* * *
Jayden stopped to pick up dinner from his favorite beachside bistro on the way home Thursday evening. Other than the huge fact that they were no closer to finding out who’d tried to run Emma off the road Tuesday night, he’d had a fairly decent week. The parole board had upheld his recommendation that Luke Lincoln’s parole be revoked. For the time being, the offender was sitting in a jail cell and his wife and daughter had returned home to resume their lives.
Harold Wallace and his son had had some good news, too. The boy was being charged as a juvenile with battery of an officer, not attempted murder, and while he’d b
e serving time in detention, his sentence would much less than it might have been. And Harold and his girlfriend, who were planning to get married within a couple of weeks, would have visitation rights.
And Jayden’s self-mandated, forty-eight hours of no sex with Emma, just to be sure there were no adverse reactions to her head injury, was up...if she felt the same way. He waved to the officer who’d been watching her home while Jayden was at work, and let himself into the house with the key she’d given him.
He only had the key until she was no longer a target. Still, it felt damned good, using it. As long as he was making her happy by doing so. It couldn’t be about him. He couldn’t lose sight of his mission. Or he’d lose the ability to see any good in himself. Any honor in his life. He’d made himself a promise—his life was not to enjoy. His life would only be used to serve others. How could he reach out for fullness when he’d been responsible for preventing someone else from experiencing any more life?
There’d been no forward movement on Emma’s case. Chantel and everyone else involved had reached major frustration levels. Emma hadn’t been able to put any identifiers on the truck and, even with the incident being broadcast on the local news, no one had seen the accident. They’d found skid marks on the road. Knew the truck had newer tires on it, but make and model—it could have been any of more than a thousand trucks in the city of Santa Raquel alone.
The sex between him and Emma was mind-blowing that night. He took more care to be gentle, to rein himself in, even when Emma tried to get him to play harder. And yet, when they climaxed, looking into each other’s eyes, he could have sworn their bodies left the bed for a second. Nuts, he knew. But there it was.
Friday night was more of the same. Their coupling was maybe not as quiet, yet when they reached their peaks, the waves came again and again, prolonging the ecstasy so long, emotions crept in with the physical bliss to escalate the satisfaction in a way he’d never before known.
Normally they went right to sleep afterward. After the out-of-body experience he’d just had, he wasn’t ready for sleep, but was loath to say anything to Emma. Was she finding their time together as odd as he was? As powerful?
Instead of waning, his passion just seemed to be procreating.
The idea brought a wave of panic. Passion drained from his system. It was an understood rule of life. Something he counted on.
“I have to ask you something.” Her words didn’t ease his discomfort any.
“Of course,” he said, bracing himself.
“Why didn’t you tell me you followed up on what I told you Suzie said about the kid in the neighborhood?”
He wanted the answer to be obvious. Something like, because he’d been under no professional obligation to do so.
“How do you know I did?” He was disappointed in the lameness of his question as he lay there on his back in the dark. He and Emma didn’t cuddle when they slept.
“I told Chantel about it and when her guys went to question everyone in the neighborhood, you’d already been there.”
“I only talked to a couple of guys.” Like that made any difference? Or in any way spoke to her original question? Why hadn’t he told her?
“I know. I’ve actually known for a couple of days.”
Turning his head, he tried to read her expression in the darkness. “And you’re only bringing it up now?”
“It’s been bugging me. I tried to let it go, but I think I really need to know.”
Need to know. He was lying in quicksand. More dangerous than quicksand because while it might swallow him up, it wasn’t going to kill him. No, he’d be left lying there with no way to save himself from making another grave mistake—breaking the promise he’d made to himself in a deal that allowed him to live with what he’d once been.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think that I was overstepping my position.”
“Even though you did.”
“It was the night of the accident,” he said, trying to figure it all out. “I had new information where Bill was concerned, if what Suzie had just told you was true. You’d almost been killed. I had to know if I was wrong and Bill was involved.”
“He is involved, Jayden. I’m sure of it.” She took a breath. “I know the evidence is mostly still just circumstantial, but it’s strongly circumstantial. And if we could get Suzie’s testimony... She wanted to talk to me...she had more to say when she was sitting there facing me again. She just didn’t have the courage to say it.”
“There was no teenage boy in the neighborhood,” he told her. “Chantel’s people talked to a lot more people than I did, and I’m sure she told you as much.”
“I think there was a boy, just not on their street. We’re honing in on just that one street. Maybe he lived on the next block over. Or behind them. The way Suzie talked about him—the specifics and emotion involved—I’m sure there was a young man. And that she’s protecting him.”
He wasn’t so sure, though he understood her perspective. He didn’t like that they couldn’t find any other obvious suspects for targeting Emma, but something was not adding up in her scenario.