Page 3 of Cold Case Murder Mystery

He was the tortured-brooding-loner type. And she had, once upon a time, been the kind of silly girl who’d believed she’d get through to that type. Love them into change.

Luckily, she was older and wiser even if he was not any less hot. All dark wild hair andgiganticbody that made this humongous truck look tailored for a giant of muscle such as he.

It was very, very unfortunate that she could remember just how his muscles had felt under her hands.

“Stay low,” was all he said.

Despite her feelings onhim, she followed instructions, slumping down in the seat so as they drove out onto the road and passed where the silver sedan was parked no one would see her inside.

“I talked to Ida. She called Sunrise SD, saying the car was scaring away customers. Someone will question the driver.”

“Oh.” Well, that was all good and smart. Not that she knew who Ida was. But Zeke kept driving. Brooke peered at the passing landscape then at him again. His eyes were focused on the road, his square jaw tense—as always—but his hands on the steering wheel looked relaxed enough.

Large hands that have touched every single inch of you.

She tried to ignore the heat that crept into her cheeks—a mix of embarrassment and remembering.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My place. You’ll be safe there.”

Safe? She doubted that.

Zeke knew he was making a mistake. It wasn’t just because Brooke was Brooke, though that was some of it. Part of the mistake was treating this like a North Star mission when his old group of secret special operatives had disbanded, going into civilian work, and leaving him...

At loose ends.

He’d bought a ranch. He still couldn’t quite believe it, but since his sister had acted like it was the greatest level of insanity he’d ever stooped to, he’d pretended it had been his plan all along.

He hadn’t decided if he liked it or not yet. There was a lot of work to be done to get it back in working order, and he didn’t mind the work. He in fact enjoyed work—the harder, the better.

But the chance to jump back into something dangerous... well, that was like coming home. It was familiar. It made him feel... useful.

That was probably not mentally healthy, but a guy couldn’t win them all. Besides, Brooke was in his truck looking... like Brooke. Strawberry-blond hair pulled back all sleek and professional, serious blue eyes that should really berun-of-the-millbut somehow weren’t. Not with her intelligence and warmth behind them. She still had that peaches-and-cream complexion that showed a blush all too well, and he could not go thinking aboutthat.

He turned off the highway and onto the bumpy gravel road that led down to his dilapidated ranch house. The drive needed regrading, but that didn’t hold a candle to what needed to be done to the house as a whole. He’d made different parts livable—the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom and one upstairs guest room. A work in progress that he’d never once felt even the least bit ashamed of.

Until now.

“Oh, dear.” Brooke was looking at the house with a kind of crestfallen expression that made him want to laugh for some inexplicable reason.

“Not quite the accommodations you’re used to?”

“It’s not about the accommodations, Zeke,” she said, affecting that scolding tone that had, once upon a time, made him grin. “It’s the fact it’s your chosen one.”

“I’m renovating.” He pushed the truck into Park in front of the house.

She made a considering—and disbelieving—sound.

But she got out of the truck at the same time he did. She walked toward the house, studying the sagging eaves and the one window, currently held together by duct tape, that needed to be replaced. She hesitated a moment before following him up the rickety stairs—he skipped the splintered one.

He unlocked the door and, even though he wasn’t watching her, hewasobserving her. Just as he had been since she’d stepped out of the diner.

She wasn’t quite the same as the last time they’d seen each other. That made sense. It had been close to four years ago. She had a different kind of... poise now. A stillness that hadn’t been in her when she’d been young and... he didn’t like the worddesperate, but there had been a kind of driving need inside her. To be useful, to help, to never be a nuisance or a problem.

So, naturally, he’d taken all that shaky trust she’d had in him and broken it. He didn’t like to think he’d been the cause of any change in her, and maybe he hadn’t. She’d had four years out in the real world, maybe it had instilled some wariness in her.

Good. He didn’t need another chance at shattering the fragile glass she’d once been made of.

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