Page 9 of The Last Close Call

He led her to a closed gray door and paused beside a keypad to enter a passcode. Then they stepped into a sea of gray cubicles where people talked on the phone and sat in front of computers. Except for the squelch of police radios and the occasional uniform walking around, it could have been a regular office.

She followed Jack down a row of cubicles, suddenly second-guessing her decision to come here. She was in her typical research attire—jeans and a sweatshirt—and once again, her hair was pulled up in a scrunchie. She tugged the band loose and ran a hand through her hair. At least she’d showered this morning.

Jack stopped at an empty cubicle and reached over the wall to grab a brown accordion file off the desk. Then he led her to a closed door with a placard beside it. INTERVIEW 3, it read. He tapped his knuckles on the door before pushing it open.

The room was dark. Jack switched on the light and set the accordion file on a small Formica table. He gestured to one of two gray plastic chairs.

“Have a seat,” he said. “You want anything? Water? Soft drink?”

She stepped into the room and looked over her shoulder. “No, thanks.”

What she needed was coffee. She’d been up half the night working, and she was running on fumes today.

“You sure?” he asked. “I’m grabbing a water.”

“I’m okay.”

“One sec.”

He disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

Rowan glanced around before taking a seat on the far side of the table. The room was small and windowless. Nothing on the walls. She glanced up and noted the camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling. Her gaze dropped to the fat brown accordion file he’d left on the table. Just looking at it made her heart rate speed up.

Rowan set her purse at her feet and smoothed her hair as she waited. What the hell was she doing here? She was in the middle of a project. She didn’t have time for this detour, and she definitely didn’t have time for the logistical nightmare that likely would result from it.

But here she was. Once again, she hadn’t been able to stay away.

Jack stepped back into the room, leaving the door slightly open again. Was that intentional? Probably. In her experience, men like him did most everything intentionally.

He set a bottle of water on the table and eyed her curiously as he took the chair across from her.

“Did you try calling?” he asked. “I had my phone off all morning.”

“Why?”

He smiled. “Why did I have it off?”

“Aren’t detectives supposed to keep their phones on twenty-four seven?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not if they’re in Judge Ferguson’s court room. I had to testify in a trial.”

He twisted the top off his bottle of water. “So, what brings you by?” he asked, as though he didn’t already know.

Rowan pulled her phone from her purse and tapped open the article she’d come across on her lunch break.

“Is this it?” She turned the screen to face him.

His brow furrowed as he read the headline: NEW ASSAULT ECHOES COLD CASES. He glanced up.

“Is that what?”

She rolled her eyes. “The thing you want my help with.”

He watched her for a long moment. “Why do you ask?”

“Because.” She sighed. “I need to know.”

“Need?”

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