Page 100 of Luck of the Devil
He was silent for a moment, then said, “You’re right. There’s no reason for her involvement to get out. It would only hurt her.”
There was fondness in his voice, and I wondered if he had the photo of Rose’s daughter on his mantel out of sentiment.
Did James regret not having a family of his own? Was he living vicariously through the people he’d grown fond of?
“Are you still in contact with Rose?” I asked.
He coughed, then said derisively, “No.”
“For the same reason you’re not in contact with Jed? To protect her?”
“That and her husband’s not too fond of me.” He sighed. “I’ve found it’s better to leave the past in the past.”
I wasn’t so sure he was right, but I didn’t feel like calling him on it. Not that I was one to talk. I’d put own past in my rearview mirror when I’d left Little Rock.
I made breakfast while I told him everything I’d found before he’d gotten up. He sat on the other side of the peninsula, working his way through two cups of coffee while I talked, his gaze tracking my movements around the kitchen.
I deliberately avoided looking at him, though I couldn’t help noticing the way his long-sleeve T-shirt clung to his shoulders and hugged his biceps. Or the way he leaned back in his stool, all casual confidence. Like he owned every space he occupied.
Yesterday, in front of my grandparents’ house, I’d come dangerously close to doing something I’d probably regret. Or maybe not regret at all, which made it even more dangerous. The more distance I kept between us, the better.
“So, you’re going to the bank after we finish here?” he asked as I set his plate on the peninsula. I placed mine on the opposite side, still needing space. Sitting next to him didn’t feel like the wisest idea.
But he must have read my mind—or thought the same thing—because he picked up both plates and moved them to the table, placing us directly across from each other.
He scooped up the silverware on the counter while I freshened my coffee, trying not to read into the fact he wanted me to sit down.
Oh, wait. He’d asked me a question.
Get it together, Harper. You’re acting like a horny teenager.
“That’s my plan,” I said, sitting at the table, across from him. “I think I might also call Detective Jones, the guy I worked with on Burton’s case, and ask him if he knows why the Jackson Creek police investigated Ambrose’s death and not the sheriff’s department.”
“You’re not worried it’ll get back to your father?” he asked. We were sitting closer than we’d been at the peninsula, and I caught a hint of cedar.
“I’ll say my aunt mentioned hearing about someone else going off that bridge, so I looked it up. It might come across as suspicious, but I’ll try to spin like I’m just curious. Maybe along the lines of I was relieved the Jackson Creek Police Department hadn’t investigated.”
He nodded his approval. “Then what?”
I made the mistake of looking into his dark brown eyes, and I found myself mesmerized for a moment. Something flickered in his gaze—something I wasn’t ready to name—before I jerked my eyes back down to my plate, my pulse unsteady. “I suppose it depends on what I find in the box,” I said, my voice a little too tight. “I need to figure out if I want to confront my father.”
He was about to say something when my phone rang. I picked it up from the table and turned it over. The name on the screen made my breath catch.
Keith.
My ex-partner, both professional and personal.
I felt like what little I’d eaten was about to make a reappearance. I couldn’t imagine why he was calling. I hadn’t heard from Keith since November, after his last attempt to coerce me into lying about the shooting. To say things hadn’t ended well would be an understatement.
So why was he calling me now?
I considered ignoring him, then I remembered Mason Deveraux had asked around about me. Going to my old partner was the best way to get information.
Dammit.
I answered the call, squaring my shoulders as I prepared myself to deal with his gaslighting. At the last second, I turned on the speaker and set the phone on the table. Whatever he was calling about, I wanted James to hear.
“Hello, Keith,” I said, my voice cold.
