Not yet.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any news show would have me as a reporter,” she said.
“But you got a book deal, which will lead to more, which will eventually get you back in front of the camera.” He twisted the key and flipped the switch before pressing the on button.
The engine purred like a kitten.
“We both know Adam Wanton wasn’t the Trinket Killer and that he didn’t kill my sister. But we never once considered that the Trinket Killer didn’t work alone.”
“Actually, I did,” Jag said. “I didn’t tell you everything. Just because we shared a bed, didn’t mean I was going to jeopardize my case and job to give you an exclusive. I bent the rules enough as it was. However, the idea of a partner was ruled out based on DNA.”
“Evidence that was planted at the crime scenes, all in an effort to make—”
“Just stop.” Jag had spent the last six months going over every piece of evidence, chasing down every possible lead on his free time, then following up on things he used to think were ridiculous. If anyone thought he’d been consumed by the Trinket Killer case before, they’d lock him up and toss away the key now. “You and I have been down this road before, and it never ends well.”
A day didn’t go by where he didn’t turn over any tiny pebble he could in search of Stephanie’s killer. He’d find her murderer eventually, and he’d put him in his grave.
And then he’d turn in his badge and fly somewhere tropical, where he’d live out his days drinking fruity alcoholic beverages with umbrellas.
“Please. Read the book and then call me. I put my new cell number and a note at the end of the book,” she said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is it so important to you that I read that damn fucking garbage?”
“Because I need your help finding my sister’s killer.”
Callie tossed her purse into the back of her Jeep. The sound of Jag’s motorcycle echoed in the night. She missed him almost as much as she missed her sister. For months before the Trinket Killer case took center stage, she and Jag had gone tit for tat. He didn’t like the way she reported the news.
And she didn’t like his arrogance.
But one night, when he was off duty, and she wasn’t covering a story, they’d found themselves in the same bar, each sipping a scotch on the rocks, in a heated discussion about police procedure and reporters and how they aren’t a good mix. Next thing she knew, she was ripping off her shirt and tossing it recklessly to the floor of his apartment.
Their relationship was up and down to say the least. It wasn’t until the Trinket Killer that they really started working on the same side, only she didn’t know then that he was keeping things from her.
And he didn’t know she was doing the same.
It had all come to a head when her sister was murdered.
“I told you going to him wouldn’t be useful,” Kara said, slipping into the passenger seat. “I didn’t think we should come back here at all. He’s let this go. I’ve let this go. You should let this go.”
“If that were totally true for you, why did you bother to come back with me?” Callie asked but didn’t wait for a response. “I know him, and he’s still living this every day, and it’s eating him like it is me.” If Callie could go back in time and change how she’d responded to her sister’s murder, and the way she’d treated Jag, she’d do it in a heartbeat. “And let’s not forget, he might have screwed up the arrest, but he didn’t botch the DNA. I still think the Trinket Killer wanted us to go after Adam all along. I think the killer played us. I just need to figure out why.”
“The book is all but done. I think you should take a vacation. Go to Hawaii or maybe Mexico, but you need a break. Look at what one did for me.” Kara too had had her life turned upside down by the Trinket Killer. Her wife had been one of the earliest victims, and that’s how Callie had met Kara and how they’d subsequently ended up working together at the station and then on her book.
Callie laughed. “Getting laid helped, huh?” She pulled the Jeep into traffic and headed toward the hotel where Kara and her girlfriend Ivy were staying.
“Hey. It’s more than that.” Kara reached out and squeezed Callie’s thigh. “Besides, it’s not just putting to rest the Trinket Killer, but you need to let Jag go. He’s not worth the space in your brain. He wasn’t there for you when you needed him most.”
That wasn’t true. From the second she’d seen her sister lying on the ground, dead, she’d made the snap decision to blame Jag. It hadn’t been totally conscious, but she needed to place her anger and rage somewhere. Stephanie had called her three times the night she’d died, and all three times, Callie had ignored the call.
Why?
She’d been too busy accepting a marriage proposal.
“I don’t have feelings for him anymore, but he’s a good cop, and he can help me find my sister’s—and your late wife’s—killer.” Callie rolled to a stop in the circle in front of a high-rise in the heart of downtown Seattle.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Kara said as she gathered her belongings from the back seat. “Nothing we do will bring Renee back. Or Stephanie. I need to live in the present, and Ivy is real, live flesh and blood.”
“What are you saying?” Callie really didn’t need Kara to spell it out. She could sense a kiss-off a mile away, but she needed Kara to say the words. They’d been through too much together.
“I’m in love with Ivy.” Kara jumped from the Jeep and held
