Cold Case Witness

“I don’t know.” He let out a puff of air. Frustration, plain and simple.

“Just be careful, Matt. I know what this job means to you and I’m afraid that from what I’ve heard, Gemma doesn’t exactly mix well with the Treasure Point Police Department. She may have helped with her testimony in that case, but it sounds as if she caused a lot of trouble, made them really work for the information they did get.”

She’d been seventeen. Was he the only one who remembered that?

“Careful. I hear you,” he promised Shiloh.

Matt hung up the phone and opened his door, slid into the car. “Sorry, quick work call. I’m ready to go.”

“No news, I’m guessing?”

Her brown eyes were hopeful. This wasn’t the face of a woman who was lying. Be careful... Shiloh’s warning faded in his mind the more he searched Gemma’s gaze.

He shook his head, started driving in the direction of the Hamilton House. They’d swing by there, pick up Gemma’s phone while officers were still there finishing their investigation. She could get her car another time, but Matt wasn’t comfortable with her being alone in this condition. Then they’d head to his house. She’d wanted to go somewhere safe to talk, and that was the best place he could think of.

Deciding who to trust was a big part of his job. Matt could only hope he’d chosen wisely.

THREE (#ulink_5f71a95c-bcdf-5156-86e3-114e4b926306)

Inside Matt’s house, Gemma could do nothing but stare. She’d expected that with a steady job and without his dad’s alcohol habit, Matt would have a nicer place than he and his dad had had in high school, but she hadn’t been expecting this. From the outside, it was a cedar cabin-like structure, two stories with a wide deck on the front. But the inside...

The front door opened into a living room with a ceiling that must have been close to twelve feet tall. She’d taken a deep breath when she’d walked in, exhaled and felt her shoulders relax almost unconsciously. The floor was knotty pine that was well polished and gorgeous, much like the stone counters that gleamed in the kitchen, which she could see from the living room.

“Everything okay?” Matt’s gaze was amused, to say the least.

Flustered, she felt herself blush, but didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, I was kidding, I’m sure it doesn’t look like you pictured.” Matt motioned to his living room couch that looked as though she could sink back in it and let all of her stress evaporate off her very tired shoulders. “Please, sit.”

She eyed the couch again and took the big chair in the corner instead. She wasn’t willing to let herself relax like that, not yet.

It was jarring to discover that she’d been right all along, ten years earlier. Someone else had been involved in the smuggling ring. Most likely had been the one in charge.

And he’d killed someone.

She swallowed hard, prayed she wouldn’t have to run to the trash can at the revulsion that thought caused. Fear, terror, disgust... They knotted together inside.

“What do you know about the identity of the body they found today?” she asked Matt. Thinking of it clinically like this, detached as though she was part of the investigation, made her feel more in control.

Less afraid.

Matt shook his head. “Nothing for sure and nothing I could share anyway.”

Gemma sat up straighter. “Why am I here, then? You expect me to tell you something but you’re not going to share information?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

She stood up, moved to the kitchen. “Because I knew you’d come ask me questions eventually anyway. I came tonight to get it over with.” She heard her voice growing louder, but she didn’t care. Maybe she was tired of dealing with all of this, maybe it was the lingering effect of the carbon monoxide or the treatment they’d given her at the doctor’s office to counteract it—but she didn’t want to answer his questions and then sit around and let a bunch of professionals with no personal stake in this sort it out. She wanted to be involved, to help.

“Then, let’s talk.”

“Not until you tell me what you know.”

Matt was already shaking his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why?”

“You aren’t law enforcement.”

The quiet was complete enough that she could hear her heart pounding as she stared in Matt’s direction. She’d hate to be on the receiving end of the glare she was giving him right now. “No.”

His eyebrows rose, slowly. He was calm, in control, and it made her mad. “No?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You heard me.” She shifted in the chair, managed to sit up even straighter.

“I’m a police officer and this is my investigation.”

“And unless I’m being arrested for something I don’t have to tell you anything. Isn’t that right?”

Matt stared at her for a few seconds. Gemma braced herself. He’d always been one of those guys who was impossible to rile, who took everything in stride, but she was being enough of a pain right now that she knew it wouldn’t be too long until he broke.

Instead, he just nodded.

“Then, I don’t want to,” she shot back.

“I guess I can see why you’d feel that way. I’m making coffee. Want some?”

His calm seemed to knock the fight out of her. Gemma nodded, felt her shoulders drop again. Coffee was always good.

The familiar sounds of coffee being ground—so he was a coffee snob, too; who would have thought the two of them would have anything in common—relaxed her somewhat. By the time he was pouring French pressed coffee for them in his straight out of Southern Living kitchen, she was downright comfortable. The tension had left her almost entirely and she was beginning to regret her outburst. Why did she have to be so forceful when she felt strongly about something? She had to learn to hold on to some of those emotions. It would pay off in the long run, especially while she was living this small-town life. Small towns tended to like sweet women. Not spunky ones with opinions.

She watched Matt as he worked, and found herself more fascinated with him than she should be. Everything about him was a contradiction, from the way he handled the French press so carefully while his arm muscles showed very well defined out of the bottom of his T-shirt sleeves, to the way he’d met her every argument and then let it go all in five minutes.

It made her want to trust him, something that made her stomach do flips—and not the cute kind you read about in novels. These were terrifying, anxious flips.

If the coffee didn’t smell so good, she’d leave. The stress of the night, the overwhelming aroma of French roast coffee... It had gotten her to let her guard down, something she never did. No good could come from that.

Gemma stood to leave, good coffee or not. “I have to go,” she announced abruptly as Matt entered the room, two mugs in his hands.

He just nodded slowly and reached to set the coffee down on the counter. “I’ll follow you back to your sister’s.”

No questions, no anger that she’d ruined what should have been a nice gesture, making the coffee.

Gemma hesitated, giving Matt just long enough to approach her. “Hey.” He spoke softly.

Her face lifted to his, their eyes meeting. He hadn’t touched her at all, but he may as well have from the way the air seemed practically charged with electricity. After just a second or two of silence that stretched out, he spoke. “You don’t have to tell me anything. This isn’t an interrogation, you aren’t a suspect. Technically we have no links between this case and the one you were involved in, so you’re not even a witness.”

“Then, you wanted to question me because...?” she asked, even though she suspected the answer.