7

Jackson watched Avery’s expression flicker from grief to determination. Leading a murder investigation was one thing. Needing to find answers for the death of a family member had to have stretched her emotions to a whole other level.

She sat back down on the couch and drew her feet up underneath her. “How much have you heard about Michael’s case?”

He moved to sit down beside her. “I know that two officers were killed in an explosion in a warehouse. One of them was your brother.”

She fiddled with a loose thread on her hemline. “Michael and his partner, Blake Watson, had been working undercover for months, assigned to infiltrate a group suspected of dealing in arms and drugs in the area. They were making inroads, but then something went wrong. Michael’s handler got a distress signal from Michael about three in the afternoon. Thirty seconds later the building blew up. They found the remains of their bodies, but no evidence of the weapons or drugs they were there to buy.”

“Someone found out who they really were?”

“Presumably. The FBI was later able to match the bomb signature to a known terrorist bomb-maker. Which is why we believe Michael had stumbled onto something bigger than just a local arms dealer. So not only did someone find out who they were, they clearly didn’t want them to dig any further.”

She leaned against the back of the couch, lips drawn tight, and let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what else you’ve heard, but there’s more to the story than just two decorated officers killed in the line of duty. While the case is still officially unsolved, Michael is suspected of being a department leak.”

Jackson gauged her expression. Clearly there was a lot of pain wrapped up in the accusations that to her must seem like betrayal by the department. He’d heard the rumors surrounding the case but had decided to ignore the media’s version and wait until she was ready to tell him herself. “I thought everything was still inconclusive.”

“The department knew someone was peddling lists of informants in return for large sums of cash. Some of it was intelligence gathered by Michael in several key undercover operations that had given him access to information that potentially could be worth something to the right person . . . if he’d wanted to sell it. ”

“So things point to your brother, and he is the one blamed for the leak.”

“They also found a laptop hidden in the apartment where he was living while undercover that contained what the department has only described as sensitive information. But evidence can be planted.”

Jackson caught the frustration in her voice. Fear of someone’s betrayal was often harder to accept than death. He’d experienced that firsthand. He pushed back his own cloudy memories of his mother’s infidelity. “I take it you have a theory?”

“Yes, though no one has bought into mine.”

“What do you believe?”

“If you go through all the evidence—and believe me, I have—there is one person who can be linked to almost every incident, but the department doesn’t agree.”

“Who is that?”

“Michael’s handler, Mason Taylor. I might have known Mason for a long time and thought of him once as a friend, but I knew my brother better. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Michael wasn’t the kind of man who would sell out for money.”

He sat quietly beside her and waited for her to continue. With the department on the “other side” and her family ready for closure, there weren’t a lot of people she could turn to.

“This list of accusations is another reason it’s been hard to let go of Michael. To listen to the rumors and the lies being spread about his character. Things that I know aren’t true.” She reached up to rub her temples. “Something about today made me relive Michael’s death all over again. I guess it’s because I’ve spent weeks on our last Jane Doe case, and all I ever came up with was a pile of dead ends with every suspect and every witness. Facing the same situation again with our latest victim just rubs it in, and reminds me of my brother’s case—another unsolved crime.”

“It’s hard when so many of the pieces are out of your control.”

“My family seems to think my determination to find the truth about Michael’s death has become more of a vice than a help. That it’s dragging out the grieving process for all of us, when instead it’s time we accept what has happened and simply let him go.”

“Something you’re not ready to do.”

“No.”

Jackson searched for something to say. “My grandfather would quote Lincoln right about now. ‘It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.’”

Avery’s smile surfaced again. “I like your grandfather already. Tell me about him.”

“He’s a Civil War buff who actually remembers stories his grandfather told him about fighting in the war,” he began, willing to let her guide the conversation. “He’s quirky, smart, and managed to raise me since I was twelve.”

“Your parents? Were they a part of the picture?”

Jackson paused. They’d talked briefly about their past over their first two dates, but he had enjoyed their slow pace of getting to know each other. Because while many of the scars from his childhood had—for the most part—healed, even time hadn’t completely erased the sting of his mother’s abandonment. “My mother decided early on that a family was too much responsibility, and she’d rather be out partying. Eventually she left us for good. My father loved my sister and me, but couldn’t handle being a single parent. He worked as a commercial fisherman, which meant lots of time at sea, so I can’t really blame him. It was the only thing he knew how to do. He eventually sent my sister and me off to Texas to live with our grandparents. Right after I started college, while my grandmother was still alive, my grandfather’s job transferred to Atlanta.”

