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

ran through Keara, a jolt of adrenaline she hadn’t felt in a long time—the gut feeling that she was onto something with a case.

When Rodney had disappeared, the follow-up interview by Fitz said the house had been cleared out. So that meant the roommate had disappeared, too. Had they left together? Had they been in on Celia’s murder together?

Or maybe her earlier theory had been right all along. Maybe the person who’d set the bomb had intentionally used the symbol from Celia’s murder to throw suspicion on someone else—his roommate.

If she was right, that triggered a lot of new questions: Who had killed Celia and who had set the bomb? Which of those two had killed her husband, Rodney or his roommate?

And where were they both now?

CHAPTER TEN

Every officer in the Desparre police station turned to stare at Jax as he strode through the station, following Officer Tate Emory to Keara’s office.

Jax tried not to feel self-conscious as he juggled two cups of takeout coffee, wondering why he was getting so much attention. He’d been here before; it wasn’t like the officers didn’t know who he was. Maybe it was the overstuffed bag he had slung over one shoulder, full of FBI case printouts Ben had handed him that morning. Or maybe they could read his newly cautious hope about what those printouts might contain.

As Jax gave subdued nods of greeting to the officers who met his gaze, Patches bounded around him, occasionally darting to a desk for a pat from one of the officers before running back to his side.

“What’s going on?” Jax asked Tate softly.

Tate’s gaze briefly scanned the room before coming back to him. “Something’s up with the chief,” he said, then knocked on the door to Keara’s office before pushing it open.

From across the station’s bullpen, through the glass walls into her office, Keara had merely appeared hard at work. From a distance, he’d assumed her normal professional face was on. It was calm and serious and confident, probably something that had helped her win Desparre’s trust when she’d first shown up here, an outsider and young for a police chief job.

Jax had known from her frantic call at seven that morning—when he and Patches had barely been awake—that she was reenergized about the bombing investigation and its possible connection to Juan’s death. He should have realized this new information about a roommate she’d discovered would only fuel Keara’s desperation.

Up close, he could see the dark circles underneath her eyes that suggested she’d been awake long before she’d called him, maybe that she hadn’t gone to bed at all. Jittery energy radiated from her.

As he stepped more fully into the room, she stood and reached for one of the coffees he held. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Woof! Patches circled Keara, tail wagging.

“Easy, Patches,” Jax warned her, not wanting his dog to trip Keara.

“She’s fine,” Keara said, bending down to pet Patches and getting rewarded by a dog kiss across her cheek. Keara laughed, then took a long sip of coffee, closing her eyes like she’d badly needed the caffeine jolt.

Tate gave Jax a raised-eyebrow look that seemed to say “See what I mean?” before he left the office, closing the door behind him.

Jax took a minute to watch Keara while she had her eyes closed, exhaustion and hope battling on her face. All the while, she pet Patches.

His dog’s tail wagged, but she glanced back at him, as if she also wondered what was going on with Keara.

What must it be like to have spent seven years knowing someone she loved had been murdered and not being able to do anything about it? What must it be like now, to have this sudden, long-shot hope again?

Dread tightened his chest, knowing he was partly responsible. If they were both wrong, how much worse would it be for Keara?

Her eyes opened, her gaze instantly locking on his like she’d read his thoughts. Instead of making him feel more guilty, the intensity there made his own hope ignite.

What if they were right? What if they could solve her husband’s murder? What if she was finally able to get closure and move on with her life? He lived too far away to be a part of it in any meaningful way, but knowing that didn’t stop a sudden longing.

She broke eye contact, standing, and her tone was all business when she said, “Let’s get to work.”

He’d spent the morning like he had almost every other morning since he’d arrived in Luna, talking to victims and their families. Today he’d mostly been returning personal effects. For some of the victims, it was a welcome visit, a sign of moving forward. For others, it was a stark reminder of what, or who, they’d lost.

At lunchtime, when his mind had been ping-ponging between the idea of Rodney Brown having a roommate and the needs of the bombing victims, Ben had asked to meet. He’d handed over a stack of printouts and told Jax, “This is your theory, so I’m going to let you run with it. It’s not protocol and I’m definitely going to be reviewing all of this myself as soon as I get a chance, but I’m expecting you to return the favor. You find something—anything at all—and I want to be your first call. Deal?”

Jax had looked down at the massive stack of printouts, then back at Ben, who’d grinned and said, “Our databases aren’t magic. I input the details of the symbol, but with parameters this wide—connected to any crime over the past seven years—it spit out a lot of cases across the country. There’s a good chance none of them are connected to the bombing or the murder, because the system matches descriptions. And it’s all different law enforcement entering them, not just FBI. It’s you who has to pull up the actual pictures and do a visual comparison. Still...”

“There’s a chance,” Jax had said. “It’s a deal. I’ll call you if I find anything,” he’d