Page 17 of Cold Case Murder Mystery

Maybe he’d forgottensomethings about her because he surely didn’t remember this stubbornness of hers ever being directed at him. And it poked at an already frayed temper—not because of her, but because of everything confusing and challenging about this situation.

His feelings chief among them.

“I’m going to be there,” he told her. Maybe a littletoofirmly,tooseriously, tooclose. “Until we get to the bottom of this, or until the job is done. And I’m not taking a dime. The end.”

She looked up at him, blue eyes flashing and narrowing with her own temper. Close enough he could see the faint scar on her cheekbone that she used to try to hide with makeup. The one he knew her father had given her the night Family Services had finally intervened and she’d been taken away.

She’d told him that one day all those years ago, before he’d been assigned to protect her but after he’d met her. He’d teasingly asked about it, trying to flirt with the pretty woman working for Granger MacMillan. Because as seriously as he’d taken his place at North Star, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her after that first meeting.

She’d recited the facts like they were rote historical events that didn’t concern her, and he’d been... even more fascinated. Because he didn’t know how someone so fresh and pretty, so gentle and soft seeming, could have come from as terrible a childhood as he had.

And that was before he’d known hers had been worse.

But this was now. He could tell by the anger in her eyes—because she used to not get angry at him. Just hurt by him. He could tell by the fact she didn’t respond to him in any way. At least, anyverbalway.

She whirled around, started striding to her car, even as Viola whined.

Fine. She could get in that car and drive away, but he would follow. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he was in this until the job was done. She didn’t need to like it and he didn’t need her permission to keep her safe.

She stopped abruptly. She didn’t turn to face him, just stood there with ramrod-straight posture. When she spoke, it was quietly but with enough force he could hear.

“Ihavesurvived a clear, everyday threat. I grew up surviving that.”

“I know.” And wished he didn’t. Because back then he’d really liked thinking no one could have experienced the childhood trauma he’d had. Abusive dad who’d eventually disappeared. Mother murdered in their apartment. A murder it had taken over a decade of danger and pain and frustration to solve. He’d had his share of sorrow and horrible things.

And she’d been raised by a violent psychopath in some kind of biker cult, and then somehow dealt with the fragile, uneasy life of a teenager in foster care.

But she hadn’t let any of her circumstances harden her. Sure, they’d messed her up. They all had scars left from what they’d grown up with—no one who got themselves mixed up with North Star didn’t—but she was one of the few he knew who was somehow still...soft.

Strong as hell, but penetrable.

Maybe it was wrong, pointless, not his place, or misguided. He didn’t care. In this moment, he’d been the one to bring her here. Walker’s brother-in-law had needed a forensic anthropologist and Zeke had known one. He’d pulled the strings.Hewas why Brooke was here.

He couldn’t andwouldn’tlet anything hit that soft target.

“You shouldn’t have had to survive that childhood alone without anyone looking out for you, and you shouldn’t do this alone either. Whether you can or not.”

He watched her shoulders move. No doubt with those deep breaths she was forever taking. When she turned to face him, the anger in her expression was gone. But the sadness there instead wasn’t any better. If anything, it was worse.

“I think the problem with us, Zeke, is we doeverythingbetter alone.”

He wasn’t sure why that should land like some kind of slap. He’d alwayspreferredworking alone, being alone. It was who he was.Lone wolf, Carlyle used to throw at him, and he’d taken that as a badge of honor.

But the way Brooke said it made it soundsad, and the way she stood there looking alone made himfeelsad.

That, he wouldn’t let himself marinate in. “Not this, Brooke. I’ll follow you to your rental. Let’s pack up your stuff. Stay with me until we get to the bottom of this. Someone istrackingyou. You shouldn’t be alone. You know that. I know you know that.”

She stared at him for the longest time, like searching his face would give her the answer she needed.

But there was only one answer. Even if she didn’t like it. Even ifhedidn’t like it. She either had to tell the cops or she had to let him help.

“Fine,” she agreed, clearly disgusted with the concession. But she’d made it. Still, she looked at him so seriously, spoke so damn seriously. “This isn’t the same as last time. It can’t be.”

Becauselast timehad gone too far. Personally.Lasttimehad been a mistake. And even now, four years on, that mistake still felt raw. And a little too close to regret.

Because he remembered every second with her. The way she’d felt in his arms. The way she’d tasted. He wanted to pretend he didn’t, but being with her was like wiping away all thispast. So four years felt like nothing and the clawing, yearning need for everything she was existed right inside him.

Like it always had. Like it always would.

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