Page 140 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Blood spurting from the wound, painting the ground crimson.

“Jane. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh.” He pulled out the knife and pressed his hand to the wound as if stopping the blood flow might save her life.

But in the moonlight, he knew the truth.

Her eyes were no longer wild.

They were empty. Empty of the woman he loved.

She was gone.

Only a few seconds passed before he heard the sound that must have been there all along.

Someone was there. Breathing heavily.

He stood and came face-to-face with Michael.

Jane’s husband.

Brent didn’t know what to say. There were no words to fill the silence between them. The silence hovering over the body of the woman they both loved.

Michael spoke first. “It was you, wasn’t it? The explosion?”

He’d heard it? In town? Or had he already been up at the overlook?

Would it have been so loud?

Brent didn’t know. He should have known how far away it could be heard. He hadn’t considered that in his planning.

Michael crouched down beside Jane. He reached out as if he might touch her, then pulled back.

Fury rose within Brent. “You never loved her. Not like I do. You stole her from me, but you never loved her!”

Michael gently closed Jane’s eyes.

“How can you be so calm?” Brent screamed. “She’s dead. She’s?—”

“Calm?” Michael sat back on his heels, and his shoulders heaved. Moments passed. Finally, he looked up. In the moonlight, Brent saw the wetness on the man’s face. “You just killed my wife.”

“It was self-defense. I didn’t mean for it to happen. She came at?—”

“I saw what happened.” He stood, shook his head. “I’ll tell them. You won’t go to prison…for that, anyway.”

He started across the dirt toward the road.

When Brent looked that direction, he saw what he’d missed before. The black minivan he’d always sneeringly thought of as Michael’s “dad car” was parked farther up the road, nearly hidden in the darkness beside a thick bush.

He was going to get in it. Drive to his house, or maybe the closest pay phone, and call the police.

And then Brent would go to prison.

“You’ll be implicated.” He didn’t yell the words. He didn’t have to.

Michael stopped in the middle of the asphalt and turned. “What are you talking about?”

“In the bombing. Jane set it up to frame you.”

The other man’s gaze flicked from Brent to where they’d left her. “In her state of mind? I’ll take my chances.”

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