Page 355 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

His assistant wasn’t coming in until later because she had a still life class this morning, but she’d left a note. The clothes had been set out, and since the photos were meant to be historical, they’d use some makeup but not the full makeup they might if this was a fashion shoot or even senior photos.

He did those all the time. But this wasn’t work for hire. It was to get more stock photos for his portfolio, now that he knew he wasn’t using Carl Harris for the new book he was putting together. Or it would be when the two young models he’d hired for the spread showed up.

Right now, Jacob knew what he was looking for, and it wasn’t the cameras he kept in the locked cabinet in his office.

He glanced back at the door. It wasn’t in the camera bag he’d left beside the door.

Jacob headed for the storage room. At the back, on the top shelf, were a series of boxes. He pulled out the middle one and flipped the lid. Carried the album he’d put together to his office and sat in his chair.

Stared at the cover.

Are you going to let this have power over you?

Jacob dumped the album on the desktop, and his pen rolled away. He flipped the cover and stared at the first image. He’d taken the picture himself a long time ago—some of the first good photos he’d taken.

Almost as soon as he’d known how to take good images, he’d gone back to that place and clicked the shutter a hundred times. The files were buried on his cloud storage. Some he’d printed. He could see the level of skill he’d had back then. Clearly some talent there, but a few of the technical aspects he’d do differently now. The lighting wasn’t great in spots.

As if he’d have dragged studio lights out to that cabin where his life had all but ended.

He was just grateful the cops left it intact. At least long enough he could go back through. He’d needed desperately to look at the details through his lens, like that kept him separate from the scene even if he stood right there in that place to take them. The spot where he’d listened to Adelyn cry. He’d cried as well. They’d both lost their voices from the hours of crying and screaming. Calling for help. Clinging to each other.

The instructions.

The torture. Mental and psychological. Tied to chairs.

Breathing in some kind of gas.

Waking up on the floor with no bindings but new bruises.

They’d barely had scratches and a few abrasions on them when the cops picked them up. The most damage had been below the surface.

Sometimes he wished he’d lost a limb, though that might seem strange. It felt like he’d had something taken from him. Torn off or amputated.

Jacob blew out a long breath.

Seeing Addie again would dig up everything he’d been trying to bury for fifteen years. He really couldn’t run the risk of allowing it to be exhumed. He wasn’t sure he would survive it again.

The buzzer for the front door sounded.

Jacob shoved the album in the top drawer of his desk and strode to the studio area. Two college age kids came in, the door closing out the day’s sunlight as they moved toward him. The young woman practically bounced on her feet. The guy was playing it cool. Both of them were excited.

“Thanks for coming.” He shook both their hands.

Sammie and Dylan were relatively new to modeling but came recommended by the college art professor.

Dylan said, “We just need to get changed?”

He nodded. “Everything is laid out in the changing room, outfit number one first. We’ll work through all three and see what we come up with. Sound good?”

Jacob was paying them for a full day, and by the end of it all three of them would be exhausted.

Six hours later he called for a break, unsurprised when Dylan sat on the floor to stretch out and lay flat.

“Watch the outfit, yeah?”

Dylan nodded, breathing hard.

Jacob had run them ragged, but the shots of the two dancing as war era young couple in love would be worth it.

---