“Yeah,” Callie said. “My personal relationship with Jagar Bowie.”
“That’s too bad. Everyone at the station wants to know if the two of you are back together or not.”
“Off the record. We’re not. We’re just friends, but on camera, if you ask me one question about our relationship, past or present, I’ll pull the plug.”
“I’ll keep it to the book and the murders, period,” Jackie said.
“Thanks.” Callie stiffened her spine and pulled her hair back into a ponytail so the wind didn’t take it and whip it in front of her face.
Here went nothing.
Chapter 9
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop acting like you’re so pissed off at me.” Jag pulled back the comforter on his full-size bed. He used to have a king in his apartment in Seattle, but living alone, with no girlfriend and no desire to have a warm body spend the night, what did he need a huge bed for?
Besides, while the master suite was massive with an extended sitting room and deck, the actual bedroom part was pretty cramped, and anything bigger than a queen wouldn’t allow for even a nightstand on both sides.
“I am angry. You assumed, for the second time in two days, that I would be okay sleeping with you.”
“That’s not true.” He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips, wearing only his sweatpants, while she wore only his undershirt and maybe a tiny thong underneath, but he couldn’t tell. “When we went camping, I had the room divider and two separate sleeping bags.”
“That you zipped together.” She held up her hand. “And are you going to deny you told Ziggy that I wouldn’t mind sharing your bed?”
He chuckled. “Well, no. But that was me telling my sister what she wanted to hear. Seriously, I have no problem sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room. Or if that’s too close, I’ll go to the couch in the family room.”
“You’d really do that?”
“Go look the other room.” He stepped to the side so she could get a good look at the pull-out that he hadn’t made yet, but he’d put out all the necessary bedding.
“Oh. I see.”
“So I’ll sleep there. If you want. But I don’t want to. I’d much rather sleep with you.” He’d lost his mind.
And his heart.
He knew he’d never get either of them back, so he figured he might as well enjoy her while he could. Soon enough, she’d be walking out of his life again, and there wasn’t a damn fucking thing he could do about it.
At least this time they’d be able to leave on good terms.
That might make it easier for him to pick up the pieces and fake a life.
“That is about the most passive-aggressive thing you’ve ever done,” she said with a laugh as she climbed between the sheets. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”
“So you’re going to share it with me?”
“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” she asked. “Now kindly tell me what you thought of the interview with Jackie and of Bailey’s stupid piece on us.”
Normally, he’d shed the sweats, but that would really be presumptuous, and he wasn’t about to assume that just because she was willing to rest her head next to him that she wanted sex. If that were the case, she’d have to initiate it.
And even then, maybe he should turn her down.
Like that might be possible.
Fuck. He sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating where he might actually sleep.
“Let’s start with Bailey.” He rubbed his temples. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“She all but called you incompetent.”
He chuckled. “She said that about the entire Seattle Police Department. But she had a quote taken directly from the chapter on the night we found your sister. It was as if she was reading from it. She said, ‘The hush that had come over the city of Seattle when it came to light that Adam Wanton had been killed before Stephanie Dixon and that there was no way in hell he could have been the Trinket Killer was deafening.’ After I saw the piece, I had to go get the manuscript and look it up. It was almost word for word. How’d she get that because you told me that only a few people had gotten that draft.”
“Actually, only five people had that copy. You, me, Kara, my editor, and my agent. But that’s a pretty generic description.”
“Come on. Are you really going to brush that under the rug?” He glanced over his shoulder. “So how’d she get a direct quote?”
Callie propped up the pillow and leaned against the headboard. “I have no idea, and before you keep pushing, I concede it sounded way too close to my words for it to be a coincidence.”
“Babe, I looked it up. It was word for word.” He arched a brow.
“Shit,” she mumbled. “Any chance she could have seen your copy? I mean, you did fuck her.”
“Jesus Christ, Callie. First off, I was so trashed I couldn’t perform, so the fucking never actually happened. And second, it happened two months after you left. I was angry and lonely, and you probably hadn’t even written a single damn word yet.”
She covered her mouth and made a weird noise that reminded him of a combination between gagging and giggling.
It wasn’t a pretty noise.
“I’m glad you find my failed manhood amusing.”
“It’s not that.” She reached out and rubbed his shoulder with her deft fingers. “It’s the way she tried to pretend you had a relationship and tried to use it to bond with me because she believes I think you’re a total asshole.”
“Back then you did.”
“But I don’t now,” she said. “I’m sorry I said that. I have to admit, I was jealous that you’d even think to be with her.”
“I wasn’t thinking, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never been so disgusted with myself, and I’ve never been so happy to not be able to get it
