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

his free hand around her back, molding her body to his, and his heart rate skyrocketed. He had a solid seven inches on her and yet somehow, the fit was perfect.

Woof!

Patches’s bark registered in the back of his mind as Keara kissed him harder.

Then Patches let out several more, higher pitched barks.

The insistent sound returned him to reality, helped his mind take the lead back over from his body. He pulled away slightly, trying to catch his breath as he stared over Keara’s head and down the hall.

Patches stood in Keara’s hallway, leaning slightly forward, as if ready to bark again or run toward them.

Unwinding his arm from around Keara’s back, Jax tried to calm his pounding heart. The scent of her—a mix of that wine with something sweeter and more subtle—invaded his senses, making it hard to focus, especially when she leaned in again.

He stepped back, quickly enough that she stumbled toward him before righting herself.

“This probably isn’t a good idea,” he forced himself to say.

Keara blinked at him a few times, then that professional mask slipped back over her features. But not before he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.

She was as attracted to him as he was to her. But he’d be a terrible psychologist if he didn’t recognize that they were both acting on it for the wrong reasons.

Flings weren’t his thing. They never had been, but at thirty-eight years old, he felt way past them. And even if Keara was emotionally available, she lived four hundred miles away. He might be here for a month or a break might come in the case tomorrow and that fast, he’d be on a flight home.

Besides, Keara hadn’t kissed him because of that attraction. She’d kissed him because she was emotional and frustrated, probably over the thread-thin connection between her husband’s death and the bombing.

He took another step away from her, as the idea of her kissing him because she missed her dead husband cooled the rest of his desire.

“You came to talk about the case?” Keara asked, her voice as detached and remote as the expression on her face.

When he nodded, she spun and headed into the interior of her house. “Come on, then.”

As soon as she reached Patches, the dog turned to walk with her. Keara stroked Patches’s head as they strode away, his dog’s tail wagging.

Running a hand through his hair, straightening the spots where Keara had tugged and tangled it, he followed. With every step, he took a deep breath, trying not to watch the sway of her hips as she led him into her living room.

It was exactly what he would have expected her personal space to be. Cozy, with a fireplace centered in the room. Comfortable, with a couch that looked perfect for curling up on. There was even a wool blanket thrown over the back of it. And peaceful, with big curtained windows diagonal from the fireplace that had to open to a spectacular view of the forest behind her.

There was an open bottle of wine and a single empty wineglass on the live-edge wood coffee table. Beside it, a laptop and a wedding album.

A mix of regret and pain—some for her, some for himself—tensed his chest and then dropped to his stomach.

Her gaze went from him to the album, then back again. “If there’s a connection between all of this, it’s that symbol. We need to know what it means.” Her expression gave nothing away, but her voice was slightly shaky as she sank onto the couch. “You’ve got a psychology background, right? Any ideas?”

Jax settled on the big leather chair beside the couch, not surprised when Patches pushed past him to sit beside Keara. His dog always knew who needed her most.

“That’s profiler territory,” Jax said. “I used to be a psychologist, so yeah, I definitely have insight into some of these criminals. But this symbol doesn’t represent anything I can decode.”

“It’s the only thing connecting the crimes,” Keara said, the frustration in her voice edged with grief. “Nothing else is similar. Fitz sent me the file from Celia Harris’s murder. And I know everything about Juan’s murder. The only possible link is the timing and the fact that Juan questioned a possible witness shortly before he was killed—and shortly before that witness disappeared. But the bombing? Nothing about it seems remotely connected. Except this damn symbol.”

Jax leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. “What if that’s because the murder—or possibly murders, if your husband’s case is also connected—were the anomaly? What if he was always a bomber?”

Keara twisted slightly to face him, her eyebrows twitching inward. At her interest, Patches pivoted, too. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe the kill was personal. Maybe the bomber knew Celia Harris. Maybe bombs are his thing and this was the exception.” He could hear the excitement in his voice as he turned it over in his mind. “It could make him easier to track if he’s really a bomber. Maybe there have been others.”

Keara’s shoulders dropped, her excitement obviously waning. “I don’t think so. Juan thought Rodney was suspicious mainly because he so vehemently denied being near the crime scene when it happened. But he couldn’t find any personal connection between Rodney and Celia. If this was a serial killer, that wouldn’t matter so much. But a personal kill?” She shook her head. “After Juan died and Rodney disappeared, Fitz dug deep, looking for a connection. He never found one, either.”

“You said Rodney was flighty, right? That he didn’t tend to stay in one place for long, that even his family wasn’t all that concerned when he cleared out?”

“Sure, but it’s pretty coincidental timing,” Keara insisted.

“Exactly,” Jax agreed. “What if Rodney leaving is just a coincidence? Maybe Celia’s murder and this bombing are connected. And it’s possible your husband’s death is, too. Maybe. But what if it’s not Rodney? What if we’re looking for someone else?”

“WHAT IF IT’S not Rodney?”

Jax’s words from last night had run