Page 3 of Jina

Let him go, she told herself sternly. This little interlude was nothing special. He’d backed her up tonight the same way any other cop would have done. The way she would have done if the situation had been reversed.

She took a moment to double-check that no one was hidden inside the Jeep before sliding in behind the wheel. Tucking her weapon under her thigh, she started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. The wind pulled strands of her long blond hair from its ponytail, and she tucked them behind her ear as she covered the distance to her upper-level flat located five miles away.

The brown and tan two-story brick building was owned by Mr. Glen Gleason, an elderly widower. After a few months of watching him struggle, she’d taken over doing the yard work and snow removal without accepting a break on her rent. As a result, Mr. Gleason hadn’t raised her monthly payments in over two years. The arrangement suited her just fine.

Still wondering about the shooter, she pulled into the garage. Mr. Glen parked on the other side but didn’t do a lot of driving except to church and the grocery store. She tucked her weapon into her waistband, grabbed her gym bag, and made her way toward the side entrance that led to her upper-level flat. Mr. Gleason was hard of hearing, so she didn’t worry about waking him up at this late hour of midnight.

But when a pair of headlights pierced the darkness out front, she paused, reaching for her gun. If this guy had shown up for round two, she’d enjoy taking him down.

Letting her bag slip to the ground, she darted toward the street. The vehicle abruptly veered away from the curb, tires squealing.

She stared after the disappearing car, noting again the absence of a license plate. Despite her confidence in her abilities, a chill snaked down her spine.

It wasn’t good that this guy knew where she lived. The memory of how she’d shot and mostly missed her stalker nearly twelve years ago flashed in her mind.

No way would she miss this time. If this guy showed up again, she’d drop him where he stood without a smidgen of remorse.

Chasing a shooter had not been how Cole had planned to end his night, but he had to admit that meeting Jina was interesting.

He drove to her place, mentally preparing himself for her anger. He’d planned to interview her after their workout, but the shooter had put a dent in that plan. Chatting with her while cops swarmed the area hadn’t been an option either. His only choice was to head out to her place so they could speak in private.

He knew her address and her last name, even though he’d pretended otherwise. He hadn’t wanted to open that can of worms in front of the other officers.

She hadn’t reacted to his being a Peabody Detective, but maybe she’d learned of his vocation through Mike. The same way he’d learned about her. At least initially.

Before the cold case had reared its ugly head. Literally.

He pulled into the driveway of the two-story brick building, frowning when he noticed Jina was still outside, holding her weapon in hand. Concerned, he quickly pushed out of the driver’s side door. “What’s wrong? Did the perp return?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a scowl. “How did you find me?”

“Why are you standing there holding your piece?” he countered. “I want to know if that guy showed up again.”

She stared at him with deep suspicion for a long minute before gesturing to the street. “Maybe. I noticed a parked car at the curb. The lights flicked on, then the driver peeled away less than a minute before you showed up.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “And you have no idea who might be holding a grudge against you?”

“No. Do you remember every perp you put behind bars? That’s an impossible task.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now it’s your turn. Why are you here?”

He stifled a sigh, realizing she had a right to be concerned. “I wanted to talk to you without an audience.”

She arched a brow. “Okay, talk.”

It wasn’t easy to switch gears, but he had a job to do. And he wasn’t about to let a beautiful face distract him. “I’m a detective with the Peabody Police Department.”

“Yeah. You mentioned that.” She stood her ground, not giving an inch. Obviously, she had no intention of inviting him in for a soft drink.

“I’m working a cold case.” He watched her closely, but her expression didn’t change. “You’re aware of the new subdivision going in on the far west side of the Peabody? Not far from Surrey?”

A flicker of surprise crossed her features, but it was gone in an instant. “No, I wasn’t aware of that. I thought Peabody had been subdivided to death.”

Interesting turn of phrase, he thought with a cynical smile. Death in the subdivision was exactly why he was here. “Yes, it mostly has. This is the last ten acres of land that’s being developed. You know the area, don’t you?” He paused, waiting for her to acknowledge that, but she simply stared at him without saying a word. He should have expected her to be well-versed about how to respond during a police interview. “Our records show that the Wheeler family owned a sixty-acre farm in Peabody. Elias and Marsha Wheeler were your parents, right?”

“Yes, that’s true,” she answered without hesitation.

“You and your sister, Shelly, grew up there. Until your parents sold the property. The house was bulldozed, and the land was sold off in ten-acre parcels.”

She shrugged. “Yes. Shelly and I grew up there, and my parents did sell the farm after my dad’s heart attack. He died two years later, so it turned out to be a good thing for my mom. I’m not sure why that matters now. We haven’t lived on the farm in years.”

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