Secret Agent, Secret Father

He waited until she reached the door. “Grace. Were you telling the truth earlier? Are you absolutely sure I didn’t kill Helene?”

She hesitated for a moment, her hand clenched on the doorknob. “I’m not absolutely sure of anything. Least of all, you.”

JACOB COULDN’T SAY he felt better, but he felt more human after cleaning up and putting on clean clothes. The itch was off his skin and his stomach had settled. His shoulder and head still throbbed, but he managed to find some aspirin in her cabinet. He’d found a razor and new blades also, but decided against a shave. No use causing more damage with a shaky hand.

Like the bedroom, the bath had a decidedly feminine appeal. The combination hardwood floor and bead-board paneling presented a casual coziness that was only emphasized by a pedestal sink, distressed vanity and an eclectic collection of candles.

Curious, Jacob grabbed the shampoo from the corner of the bathtub. He took a whiff, then read the bottle. Honeysuckle.

A small mystery solved.

For the first time, he simply focused on the facts of his situation and systematically sorted through what he’d learned over the last half hour.

In his mind, he saw flashes of pictures. From parks to fields to coliseums. He couldn’t bring names to mind, or locations. He couldn’t say if he’d been to these locations or merely seen them in photos or on television. They held no connection to him on any level.

The only thing, only person who seemed familiar to him was Grace.

A lead—his only instinctive lead. One he planned on pursuing.

The coffee aroma hit him as he stepped out of the bedroom. “Smells good.”

The neutral colors, the rustic pine floors triggered no memories, but this time he hadn’t expected them to. “How often have I been here?”

“Many times. Too many to count.”

The walk to the kitchen caused his legs to shake. Enough that he was grateful for the stool when he slid onto it.

“Go ahead and have some while I get things together.” She placed a travel mug in front of him, along with a plate with toast. “You liked your coffee black.”

He lifted the mug. “Let’s see if I still do.” When he took a swig, the heat of it punched him in the belly. Enough to make him grunt and draw a slanted look from Grace. “It’s good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She grabbed two chocolate chip cookies from a nearby plate.

“So, do you and your father disagree often?”

“No more often than most fathers and daughters.” She came around the counter and leaned a hip against the side. “I turned on the news while you were getting dressed and checked my computer. The shooting wasn’t mentioned on either.”

“You just changed the subject.”

“You noticed.” She took a bite of her cookie, chewed, then waved the remaining piece like a pointer. “Helene’s death should have made the morning news.”

“A murder would be hard to keep out of the press,” he reasoned, even as a cookie crumb settled on her cheek, distracting him. “But the police have done it before.”

Giving in to the urge, he leaned in and brushed the crumb away with the pad of his thumb. But instead of keeping the touch light, the gesture simple, he found himself cupping her face in his palm—told himself that he was only searching for memories. Answers.

“Jacob—”

“Shh.” His thumb stopped her mouth, midmotion, leaving her lips slightly parted. He slipped between to the warm smooth touch of her teeth, felt her intake of breath rush over his skin—

The doorbell sounded, jolting them both apart.

Jacob swore, low and mean. His body went rigid, his hand already reaching for the gun in his back waistband. “Your father?”

“He wouldn’t ring the bell,” she answered, trying to get her heart back down from her throat. Not from the interruption but from the realization that in another minute, probably less if she were honest, she’d have been in Jacob’s arms.

“Is your car out front?”

“Yes. It’s parked under my carport.”

“Then you’d better answer.” Jacob’s face turned cold, almost savage. The fact he reached for his gun only fed her trepidation.

“Leave my plate. It will look like you’re eating breakfast alone. I’ll wait in the bedroom,” he whispered while he checked his clip. “But I’ll be watching, so no worries.” This time when he cupped her cheek, it was for reassurance. “You’ll be okay. Just stay calm.”

After Jacob disappeared into the bedroom, she walked slowly to the front door.

A second chime rang out just as she peered through the peephole. Two men stood on her front porch, both dressed in navy-blue suits, both holding badges in their hand. The law enforcement insignias glared in the sunlight.