Page 66 of The Last Close Call

Rowan continued reading, feeling sicker with every paragraph.

Jack stepped into the kitchen. He grabbed a dish towel and wiped his face.

Emotions swirled inside her as she set the newspaper aside. “You knew all this? This is what you meant by your ‘ticking clock’ when you tried to hire me back at the Duck?”

“No.” He tossed the towel on the counter. “I met you before I found out about Amber Novak, before we linked the cases with DNA.” He folded his arms over his chest. “At the time we met, I suspected but I didn’t know.”

She searched his face, unsure whether he was being straight with her. “You suspected.”

“I had reason to believe he was escalating, shedding his inhibitions and becoming more dangerous. That’s why I wanted your help so bad.”

She stared at him, feeling queasy all over again. He’d come to her for help, and she’d waited days to get back to him with an answer.

“It was that night, the night we met for the first time at the bar,” he said. “Remember that call I got?”

She stared at him, visualizing the calendar in her mind. What would have happened if she hadn’t dragged her feet? Maybe if she’d responded to his very first phone call, Amber Novak might be alive right now. She should have responded the instant Jack called the first time. She should have dropped everything.

She turned away as a wave of anxiety crashed over her. Her palms were clammy. She felt herself being pulled right back into the vortex, the same powerful vortex she’d been trying to extract herself from for years. Years ago, it had taken over her life. She hadn’t been able to escape the violence, the depravity, the sick images swirling through her mind every night as she tried to go to sleep.

He stepped closer. “Hey.”

She shook her head.

He touched her chin, gently turning her face to look at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Rowan. You’re helping us here. Without you, we still wouldn’t know his name.”

“Have you called my friend Dara?”

His hand dropped away, and she felt a rush of anger.

“Oh my God. What is it going to take—”

“I called her today,” he said.

“You did?”

“She agreed to help. We’ve reached out to the marshals, too. They’ll find him.”

“Dara will find him first.”

He lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

“I told you, she’s good.” Rowan looked down at her feet, only slightly comforted by the thought of Dara’s help. So much damage had already been done, so many lives impacted. And it was irrevocable.

She thought of the newspaper picture she’d come across today of that burned-out house. She closed her eyes.

Jack took her hand. “Hey.”

She looked up, and he was gazing down at her with those deep brown eyes. A ripple of awareness went through her as he lifted his finger and traced it under her jaw. She held his gaze as he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft this time. Slow, patient. She was the one who reached up and pulled him against her. He felt warm and solid again, and his arms wrapping around her made her feel grounded in a way that put a pang in her chest.

She fused herself against him, absorbing the warmth of his mouth and the solid feeling of his body against hers. She combed her fingers into his damp hair.

He leaned away. “I need to shower.”

She pulled him back. She didn’t care that he was sweaty—she liked him this way. He was real and raw, and she liked that she’d caught him off guard by coming here. And she liked that he kissed her in a way that made her know he’d been thinking about her since the last time.

How had she gotten herself into this? She’d promised herself that first kiss was it—no more. It was a temporary lapse in judgment. She’d told herself she was going to keep her distance from him and his cases and that penetrating look in his eyes that she couldn’t resist.

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