8:15 p.m.
Mitch Burns pulled the strap of his carry-on further up his shoulder, his stride quickening as the security checkpoint came into view. As much as he’d enjoyed working with Jonathan and the high school kids, he couldn’t wait to see Elise. To hold her in his arms again. God, how he missed that . . .
He caught his reflection in the glass partition of an airport restaurant as he walked down the brown-carpeted corridor, his hair surprisingly okay after sleeping on a plane for two hours. Good. He wanted it ready for her fingers to run through.
The second he rounded the X-ray machines, he saw her, his heart rate picking up speed as their eyes met across the waiting area. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered—her slender body clad in form-fitting tan slacks and a soft white V-neck sweater, her brown curls spilling halfway down her back. But it was her smile he’d missed the most. The way it lit up her eyes when they spent time together . . . like now.
He crossed the distance between them in seconds, dropping his bag at his feet and pulling her into his arms, her subtle perfume and shampoo mingling together perfectly. “Oh, ’Lise, I’ve missed you so much.” He reveled in the feel of her body, the warmth of her breath against his neck.
They stood that way for a long time, completely oblivious to the waves of passengers heading to and from their planes. This was the way it was supposed to be. The two of them—together. Always.
Her mouth moved against his skin but the throng of passengers and well-wishers made it difficult to hear her words. Reluctantly he released her, his hand cupping her chin and raising it upward. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
He saw her swallow, caught the dampness in her eyes as she spoke. “I missed you so much, Mitch.”
Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her, her lips soft and warm against his own. He could sense people slowing down to gawk, but it didn’t matter. He was exactly where he wanted to be, people or no people.
After a long moment, she stepped back, rubbed his arm with her hand. “How was your flight?”
“Great. I slept the entire time.” He could hear the gruffness to his voice as he contemplated another kiss. “Today was one-on-one evaluations with the kids and we started pretty early.”
“Luggage from Tran-Air flight fifty-five eighty is now arriving on carousel four.”
Elise pointed upward at a ceiling speaker, her eyes sparkling. “It’s official. You’re here to stay. Let’s get your stuff. You can nap in the car on the way home if you’re still tired.”
Grabbing his carry-on, he fell into step with her as they rounded the corner toward baggage claim. “I’m not tired anymore.”
“Good.” She grinned, her soft hand intertwining with his as they walked. “Because I think all my talking would keep you awake.”
He laughed. “You? Never.”
“Hey!”
It felt good to be back home, to be teasing and laughing with one another. It was funny how life could change in such a short period of time. A year ago, he was content to spend his nonworking hours behind his desk at the department, pushing paper and planning training programs. Yet now he wanted every waking hour to be spent with her. It didn’t matter what they did, just so long as they were together.
“So how was work today? Anything exciting?”
“Sure, if you call proofing copy exciting.” Her laughed echoed through the corridor as they rounded the corner toward baggage claim four. “Other than that, it was a fairly mundane day. Confusing, but mundane.”
“Confusing? How so?” He grabbed his black suitcase from the conveyer belt and guided her toward the short-term parking door. “Dean acting normal or something?”
“Dean will never be normal. But, yeah, he was one of the confusing parts.” She motioned to the third row of cars. “I’m over there, see?”
He took the keys from her hand, popped the trunk and tossed his bags inside before walking around to the passenger side and opening the door for Elise. When she slid into her seat, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “God, I’m glad I’m back.”
She smiled up at him. “So am I. You have no idea.”
The drive to Ocean Point took about two hours and four tollbooths. They talked almost nonstop, he about the camp and Jonathan, she about work and her critique group. She seemed happy, talkative, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was weighing on her. He waited, hoped she’d spill it on her own, but when she didn’t he asked point-blank.
“You okay, baby? There’s something in your voice tonight that seems a little off. Something happen while I was gone? You worried about this murder?” He slid his right hand across the center console and pulled her hand into his. “About the fact that the guy hasn’t been caught yet? Because I’ll keep you safe, you know that.”
She sighed softly and leaned her head against the seat. “I know. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off as she turned and looked out the window, her free hand fidgeting with a piece of lint on her slacks.
“Hey.” He let go of her hand and turned her face, taking his eyes off the road to meet hers in snatches. “It’s just what?”
“Jacob.”
“Huh?”
She raised her hands to her face, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Jacob Brown.”
He glanced at the road ahead, then pulled his gaze back inside the car, back to Elise’s troubled face. “The mayor’s kid? What about him?”
“He was in my writing class over the weekend and at that critique meeting I told you about Wednesday night.” Elise shifted in her seat, clasping her hands in her lap.
He remembered Wednesday night. She’d seemed distracted during their call, her voice breaking a few times throughout the conversation. When he’d asked if she was okay, she’d chalked it off to being tired. Claimed it had been a long day tracking down facts about the murdered teacher.
It hadn’t rung true at the time—his instincts telling him there was something troubling her that went way beyond lack of sleep. But he’d let it go, knowing they both had to get up early in the morning. Now he wished he’d pushed. It was obvious that something had happened.
“He giving you a hard time?”
She exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if she were trying to find the courage to speak. It scared him.
