Page 71 of The Last Close Call

Most women liked him. It was a fact. It was usually a case of them pursuing him, and him being reluctant to get too involved because he didn’t have the time and wasn’t willing to make it. Of the two serious relationships Jack had been in during the last five years, both had ended with his girlfriend pushing for more time and attention than he had to give, and with him trying to explain the demands that came with his job.

But Rowan knew all about that. And she wanted no part of it. She was intent on setting a new path for herself, and she would probably be a healthier, happier person for it.

So, who was he to try to drag her back to something she didn’t want?

And it wasn’t just his work, it was him, too.

Everything you represent, she’d said.

She knew all about his hours and his workload and the shit that kept him up at night, and she wanted no part of any of that, either.

Who could blame her? As far as personal relationships were concerned, his job sucked. And it was the defining feature of his life, so there was no getting around it.

“Jack?”

He glanced at Bryan, who was watching him with a concerned look.

“Yeah?”

“You want another one?” He nodded at the bartender, who was standing there looking at him expectantly.

“Thanks, I’m good.” Jack picked up his glass, then put it down. It was almost empty, and the game still had a quarter to go.

“You okay, man?” Bryan asked.

“Yeah. Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

What was Rowan doing right now? She’d gone to the trouble to track down his home address—not that it was all that hard for someone who knew a thing or two about online research, but still. She’d shown up at his place, and the instant he’d seen her, he’d felt a punch of desire. He had been sweaty and smelly and in desperate need of a shower, and there she was, gazing up at him with those big blue eyes. And he’d wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs and pull her into that shower with him.

But then almost as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone again, leaving him restless and edgy and wishing for more.

Again.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind. When they’d first met, it was her eyes. And later it was her stubborn streak. Then, as of the other night, it was the way she kissed, like she wanted to inhale him. She’d done that again tonight, too.

And then she’d freaking left.

So, was she home from her client dinner by now? And was this new client a man or a woman? It was none of Jack’s business, but he’d been picturing her in a cozy booth with some guy pouring his heart out and asking her to help him track down his long-lost family or some crap, and Jack couldn’t stop thinking about calling her after the game ended just to say hi. Or better yet, dropping by her place.

Dropping by, like it was five minutes away instead of thirty.

“That’s you, man.” Bryan nodded at the bar, and Jack flipped over his phone and saw the area code.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

He connected the call. “Bruner.”

“Jack, it’s Heidi.”

He could tell by her tone it was bad.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Where are you?”

“At the Icehouse. Why?”

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