Guilt flooded, along with a rush of relief that Keara was okay. What if the bomber had been waiting in her house instead of just going through her files? What if he’d been standing in the dark with a knife, ready to do to Keara what he’d done to her husband?
The idea made nausea flood through him and he tried to push it back, tried to keep thinking through his new theory as impartially as he could.
Keara stared back at him, her eyes narrowing as if she could read his emotions.
She probably could. She was a trained investigator, after all. Would it scare her off, the intensity of his feelings for her? How had they gotten so strong, so fast?
“If this guy is following the investigation as closely as you’re suggesting, and it is someone who’s been here less than two years, then he’s been at the scenes,” Keara said with certainty. “He’s been talking to people. That means someone has seen him. We need to keep circulating that sketch. Has it been shown to all of the victims and anyone else who was near the scenes at the time of the bombings?”
“We’ve shown it to all of the victims who are able to look at it right now,” Anderson said, reminding Jax that there were still two Desparre victims in comas, still three from the Luna bomb who were critical and unresponsive, as well.
“And? No one recognized him?” Keara pressed.
“Some of them said the sketch looked kind of familiar,” Ben replied. “But no one could give us a name. Same result as the general canvassing today.”
“He’s good at blending in,” Jax said. “He’s got a lot of practice fading into the background.”
“This is a small town,” Keara said, frustration in her voice. “We notice outsiders. Yeah, we let them have their privacy, but unless they’re hiding out on the mountain all day, we see them.” She frowned, a ripple of anger rushing over her features. “Of course, I thought that five years ago, too, and we had a kidnapper living among us. People knew him vaguely, but no one seemed to know who he was.”
“We’ll find this guy,” Jax said, hoping he sounded confident. But would they? Why was he still here if it was the same person? “He figured out who you were,” Jax breathed, the final pieces that didn’t quite fit falling into place in his mind.
“He figured out that I was the chief of police or that I was Juan’s widow?” Keara demanded, sounding like she already knew the answer.
“He was probably planning to move on after the Luna bombing like he had with all the other crimes. But you showed up that night,” Jax realized. “Or maybe he followed me when I came to Desparre to talk to you about the case.” He told Ben about the blue truck and the agent nodded, jotting notes.
“I’m sorry,” he told Keara.
She waved a dismissive hand. “We don’t know that was him. And if it was, you shook him. Anyway, if he’s sticking around because he realized who I was, that gives us more of a chance to bring him down.”
“He’s breaking pattern now,” Ben said, a warning in his voice that Jax felt deeply himself.
“I know,” Keara said, glancing at the other agent. “My husband almost caught him. Maybe he’s worried I’m just as good.”
“With a personality type like this, if he’s breaking pattern, he could be fixating on you,” Jax said, the worry he felt coming through in his words.
Keara nodded, fury in her own voice. “He can fixate all he wants. I’m fixated now, too.”
“Keara.” He stepped closer, trying to block out everyone else, everything else, as she tipped her head up slightly, meeting his gaze.
“I think you could be in danger.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The air felt stuffy and uncomfortable inside Jax’s SUV. Or maybe that was just all of Keara’s pent-up anger.
She took a deep breath. The anger and grief over her husband’s murder had settled over the years, buried deeper where it was less likely to bubble up at any moment and overwhelm her. But right now, knowing the person who had done it was probably here, trying to destroy the new town she’d chosen to call home, had pushed it all to the surface again, as strong as it had ever been.
It wasn’t fair to take it out on Jax.
She glanced at him, saw the worry in his tense profile, in the focused gaze that kept jumping between the dark road ahead and his rearview mirror, like he was watching for a tail. It was obvious he felt guilty, thinking he might have led the bomber to her.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him.
He glanced at her briefly, pensively, then back out the windshield.
“For all we know, this guy found out where I lived by talking up the locals.”
“And no one recognized him?” Jax countered.
“Judging by that sketch, he’s not exactly a memorable-looking guy.” The couple who’d seen him—assuming the person they’d seen was the bomber—said he was just shy of six feet, with thinning brown hair. He’d been wearing a shapeless coat, maybe to disguise his build, and sunglasses on a not-so-sunny day. When asked if there was anything memorable about him, Imani had just shrugged and called him “average.”
Keara glanced at Patches in the backseat, sound asleep with her head resting on Keara’s overnight bag. “This really isn’t necessary.” She repeated what she’d said back at her house, when everyone else had either headed home or gone inside to gather evidence. When Jax had insisted she come stay at the hotel where it was safer, she’d rolled her eyes and blurted harshly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ever the therapist, he hadn’t taken offense. Probably he’d recognized her misplaced frustration and fury.
Even now he just said calmly, “We agreed you’d be safer at the hotel. Plus, Patches will love the company.”
Woof! she chimed in from the backseat.
Keara twisted to look at the Labrador retriever and couldn’t stop
