Page 38 of Dangerous Lies

“No. I’m just saying, if you need to pace, maybe take a lap around the building instead of breathing down my neck.” Dawson scowled. “I can’t focus.”

Instead of taking his colleague’s advice, Jax leaned over the cubicle wall. He needed a distraction. “Did you find something on Quinton Jones?”

“Nothing that would indicate he’s responsible for the threats against Megan. He’s from Dallas, but has been living in Knoxville for the last several years. Works as a welder for a local construction company. He’s been arrested in the past for drug possession, but they were minor charges. Nothing in the last year. Quinton rents an apartment on the north side of town. Owns a 2006 Ford Explorer.” Dawson leaned back in his chair. “He’s too young to have known Oliver.”

“I wouldn’t assume Megan’s attacker knew Oliver.” Jax planted his hands on his hips. “Oliver’s death and the reopened investigation have been in the local news for weeks. Quinton could have decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Dawson arched a brow. “And he just happened to be carrying around a decades-old photograph of you and your brothers?”

Jax clenched his jaw. Good point. It didn’t add up. His gaze flicked back to Garcia’s office door. His muscles remained tense and his insides were knotted. What was taking so long?

Megan emerged from the break room carrying two bottles of water. Her dark-purple dress was cinched at the waist with a simple belt, accenting her natural curves. Knee-high black boots and a blazer kept the look professional, but that didn’t stop the jolt of awareness from hitting him square in the chest. His world was in chaos, but the minute Megan came into view, something shifted. He felt grounded. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

Dawson hummed low in his throat. “Man… you got it bad.”

Jax was going to kill his friend. Murder him right there in the center of the police station. “Shut. Up.” He couldn’t even wrap his head around these developing feelings for Megan. The last thing he needed was commentary about the complicated mess he found himself in.

Megan joined them. Her dark brown eyes held a mix of warmth and worry as she offered Jax one of the water bottles. “Here. I thought you might like something to drink.” Her gaze flickered to the chief’s closed office door. “Nothing yet?”

“No.” Jax’s heart pinched tight as he took the water. Megan’s life had been threatened repeatedly over the last week, maybe at the hands of his brother, yet here she was checking in on him. It wasn’t right. He placed a hand on the small of her back and escorted her a few steps away from Dawson’s desk so they could speak privately. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked if you’re okay. This is hard on you too.”

“I’m fine. Just worried about you.” She placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’ve been saying a lot of prayers, asking for God’s guidance. Maybe I’m not the right person to offer comfort in this moment, but…” Her gaze lifted to his. “I care, Jax. And I hope and pray that everything works out. For you. For Wesley. For all of us.”

Her compassion undid him. Jax knew it wasn’t wise to nurture these feelings for Megan, but he didn’t have the strength to harden himself against them. He covered her hand with his. Megan’s skin was soft against his fingertips and he lost himself in her gaze. She gave him hope. Without realizing it, she reminded him to lean on his faith, that goodness still existed, and that he shouldn’t let jadedness take over his thinking.

He drew in a breath, lightly scented with Megan’s perfume, and felt the tension ease from his body. His thumb rubbed across the backs of her fingers as his gaze dropped to her lips. She leaned in, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. A magnetic pull drew him closer…

Dawson appeared at his side. “Jax, your parents are here.”

His words hit like a bucket of ice water.

Jax tore his attention away from Megan, the noise of the police station yanking him straight back into reality. He dropped her hand and stepped away, aware that his closeness to her would spark a firestorm. Dawson grimaced in silent apology before stepping aside to reveal Greg and Valentina Holt. And in an instant, Jax knew it was too late.

His parents had seen him. With Megan.

Valentina appeared shell-shocked, her eyes wide and confused. His dad, on the other hand, was stone-faced. His glare could’ve melted the skin off Jax’s face. The fact that they were in a police station was likely the only reason Greg contained his temper.

Guilt swallowed Jax whole, thick and suffocating like quicksand. He took a cautious step forward. “Mom, Dad?—”

“Not a word,” Greg growled. His voice was low, tight with contained rage. The tips of his ears burned red, his posture stiff as iron. “Not. One.”

The sharp rebuke drew Jax up short. He wasn’t a little kid any longer, but somehow, his dad still had the power to make him feel three feet tall.

Before he could find his footing, the door to Chief Garcia’s office swung open. Noah stepped out, his gaze landing on Jax. The detective’s expression gave nothing away, but he nodded in reassurance and then said, “We’re done. Jax, the chief would like a word with you and your family.”

Greg didn’t say anything—just turned on his heel and stalked into the office, Valentina trailing behind. Jax followed at a slower pace, pulling in a deep breath before shutting the door behind him.

His gaze locked on Wesley.

His brother looked—and smelled—like a man who’d spent more than a week in the woods. An unruly beard covered the lower half of his face while premature gray peppered his hair at the temples. His military-style boots were coated in mud. Fishing lures hung from a pocket of his cargo pants. Wesley stood, arms crossed over his broad chest, feet planted in a wide stance. He looked every bit the soldier, ready for battle.

Chief Garcia rose from the chair behind his desk. “Please everyone, take a seat. I’m sorry for making you wait, but we had some issues to discuss.”

“I imagine so.” Greg’s tone was harsh, and while Valentina took the offered chair, his father remained standing. “My son hasn’t done anything wrong, and I’d like to know why he was hauled in here like a criminal.”

“No one dragged me in like a criminal, Dad.” Wesley’s tone was even and respectful. “I was stopped by police at the state line and informed that Chief Garcia needed to speak with me, so I drove straight here. Long story short, I’ve been camping at the Ozark National Forest. I’ve provided receipts from gas stations and supply stores, along with my recently acquired Arkansas fishing license.”

He lifted his chin. “The drone that was purchased in my name isn’t mine. My identity was stolen about six months ago. I don’t know by whom, but they opened a couple of credit cards in my name. I filed a police report with the sheriff’s office and have given a copy of that to Chief Garcia.”

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