“He’s angry.”
“At you?” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his gaze alternating between the road ahead and the woman beside him.
“It seems that way. It was just looks on Saturday. Looks and demeanor. He made a sarcastic comment during class that was aimed at me, but other than that, nothing.” Her voice grew softer as she continued, causing him to strain to pick out her words. “Then during the critique meeting I thought there was a chance he might soften. It didn’t last long, but it was there. That is until Joni Goodfellow stirred it all up again.”
He racked his brain for a face to match the name Elise had said. Joni Goodfellow . . .
“Wait, that’s the channel twenty beat reporter, right? What sewer is she climbing around in now?”
Elise turned her face back toward the window, her quiet words taking on a shaky quality. “She showed up outside Mia’s. Stuck a microphone in Jacob’s face. Asked him if the Hannah Daltry murder was bringing back bad memories for his family.”
“You can’t be serious?” He glanced across at his fiancée, his heart breaking at the uncharacteristic slant to her mouth. “Don’t answer that. I’ve seen the woman in action with my own two eyes. So what happened?”
“Let’s just say if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.” She unclasped her hands and turned them upward. “I don’t know what to do. Tom thinks he’s just projecting his anger for his father onto me. And maybe he’s right. But even if he is, what can I do about it? I don’t think this kid’s anger will amount to anything besides a few dirty looks and an icy comment here and there . . . but I don’t know.”
“It better not.” As soon as he heard the tone of his voice, he rushed to soften it, reluctant to give Elise any indication that he was concerned about the situation. A young man, mourning the unexpected death of his father after a string of horrific crimes, was showing anger toward the woman who brought his father down. Sure, it could be a simple case of projection like the sports reporter said. But there was also a very good chance it could turn into more.
He pulled his hand from the steering wheel and traced a line down her jaw with his index finger, savoring the feel of her skin. She’d been through too much over the past year. Hell would freeze over before he’d see her go through something like that ever again.
“Anyone witness his attitude toward you?” He willed his voice to sound relaxed. “You know, anyone ask what was up?”
She nodded. “He’s not shy about his feelings regardless of who’s in the room. In fact, he turned a little of it on Ms. Daltry Saturday when she called him on his attitude.”
“Really?” He’d been listening all evening, hearing every word she said. But suddenly a different part of his brain was processing. “What happened?”
“Ms. Daltry commented on his anger, kind of embarrassed him in front of the class. Which, of course, earned her an evil eye and a hefty dose of attitude too. It was so blatant, even one of the older guys in my class commented on it.” Elise scooted to the left, gently resting her head on his upper arm. She smelled good. Sweet.
They fell into a comfortable silence as he exited the parkway and headed south. Her breathing was soft and measured against his arm as his thoughts bounced between the woman against him and the things she’d shared about Jacob Brown and the murder victim.
Could her death be more than just a casualty of another crime? It certainly warranted a little checking around. Just to see where it might lead.
He turned onto Second Street when he reached Ocean Point, her car seeming to know the way with very little guidance from him. He couldn’t wait to be alone in her apartment, just to hold her for as long as he wanted—no baggage announcements or curious strangers to worry about.
“You think I can read your assignment for class?”
She pulled her head off his arm and smiled shyly, her eyes casting downward briefly. “Sure. Eventually.”
“Eventually? What’s with the eventually stuff?” Mitch pulled into an empty space outside her apartment building and stepped out of the car, crossing around the hood to her door. He opened it and offered his hand, enjoying the feel of her long thin fingers intertwined with his.
“I wrote a scene about you. About how you’ve impacted my life. I don’t want you to see it until it’s perfect. Like you.” She stepped into his outstretched arms and let out a quiet little noise. A happy noise, as he liked to call it.
“Awwww, baby. I’ve missed you.” He held her tight, his lips brushing against her hair, her forehead. “But isn’t this thing due tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. I just want to hold off showing you for a little while longer, okay?” She rocked with him as he gently swayed from side to side, the cold March air barely registering on his skin. “You should see what Ms. Daltry wrote as an example. It was so powerful. So engaging. I’m not sure my writing will ever be as strong as hers.”
He let go of her shoulders and stepped back, spreading his arms outward. “How can you say that when you’re writing about moi?”
Her sweet laugh lifted his heart. He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her upstairs to her apartment. “What? You laugh?”
“You’re funny, that’s all. I’m not saying my subject matter isn’t incredible and worthy of fabulous writing. I’m just saying I’m not sure I’ll ever be the writer that woman is—I mean was.”
He massaged her shoulder as they walked up the steps. “I have little doubt you’ll be famous one day. You are an amazing writer, Elise Jenkins.” And he meant it. But even more than her ability to write, he admired the class with which she pursued each and every story. Joni Goodfellow could certainly stand to learn a few things from Elise.
“Thank you.” Tiny points of red spread across her cheeks as she looked back at him, her humility yet another of the many endearing qualities he loved about this woman. Elise Jenkins was the least boastful person he’d ever met. And her empathy for others? Wow. It never ceased to blow him away every time he was lucky enough to witness her interaction with another person.
As his Aunt Betty said . . . he’d done good. Real good.