of your way after today, Jett.

  Jett stared blindly at the menu, unable to focus on the items. What in hell was he really looking for here, right this minute? With her?

  For a brief shining nanosecond, he knew. This wasn’t about trying to help her figure out what had gone down with Gus, or about helping her with the truck. He wanted her back.

  He wanted her to prove herself to him, so he could feel safe enough to tell her about their son. So he could tell her that he wasn’t married.

  Mostly, he needed her to come clean about having given his baby away behind his back. He wanted to hear her say that she was sorry. He wanted to know that she’d felt remorse.

  And he wanted to be sure that she was going to stay.

  Only then could he tell her about Troy.

  Only then could he trust himself to be near her, because his body sure as hell had different ideas from his mind.

  Jett blew out a breath, and dragged his fingers through his hair. “What’re you having?”

  “Orange juice.”

  He glanced up. “You need more. You’re eating for two.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  He flipped the menu shut, ordered a sandwich, juice and coffee. “Now tell me what’s going on, Muirinn,” he said as the waitress left.

  “You mean with the break-ins?”

  No, with you, the baby, the father, that fancy magazine job—everything.

  “Yeah, with the break-ins,” he said instead. “You’re clearly suspicious about Gus’s death, and you asked me earlier specifically if he’d been found down the Sodwana shaft. And I want to know why.”

  She fiddled with her napkin, her clear green eyes holding his for a moment, and a band squeezed tight across his chest. She was so strikingly gorgeous, and—though he hated to admit it—even more attractive to him now than she’d been a decade ago.

  There was a new sophistication, a wisdom in her eyes, yet it was balanced by a softness that came with pregnancy, and with the pain of the loss she’d just experienced.

  She’d been all wild, rough edges when she was nineteen; a flat-out challenge. He suspected that he hadn’t been much different himself. Hell, they were just kids; their relationship as combative as it had been loving. It ha
d been about the sparring, the fun. The sex.

  Until it had all gone bad.

  “I think Gus was investigating the old Tolkin murders—”

  “Muirinn—” he interjected, leaning forward. “—Gus was always thinking about the Tolkin murders. That’s nothing new.”

  “I think he might have come across some new crime scene photos, Jett.” She lowered her voice, glancing at the tables around theirs. “I believe those photos and Gus’s laptop could have been the target of the break-ins, because I’d removed them from his attic desk just before going to sleep that night.”

  Jett frowned. “What’s in the laptop?”

  “I don’t know yet—it’s password-protected. But Rick Frankl is sending a tech around later.”

  Unease trickled into Jett, along with worry.

  Damn.

  The last thing he wanted right now was to worry about Muirinn. What he wanted was space, to think. Her proximity was clouding his mind, driving his libido to distraction. He inhaled deeply. “Will you let me know what you find?”

  “Sure,” she said, reaching for her shades.

  He placed his hand over hers, stopping her. “Muirinn? You will call?”

  She cast her eyes down. “I don’t want to have to call you, Jett,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  She swallowed, looked up slowly, her eyes glittering with emotion. “You’re attached, Jett. You have a family. A wife.”

  For a very long beat he said nothing, and a heated current thrummed between them.

  Don’t say anything stupid here, buddy. Think of Troy.

  “Where were your wife and Troy going yesterday?” she asked suddenly.

  He hesitated, then lied by omission. “She was taking him to summer camp,” he said, circumnavigating the part about his divorce five years ago, knowing at the same time he’d just started digging a hole that he was going to have one hell of a time climbing out of.

  “What’s your wife’s name, Jett?”

  “Kim.” At least that wasn’t a lie, exactly.

  Her jaw quivered and she bit her lip.