As she scooped coffee grinds into the machine, Jax joined her in the kitchen. From her peripheral vision, she saw him lean against her island and watch her.
Before she could get her scrambled brain to come up with small talk—or better yet, a coherent discussion about the investigation—he asked, “What did your family think about you moving across the country to be a police chief?”
“They weren’t thrilled.” She spun to face him and even knowing where he’d been standing, even though he was still a couple of feet away, it felt too close. His hair was slightly mussed from sleep, making her realize how curly it was, making her want to run her hands through it.
Fisting them at her sides, she continued, “But then, they kept hoping Juan’s death would be a wake-up call that I needed to find another profession.”
“They worry about you.”
“Yeah. I’m an only child, but as my dad likes to joke, with Irish on one side and Italian on the other, we’re not a small family. My aunt was a police officer and I was really close to her growing up. She worked a night shift during most of my childhood, and since my parents worked days, she’d pick me up from school every day. She was killed on the job the same year I got my badge.”
“I’m sorry.”
Keara nodded. The year her aunt had died had been the same time she’d been paired up with Juan. It had been a hugely bittersweet time in her life. She’d wanted to follow in her aunt’s footsteps since she was a kid. She’d always imagined them working together someday.
“I’ve lived here for six years now and they still ask when I’m moving back on a pretty regular basis.” She shrugged, even though it frustrated her. “At least it’s coming from a place of love.”
“What if we solve Juan’s case?” Jax stared at her, his gaze so focused that even Patches quieted down.
Her heart jumped at the idea that he still thought it was possible. Jax wasn’t an investigator, but over the past week, she’d discovered he made a great partner. “What do you mean?”
“If we solve it, would you consider moving back to Houston?”
She’d never thought about it. Moving to Alaska had been a concession; her way of admitting that Juan’s murder would always remain unsolved.
The Houston PD would probably take her back, if they had an opening. She’d had a good relationship with the officers and chief there. But what had started as a self-imposed exile and escape had become her home.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I should visit more. I miss my family. But that was a different chapter of my life. Alaska is my future.”
Saying the words out loud, she realized how true they were. It freed something inside her, made real happiness seem possible again. And staring at the Victim Specialist in her kitchen made even more seem possible.
Diverting her gaze before he read her thoughts, she spun back to the coffee machine, filled it with water and hit Brew.
When he didn’t move, she turned back toward him, bracing her hands on the counter behind her. “This is my town, Jax.” She sighed, the responsibilities crashing back around her. “I’m glad the FBI is taking lead in the new investigation. They have a lot more experience than I do. But when they leave, this will still be my home. These people will still be my responsibility. I’m officially involved now, so we don’t need to be investigating on the side.”
He pushed away from the island, his mouth opening.
She cut off the argument she could see coming. “That doesn’t mean I want to stop working with you. I don’t care what your title is. I want your psychological insight on this. But what we saw in the cases we dug up yesterday? They don’t match what’s happening here.”
He frowned, lines creasing his forehead. “I know.”
“If this were one person so savvy and determined to stay off police radar by jumping jurisdictions—hell, jumping states—between his crimes, why set off two bombs in less than a week? Most likely, this is still connected to the crimes we dug up somehow, if we can figure out that symbol. But right now we have a bigger problem.”
Jax nodded. “We’re looking at a serial bomber.”
“Yeah. And with two bombs in six days, he’s probably not finished.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jax had a tendency to overanalyze things, but right now he knew exactly what he wanted.
He stared across the Desparre park at Keara, frowning as she talked to Ben and Anderson. As if she sensed his gaze on her, her focus shifted to him briefly. Then her head swung back to the agents.
Patches nudged his leg with her nose a few times and he pet her head.
“Sorry, Patches. You’re right. We need to be working.”
Although yesterday had been horrific, with people bleeding and crying and the gazebo blazing, the aftermath of the destruction was terrible, too. The once-cheerful white gazebo was now a pile of charred wood, splintered edges reaching into the air. The ground beside it was burned and bloodied. Scattered across the park were discarded personal items that hadn’t yet been tagged and collected as evidence. The FBI’s Evidence Response Team members walked among them, gathering anything relevant.
Somehow, it all felt more jarring after the awkward bliss of his morning. While Keara had showered, he’d made scrambled eggs. They’d eaten at her kitchen table and he’d pretended not to notice when she fell for Patches’s
