“That’s wonderful. I’m really happy for you.” That wasn’t a lie. Callie truly wished the best for Kara and her new girlfriend. It would suck to continue this endeavor without her, but Callie wouldn’t quit. Not until Stephanie’s murderer was brought to justice.
“Are you?”
“Yes, Kara. I am.” Callie smiled. “I doubt I’ll ever get Jag to give me a quote or even let me interview him, so I’ll be sending the final draft to the publisher soon. The reality is, our work together is done, but I’m going to miss you so much.”
“What are you going to do after the book is published?” Kara asked. “And please don’t say you plan on staying here.”
“That’s doubtful, but I will be doing a second book,” Callie said. “I’ll need a researcher. What can I do to interest you in that?”
Kara shook her head. “You know why I did this, but I realized that we may never find the Trinket Killer, and I have to accept that. Getting out of Seattle this past year has been the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. I think my research days are over, but I’m committed to finishing this book.”
“I understand.” Callie shifted the Jeep into gear. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” With tears burning the back of her eyes, Callie pulled out into city traffic and headed for the Whidbey Island Ferry. She wasn’t going to let Jag off that easy. They’d both made a lot of mistakes, but she knew him, and she knew, without a doubt, that he hadn’t given up on finding the Trinket Killer.
Or, at least, she had to believe that.
Because if he had, if he’d really given up on everything he’d felt for her, then she’d really done what her sister had accused her doing. She’d officially shut out everyone who cared about her.
She pulled into the ferry line, shocked to see that Jag was in one of the first lines. Hopefully, he didn’t see her in the far lane. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tucked it under a baseball cap. Minutes later, the first lane of cars filtered onto the ferry. She watched as Jag disappeared onto the boat. It would be a good fifteen minutes before she was loaded, and she opted to stay in her car for the entire ride.
Once she was off-loaded, she made her way into the small town of Langley, where she’d booked a room at the Saratoga Inn, not far from where she’d discovered that the new chief of police had rented a house. She told herself that she’d come out here to finish the final edits on the book. That she just needed some peace and quiet.
But the reality was…she wanted—no—she needed to be close to Jag. She’d made two really big mistakes in her life.
The first had been not trusting her instincts.
The second had been walking away from him when they needed each other.
She checked herself into the inn, thankful to have a room on the top floor that overlooked the sound. She’d always loved the island off the coast of Seattle. When she and Jag had first started dating, they often took the ferry to Whidbey Island to go camping. It was a nice way for them to get away from their lives in Seattle and be a couple.
Both had agreed that it was best to keep their love affair private, at least at first, but a few months into it, she’d started to think it seemed weird.
He didn’t.
They fought about it, and then as the bodies piled up during the Trinket Killer case, the secrecy became a necessity.
She tucked her cell into her back pocket and strolled down the lane toward the side street off the main road in Langley. She’d found out that Jag lived on the corner of Earl and Peach Street, which was less than a mile from the inn. She strolled through the neighborhood, sipping the wine she’d put in a Solo cup. Anything to take the edge off.
A light layer of clouds glided across the sky, dimming the light from the stars and the moon. A woman and her three dogs scurried down the street. Callie found the house that Jag rented. It sat on a corner lot and overlooked the sound. It had to be the most prime piece of real estate in the entire neighborhood.
She stood behind one of the lampposts, her silhouette stretching tall in the street, but the shadows keeping her identity hidden.
“Boo,” a male voice said.
She jumped, dropping her cup and spilling her wine down the front of her shirt. “Fuck,” she muttered.
“That’s what you get for spying on me,” Jag said.
“I wasn’t spying. I just went for a walk.”
“Really? You just happened to be staying on Whidbey Island, not the mainland.”
“You know I’ve always loved it out here, especially the Saratoga Inn.”
“Okay, but explain lurking in front of my house and stopping under the light at the corner of my street, staring into my picture window? I ain’t buying it.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” she said, wiping off the dampness from her shirt the best she could. “I didn’t even know you lived here.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Don’t lie. It’s never been a good look on you. Now, do you want to come in for a drink? Or do you want to go back where you came from?”
“I’ll choose the latter,” she said, but only because she wasn’t ready to have a deeper and longer conversation with the elusive but insanely sexy Jagar Bowie. She’d save that talk for tomorrow when she waltzed into his office with her pad and paper. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my walk.”
“Be safe, Callie,” he said. He waved his hand over his head and jogged up the hill toward his house. He paused at the front door. “Take care.”
“You too.” She turned and headed back