“Do you ever get to see your father?”

“He came to visit every Christmas, and eventually we became close after college. He died in a fishing accident about five years ago.”

“I’m sorry. I’d like to meet your grandfather someday.”

“I’d like you to meet him. He was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which, as you know, is the reason I moved here to Atlanta.”

She caught his gaze, her eyes full of question. “You’d want to know the truth, wouldn’t you?”

Jackson only had to consider her question for a brief moment. “Yes. I’d say that your brother deserves more than an obituary in the newspaper. Your family deserves—you deserve—to know the truth.”

“That’s what I want to give him. I’m just looking for closure. For proof he was innocent like I know he was. And for answers for my family and for me.” She shook her head and grinned. “How did we get so serious?”

“It’s been one of those days that reminds you just how vulnerable each of us really are.” He reached out and grasped her fingers. “Are you still hungry?”

“Yes, though a part of me is content just to sit and talk.”

“Me too.” He loved the blush that crept up her checks, the way she ducked her head as if in doing so she could hide her most intimate thoughts. The way she bit the edge of her lip when she finally looked back up at him.

He could get used to coming home to her every night. He loved his grandfather, but being with Avery beat listening to nightly tales of Abraham Lincoln and William Sherman by a long shot.

From the first time they met, he was drawn to her fiery spirit—and now her vulnerable side. He’d never met anyone so focused. She knew how to throw herself completely into an investigation while somehow still managing to not let the day-to-day tragedies of the job harden her.

He laced their fingers together and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. He was close enough that he could breathe in the sweet scent of her perfume. Close enough to kiss her. He tried to read her expression as he reached out to brush her hair from her face.

A moment before he leaned forward to act on his impulse, he felt her tense and pull back. Her gaze dropped.

“Avery, I’m . . .” He stopped short of saying he was sorry. He wasn’t sorry for wanting to kiss her. Or sorry for wanting her to be a part of his world.

She stood up and walked toward the basement window. “I wanted to be ready for this.” The setting sun filtered through the glass, casting a soft light across her face as she turned back to him, but he couldn’t read her expression. “I thought I was ready for something more to develop between us.”

“And now?”

“Today, I missed lunch with my mom along with my daughter’s swim tryouts because of a murder investigation. I know you are looking for more than just a casual dating relationship, but the bottom line is that I don’t know if I have enough of me to give right now.”

“I know your life is full, and I’m certainly not trying to demand more of you.” How did he fight for her without pushing her away in the process? “But neither of us are walking into this blindly. We both know what it takes to make a relationship work. And while I realize it’s too early to know where our relationship will end up, all I know how to do is be honest with you. I miss coming home to someone. I miss someone to share my heart with, to wake up to, and snuggle with in front of the fireplace at night.”

“Which is exactly the problem. I’m not sure I can be that person you want.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not that person, but I had hoped we could at least see if it were possible.”

The heartache he’d experienced over losing Ellie resurfaced. There had been so much loss coupled with her death. Marrying his college sweetheart had seemed perfect. They’d planned to start a family, giving him a chance to become to his own children everything his parents had failed to be.

But none of that had ever happened. The January after their summer wedding Ellie was diagnosed with cancer. Nine months later he lost her forever.

He glanced back up at Avery. Tonight wasn’t about Ellie, or even his past. It was about the fact that he was falling in love with that woman standing in front of him. She was the complete opposite to Ellie in many ways, but maybe the real problem lay in the fact that the two of them had reached different places in life. While he was ready to commit to a relationship, she clearly wasn’t.

“Maybe I’d better go.” Jackson took a step toward the basement stairs, hoping she’d say something to stop him, while not wanting to push her in a direction she wasn’t willing to take. “I’ll keep you updated on any new developments in the case from my end.”

“Thank you.” Avery wrapped her arms around her waist. The professional tinge in her voice was back. “I appreciate all your help.”

Jackson headed up the staircase, wishing he could take back the past few seconds. Wishing she’d say something—anything—to break the tension that had just settled between them. And hoping he hadn’t just managed to push away the best thing that had come into his life in a very, very long time.