Page 356 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Dylan about to go off to war. Or maybe newly returned and unscathed—at least on the outside. They’d taken a range of pictures from happy couple in love to arguing spouses. The two of them had held each other. Jacob had coached them through an argument, giving them dialogue and motivations.

Sammie popped the top off another diet soda—she’d had about half a dozen while he and Dylan polished off two pots of coffee.

Dylan shut his eyes. Sammie sidled up beside Jacob and laid her hand on his arm, peering over at the camera display. “Can I look at some?”

“I do some editing work on the computer first, before I do anything with them.” Jacob smiled. “But you guys did a really good job. If you need references, I’m happy to write up something.”

“Thanks.” She squeezed his arm.

Dylan didn’t open his eyes. “Thanks, Jake. ’Preciate it.”

Sammie hesitated. Jacob tapped through menus on his camera. Eventually she took a sip then said, “Can I ask… it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Jacob looked up. Saw her expression. Hedidn’twant to talk about that. Too bad everyone asked—eventually. Except Hank or Russ. Even his mother insisted on bringing it up, especially on the anniversary of Becca’s death.

Hank hardly ever talked about the girl he’d lost that night, abducted with him like Addie was with Jacob. Becca’s death had sent Hank into a tailspin, and Jacob wasn’t sure he’d ever crawled out of it. Not completely. Even after therapy and channeling his frustrations into police work, the guy had never bounced back to the kid Jacob had known.

Maybe none of them had, or ever would.

Sammie said, “You are…that guy, right?”

“You want to know if I’m the same Jake Wilson who was abducted?”

She bit her lip. Tenacious, but still unsure what his reaction was going to be. She shifted a fraction too close with her hand back on his arm. She glanced once at Dylan, then slid her arm around to his back and down. She traced her hand on the back of his belt, over the T-shirt on his waist.

“I can’t imagine going through something like that.”

Jacob’s synapses fired, locked between the images he’d looked at hours ago now in that photo album. The ones that never left his mind. Then there was her presence beside him. It wasn’t like he felt anything, let alone attraction. She was far too young, and he wasn’t interested.

He stepped away. “Give me a sec. I need to plug in this camera before it dies.”

As he strode to his office, Dylan rolled over on the floor. “We’re done, right?”

“Yep.”

The two of them could get changed and leave as far as he was concerned. They’d tell stories about the temperamental photographer, but that wouldn’t ding his reputation at all. In fact, it would likely serve to enhance it more than anything.

He did need to plug in the camera.

Movement at the door caught his attention. He looked at the same time he set the camera on the desk. “Hey.”

Sammie shut the door behind her. “Sorry if I upset you. I really can’t imagine going through something like that.”

“But you’re interested in the morbid details?”

She shrugged one slender shoulder while she crossed to him. “I’ve seen almost every horror movie ever made. I love being scared. It’s—” She inhaled an excited gasp. “Exhilarating. You know?”

“Do I?” He didn’t remember fear being the same thing as excitement. Far from it, in fact.

“You were with your girlfriend.” She did the hand on his arm thing again. “I couldn’t imagine being alone. It’s much better to be with someone you care about. Someone you can share with.”

“Mostly I don’t think about what happened. Ivan Damen is in prison, and he’ll never get out. It’s over.”

“Have you ever”—hand squeeze—“visited him?”

“Why would I do that?” Jacob shook his head. “Damen means nothing to me.”

He’d tortured them, tried to birth something ugly and evil in Jacob. It hadn’t worked. They’d been rescued, and the rest was an exciting blurb for a TV show because the network needed something sensational to play when not much else was going on in the world. True crime podcasts and shows loved to re-hash all of it. Every few years, some new study was written—a spin.

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