Cold Case Affair by Loreth Anne White Page B

squeezed tight across his chest. She was so strikingly gorgeous, and—though he hated to admit it—even more attractive to him now than she’d been a decade ago.
    There was a new sophistication, a wisdom in her eyes, yet it was balanced by a softness that came with pregnancy, and with the pain of the loss she’d just experienced.
    She’d been all wild, rough edges when she was nineteen; a flat-out challenge. He suspected that he hadn’t been much different himself. Hell, they were just kids; their relationship as combative as it had been loving. It had been about the sparring, the fun. The sex.
    Until it had all gone bad.
    “I think Gus was investigating the old Tolkin murders—”
    “Muirinn—” he interjected, leaning forward. “—Gus was always thinking about the Tolkin murders. That’s nothing new.”
    “I think he might have come across some new crime scene photos, Jett.” She lowered her voice, glancing at the tables around theirs. “I believe those photos and Gus’s laptop could have been the target of the break-ins, because I’d removed them from his attic desk just before going to sleep that night.”
    Jett frowned. “What’s in the laptop?”
    “I don’t know yet—it’s password-protected. But Rick Frankl is sending a tech around later.”
    Unease trickled into Jett, along with worry.
    Damn.
    The last thing he wanted right now was to worry about Muirinn. What he wanted was space, to think. Her proximity was clouding his mind, driving his libido to distraction. He inhaled deeply. “Will you let me know what you find?”
    “Sure,” she said, reaching for her shades.
    He placed his hand over hers, stopping her. “Muirinn? You will call?”
    She cast her eyes down. “I don’t want to have to call you, Jett,” she whispered.
    “Why?”
    She swallowed, looked up slowly, her eyes glittering with emotion. “You’re attached, Jett. You have a family. A wife.”
    For a very long beat he said nothing, and a heated current thrummed between them.
    Don’t say anything stupid here, buddy. Think of Troy.
    “Where were your wife and Troy going yesterday?” she asked suddenly.
    He hesitated, then lied by omission. “She was taking himto summer camp,” he said, circumnavigating the part about his divorce five years ago, knowing at the same time he’d just started digging a hole that he was going to have one hell of a time climbing out of.
    “What’s your wife’s name, Jett?”
    “Kim.” At least that wasn’t a lie, exactly.
    Her jaw quivered and she bit her lip.
    Guilt stabbed through him. He told himself he was entitled to do this, she probably had a man waiting for her somewhere, perhaps even coming to join her. And suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
    “What about the father of your baby, Muirinn? Where is he?”
    She turned and stared out over the sea. “I’m flying solo, Jett,” she said very quietly. “I’m doing this on my own.”
    Something hot ripped through him. “What do you mean?”
    She sighed. “Things just never worked out. I…I could never seem to find the right guy.”
    So she’d done it again.
    She’d gotten pregnant with her lover’s child, and then she’d abandoned the man, not giving him a chance, a choice , to be a father. It instantly tempered his feelings toward her.
    Jett could remember exactly what it had felt like. He recalled just how badly she could dig the knife into his heart, and twist.
    How she might do it again—if he let her.
    He cleared his throat. “And what exactly were you looking for in a guy, Muirinn?” he said coolly.
    She breathed out nervously. “You, I think.”
    He felt the blood rush from his head.
    “God,” she whispered, panic flaring in her eyes. “That…that was a terrible mistake.” She got up so fast she knockedher chair back onto the patio. “I…I am so sorry, Jett.” She spun around, walking as fast she could.
    Jett stared, glued to his seat for a nanosecond before his brain kicked back into gear.