Page 361 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Instead, he found his thoughts drifting to Carl Harris and the conversation he’d had with Jennie and her granddaughter. About signs he should’ve seen but hadn’t. People who buried terrible secrets.

Who hurt others simply because they believed they had power.

His counselor had told him many times that some things just weren’t his to carry. It was true—he knew it. But getting his heart to believe it was a different story. Doing that almost felt like growing cold to other people’s pain.

Jacob wasn’t sure he wanted to be that guy. It sounded an awful lot like Ivan Damen. Whether he’d wanted to be caught or not didn’t matter. He’d taken life. The problem was that Jacob still hadn’t figured out what guy he wanted to be.

Sixteen floors up he let himself back into the apartment, where a set of keys that didn’t belong to him sat in the dish on the entryway table. “Hank?”

“Kitchen!”

Jacob toed off his running shoes. “There better be coffee.”

“Why do you think I’m here? This fancy Colombian stuff you order is gonna wake me up.” Hank stood at the stove stirring what looked like more cheese than eggs, and the oven was on.

“Bacon?”

One of Jacob’s cats wound its way around Hank’s boots, which meant his friend had fed the animal several treats already. How long had he been here?

“You know it.” Hank attacked the eggs like they were an uncooperative suspect. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt. It was Saturday, but that wasn’t precisely the uniform Benson PD required. Hank had always pushed against authority in ways that might not make sense. As far as Jacob could tell, he just needed to be who he was. Considering Jacob’s path, he could honestly say he understood his friend.

Both of them had been altered. Hank’s girl had been killed by a dangerous man who’d nearly destroyed the rest of them.

“Why do you need my coffee so bad?” Jacob got water from the fridge. “Long night?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t working a case. At least not as a cop.” Hank lifted his brows.

“Dude, you need Jesus.”

Hank laughed like Jacob wasn’t completely serious.

Jacob said, “How long on breakfast?”

“You don’t want to hear about her?”

“Hard pass.”

Hank didn’t turn. “Six minutes?”

By the time Jacob got out of the shower, Hank had pulled the tray of bacon from the oven. He’d have leftovers for three days.

Jacob sat at the breakfast bar with a mug of coffee. His friend ate standing up with his hips against the counter.

Two bites in, Hank paused. “You saw her?”

Jacob frowned, the fork almost to his mouth. Of course Hank would ask about Addie. “Did she put that in the hit-and-run report?”

It was his friend’s turn to frown. “What hit-and-run?”

Jacob laid his fork down and told Hank about seeing Addie in the grocery store aisle and what happened after.

“I didn’t see her name in a report, but I’ll follow up with the responding officer. Make sure we’re good.”

Jacob nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about her, though.”

“Because she’s a trained FBI agent?” Jacob still thought the car had come at her on purpose. That meant whoever was driving knew who she was.

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