Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Carol Ericson (short books to read TXT) 📖

An image of Jax, crashing down from the top of that bar after he’d tried to help her, filled her mind. There was something compelling about him. And it was more than the tall, dark and handsome thing he had going for him, or the adorable dog who followed him around.

It was the eyes, she realized. The way they’d fixed on her, given her one hundred percent of his attention. A psychologist’s trick, surely, but it had felt personal.

“They have no suspects?”

Keara shook off thoughts of Jax and focused on Tate. The officer was only a few years younger than her own thirty-five, but the way he carried himself made him seem like he’d seen a lot over those years.

“If they do, they didn’t share the details with me.” She thought about the exhaustion on the two agents’ faces in the lobby of the Luna hotel last night, going over evidence after a full day at a bomb site. “I think they’re struggling to figure out a motive.”

“That was a big blast. Seems like it was someone who had experience making bombs,” Tate said. “Then again, these days any criminal-minded sociopath can find a recipe to make a bomb on the internet.”

Keara nodded, her gaze moving to the open door of her office. Resisting the urge to ask him if he’d dealt with bombings in his previous job, she said, “I got cards from several FBI agents and their Victim Specialist. I’ll stay in contact.”

“Sounds good.”

As Tate turned back for the bullpen, Keara said, “Close the door behind you, please.”

Once she was alone, she dialed a number she hadn’t called since she’d moved to Alaska. For all she knew, he’d changed it. A small part of her—the part that really did want to leave the past behind her—hoped he had changed it.

“Fitz,” he answered on the first ring, his voice a deep grumble created by years of smoking and drinking.

The familiar voice instantly took her back to the swampy summers in Houston, to responding to a dangerous call one last time with Juan before he took the promotion to detective and partnered up with veteran Leroy Fitzgerald. Leaving her to work with a rookie for a year, before she made the jump to detective herself. But by then, they were engaged and rules prohibited them from working together anymore.

“You talk or I hang up,” Fitz snapped.

“It’s Keara Hernandez,” she blurted, relieved when her voice sounded only slightly strained.

She and Fitz had never gotten along. She’d tolerated him because he was Juan’s partner and a partner’s trust on the force could be the difference between life and death. He’d tolerated her for the same reason.

“Keara.”

His voice softened in a way she’d only come to know after Juan had died, when Fitz had been sidelined like her, and two other detectives were assigned to investigate. Unlike her, Fitz had been allowed to stay close to the investigation, even tag along at the end.

“How’s Alaska?”

His voice was neutral, but she’d always suspected he was glad when she left Houston. When she stopped hassling him and everyone else for details on her husband’s case. When she’d stopped making all of them feel guilty for failing, no matter how hard they’d tried. She’d been the final holdout, the last person to accept the case would never be solved.

If the sudden pain burning its way up her chest was any indication, she’d never truly accepted it. She’d only run from it.

“Peaceful, mostly.” She got right to business, not wanting to hear about life on the force she’d left behind—assuming he was still on the force. “I’m calling because there’s a case up here with a symbol that I think matches the one from that murder you and Juan caught at the end. The one you thought was a serial?” She was purposely vague about the Alaskan case, phrasing it in a way that wouldn’t be lying if she had to admit it wasn’t her case at all, but hopefully not inviting questions.

“Really?” He sounded surprised, but only vaguely interested. “Another murder?”

“Not exactly. Could you fax me the details? I want to see if my memory is as good as I think it is. See if the symbol really is the same.”

There was a pause long enough to make Keara silently swear, before Fitz asked slowly, “I’m guessing since you called me on my personal line that this is an unofficial request?”

“Yes.”

“Is this about Juan?”

The pain that had been creeping up her chest clamped down hard. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just...I figured if I ever heard from you again, it would be because you’d finally started investigating Juan’s death on your own.” He let out a forced laugh. “You always were dogged. Kind of a rule-breaker.”

It was a much more polite version of what she’d overheard some of her colleagues in Texas saying about her when she’d been a patrol officer, even after she’d become a detective. They were traits she’d tried hard to tame when she’d come to Alaska.

Follow the rules, for the most part. Definitely not date anyone within her ranks. She’d barely befriended them, determined to keep her distance. Not just to maintain her authority, but also to protect herself. Being a police officer was a dangerous profession, even in a quiet little town like Desparre. The officers here had become her responsibility and she took that seriously. If someone died on her watch, she needed to be able to stay removed enough to do what had to be done, to keep the rest of the team going.

Of course it was important to be persistent, to chase down the truth no matter what. But there was also value in learning when to let go.

It was something she thought she’d succeeded in.

“Is there some reason to think Celia Harris’s murder was connected to Juan’s death?” she asked tightly. If there was, they’d all kept it from her back then.

“No,” Fitz replied.

“Are you sure?”