The gut-wrenching weight of sending Olivia to his in-laws’ farm for a couple days started to lift. How was it possible, in the most terrifying circumstances he’d ever imagined, Ana still kept him grounded, kept him from losing control? If he hadn’t requested her to work this case, would he have been able to keep it together this long? Would the killer have gotten exactly what he’d wanted, and taken Benning and his twins down with him? The answer was already there, already cemented in reality. Without Ana, he would’ve lost everything. “I warned you what would happen if you agreed to a sleepover. You knew the risks going in, Agent Ramirez.”
“Like I said, it’s hard to say no to her,” she said.
Benning slipped his hand into hers as she struggled to retrace her steps through the snow on her injured leg, and in that moment he found himself never wanting to let go. “Wait until she asks you to let her drive your SUV.”
Chapter Eleven
This whole investigation would be easier if the evidence spelled out who’d taken Owen Reeves from this very house. Ana studied the official crime scene photos taken of the charm JC had recovered from Jo West’s body disposal site. She and Benning had stayed up most of the night reviewing the employee list from Britland Construction, but none of the names—no matter how many times she’d read them—had jumped out at either of them. No criminal charges other than a few speeding tickets, no massive amounts of debt or visible connection to the Samantha Perry case either of them could see. From the outside it looked as though Britland Construction hired the best and most trustworthy assets despite the negligence Benning had uncovered and the skull he’d pulled from one of their project walls.
She’d gone over the interviews she and her partner had conducted seven years ago during the Samantha Perry case, searching the transcripts, rereading the file over and over until the words had started blurring together. Director Pembrook confirmed Samantha’s best friend, Claire Winston, was currently serving her country in Afghanistan with her military unit and still wore the bracelet the friends had exchanged in high school while she was off duty. The charm had to belong to the teenage girl Ana hadn’t been able to save, the one whose case had changed everything. It had to. It was too much of a coincidence for it to be random.
“There has to be something here.” She fought to keep her eyes open, her entire body giving in to the exhaustion she’d been ignoring for the past three days. But she couldn’t sleep. The kidnapper’s twenty-four-hour deadline had expired. They should’ve uncovered a lead by now. Should’ve heard from the bastardo who’d taken Benning’s son. But there’d been nothing. Tears burned in her eyes as defeat clawed through her. The all-too-familiar sinking sensation she’d worked hard to bury since she’d requested a transfer to Washington broke through her defenses. She had to find Owen, needed to find the boy who’d topped each of these cabinet pulls with carrots in that photo next to his father’s bed. Because if she couldn’t do this... If she couldn’t bring that little boy home, it would destroy the man who’d worked past her defenses and given her a glance at what real happiness could look like. And she’d lose him all over again.
The thought sparked a chain reaction of disbelief and rage. She stilled, but her heart raced out of control. Three days. That was all it’d taken for Benning to put her right back in the same position she’d been in when she’d received the call that Samantha Perry’s body had been recovered. She’d become emotionally involved. Attached. Blind to the evidence right in front of her. She’d broken her own rule to keep her distance and fallen in love with the idea she wouldn’t have to leave. But if she couldn’t find Owen, his small, perfect family would be the ones who paid the price.
She shoved the stack of papers off the kitchen island with every ounce of anger and frustration and disappointment building inside, but spun too fast and stretched the stitches in her side. Pain spread fast, the air rushing out of her, and she had to catch herself before the gray wood-like tile throughout the kitchen rushed up to meet her. Bent over the bar stool, she clamped onto her side as the stinging dulled. She couldn’t breathe, let alone think. “What have I done?”
Strong hands slid along her spine, and she twisted around to fight as his arms secured her against his muscled chest. No. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. The bullet wound beneath her collarbones protested as she pushed away from him, but he only held her tighter as the sobs broke past her control. Her knees threatened to give out, but he was there. Lending her his strength, letting her take what she needed from him. She fisted her unbroken fingers into his shirt as tremors racked through her. “What am I missing?”
Benning stared down at her, not an ounce of blame or hatred in his expression, only sympathy. And suddenly the agent she’d been fighting so hard to become shattered into a thousand pieces right in the middle of his kitchen. The hurt, the loss, the grief, the anger she’d had
