“Let’s see the cases,” she said.
“There are a lot,” he warned, pulling out the massive pile of paperwork. “The database spits out all possibilities. It’s up to us to wade through them all and narrow it down.”
She gave him a one-sided grin and held her coffee cup up like she was making a toast. “Welcome to the life of a detective, Jax. Let’s take a look.”
As she cleared off some space on her desk and gestured for him to take the seat across from her chair, she asked, “Does the FBI know I’m helping you with this?”
“No.” He settled into the seat and set half the stack in front of him, passing her the other half.
Instead of sitting beside him, Patches followed Keara around to her side of the desk.
As Keara dug into her stack of files, Jax couldn’t help but stare at her carefully tied-back hair and light, professional makeup. Even the first day he’d met her, dressed down in jeans and a raincoat, she’d looked like someone who was in charge. But the day he’d stopped by her house unannounced...
He smiled at the memory of her hair spilling over her shoulders, the cabernet staining her lips like a funky lipstick. It was a look he doubted many people in Desparre got to see, even on her days off.
“Stop staring and start reading,” Keara said, without glancing up.
The smile grew and he held in a laugh. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? Without her husband’s unsolved murder hanging over her head like a dark cloud? Without four hundred miles between their homes?
As his smile faded, he asked, “Any luck finding the roommate?”
Her gaze met his, serious and determined. A look that said she would search as long as it took. “No. Assuming Juan was right, this guy wasn’t listed on the lease with Rodney. I haven’t been able to dig up so much as a name.” Her lips tightened as she blew out a heavy breath. “Whoever he is, he’s as much of a ghost as Rodney, maybe even more so.”
As Jax stared at her, she broke eye contact, lines creasing her forehead. There was a hint of fear underneath her words as she said, “Seven years is a long time. I’m scared I won’t be able to track him.”
“We can do it,” Jax said, resisting the urge to reach his hand out and take hers.
From the other side of the desk, Patches made a slight whining sound, her way of getting attention when she knew someone needed her but wasn’t paying attention. From Keara’s suddenly surprised look, Patches had also pushed her head into Keara’s lap, insisting on being pet.
Some of the lines raking Keara’s forehead disappeared as she pet Patches.
He said a silent thank you to his dog, then continued, “There is one piece of good news here.”
She looked up at him again.
“If he’s trying so hard to stay beneath the radar that you’re struggling to even find mention of his name, there’s probably a reason. We might really be onto our bomber.”
“THERE HAS TO be something here,” Keara muttered as she set aside yet another case description in her No pile.
She and Jax had been sorting through the huge stack of cases he’d brought for almost an hour. In that time, Jax’s stack of unrelated cases had grown almost as high as hers. They had a few Maybes, but years spent as an officer, then a detective, then a police chief told Keara none of them were likely to be connected to the bombing, Celia’s murder, or Juan’s murder.
She’d been so hopeful when Jax had walked into her office, carrying such a big stack of possibilities. After her sleepless night, having Jax to help—along with his calming presence and Patches’s cute distraction—had made her feel like answers had to be in sight.
She wasn’t so far removed from her time as a detective that she’d forgotten the slog of it all. The hours that felt unending and pointless until one small detail broke open a case. Both Juan’s and Celia’s cases had remained open for a year, with Houston detectives logging thousands of hours on them, and they still hadn’t found that one detail.
Lately, Keara had spent too much time fighting a roller coaster of emotions, rocketing from a certainty she’d finally get closure to the fear that she’d get nowhere and just end up back where she’d been six years ago. Grief-ridden, brokenhearted and stuck.
Back then she’d reacted by finding a tiny job posting across the country, far from anyone she knew. Getting the job had been a surprise; when she’d taken it, her family and friends had all been shocked. Until five days ago, it had felt like a brand-new start.
“We’ve got a couple of possibilities,” Jax reminded her, his dark brown eyes full of determination, like he was trying to lend her strength.
She gave him a shaky smile, both appreciating the effort and not wanting him to see too deeply into her soul. Working with detectives was hard enough—they were trained to see what you weren’t telling them. But someone with years of experience as a psychologist and a therapist? The more time she spent with him, the more she wondered if he could tell everything she was thinking.
She redirected her gaze to her stack of cases before Jax could make out the other thing she couldn’t help feeling when he was around—attraction.
He was so different from Juan. Half a foot taller, Jax was slower to smile but more likely to have it burst into a full-blown grin when he did. His skin was
