“Are you going to read it?” Levi asked.
“Probably.” For months, Jag had been tortured by the lingering memories of the night they’d found Stephanie’s body. His entire world had flipped upside down in a heartbeat. “The Trinket Killer is still out there.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that he hasn’t killed in a year?”
Jag shook his head. “We don’t know that he hasn’t. He could be anywhere in the world.” Jag had done extensive searches, looking for similar crimes, but he’d come up empty-handed every time. “He’s out there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.” Hindsight was 20/20, and Jag should have seen it, but Callie had been right about him and his arrogance and how it affected his ability to see the problems with the case. She’d been right to question him, but his ego wouldn’t listen back then. He had the best arrest record in the department, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“The Trinket Killer isn’t your problem anymore,” Levi said.
Jag arched a brow. “No, it’s my nightmare.” He tipped back his drink and said a small prayer to the man upstairs that Callie wasn’t headed in his direction.
But, as usual, no one was listening.
“You want me to stick around and play referee?” Levi asked.
“Nope.” Jag slammed his glass on the bar. “Next time you and Starla are in town, come out to Whidbey Island. It’s really peaceful out there.”
“Will do.”
Jag gave Levi his best one-armed bro hug before he made a beeline for the door. No way in hell was he going to let Callie corner him. The last time he’d seen her had been at her sister’s funeral, and Callie had made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. She’d actually said if she never laid eyes on him again, it would be too soon.
Not to mention, she’d gone off the rails during a live broadcast, tearing into him and how he’d handled the case, exposing their relationship, and making his actions look more than questionable. He was lucky he was able to get the job on Whidbey.
The salty, cool evening air of Seattle filled his nostrils as he jogged down the steps toward the parking lot where his motorcycle awaited. He’d catch the early ferry, which would get him to his house by the time the ten o’clock news started.
Perfect timing.
“Jag,” a familiar female voice rang out.
Fuck. He could keep walking and ignore her, but then the whole way home, he’d hear his mother’s voice in his head as his conscience reminded him that a Bowie didn’t run from their problems, and they were always respectful.
He spun on his heels. “Hey, Callie,” he said.
“Surprised to see me?”
He nodded. “More surprised that you’re chasing me down.”
“I hear congratulations are in order, Chief.”
He shrugged. “It was time for a change of pace. Langley is a nice, quiet town, and I love being away from the city.” Not wanting to stand idle, he continued toward his bike. “What brings you back to Seattle? Last I heard, you’d moved to San Francisco with Kara. She was a real hottie.”
“We did, but I’m here for a month to finish my book.” Callie let out a sarcastic laugh. “You know she bats for the other team, so keep your dick in your pants.”
“My dick is no longer your concern.”
“Thank God for small favors,” she said. “Did you get my book?”
He nodded.
“Have you read it?”
“No. And I don’t plan to read a smear campaign either. I mean Jesus, Callie, the title alone is a dig at my career.” He snagged his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “I don’t understand why you thought I’d be interested in reading your twisted view on how I botched the case when we both know I did everything by the book, with the exception of two things.” He held up his index finger. “And one of them I had no control over. But because I was lead, I took sole responsibility. But that’s not why the case is unsolved, and you know it.”
“You rushed the arrest, which is what started the ball rolling on a potential mistrial. And we both now know that it was all a setup with the DNA being contaminated from the beginning by the—”
He held up his hand. “I don’t need you to tell me for the hundredth time how and where I fucked up. Trust me, I know. I have to live with the knowledge that the murderer’s still out there every day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ferry to catch.”
Her long, warm fingers curled around his biceps.
He glanced down and looked at her short nails painted a light pink. “Let go, please.”
“I didn’t beat you up that bad.”
“Operative words being that bad,” he said as he let out an exasperated sigh. “What exactly do you want?”
“I want you to read the book, tell me what you think, maybe give me a quote.”
He laughed. “That, my love,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Is never going to happen.”
“Then how about helping me find my sister’s killer, because I’ve dug up some things, and I’m not sure what to do with the information.”
“Sorry, I’m no longer in homicide. My last girlfriend helped get me fired.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You were never fired, though perhaps I went a little too far with some of the things I said on the air. I’m sorry for that.”
“That apology is a little too late.” He tossed his leg over his bike and flipped up the kickstand. He hated to admit how much he’d missed Callie’s sweet face and her plump lips pressed against his in a passionate kiss. The engagement ring he’d bought for her still burned a hole in his underwear drawer. He knew he should probably sell it or something, but he just
