Jamie hung her keys on the hook by her phone and, with a smile, dropped her purse on the counter. Summer rocked. It was nearly nine in the evening and it was still light out and toasty warm. As much as she liked seeing the kiddos crowding the halls at her elementary school, she especially liked the quiet and the half-days of work during the summer. The warm afternoons and evenings were hers. No meetings with parents, no lectures on not hitting other students, no complaining teachers. She placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass from the fields across the street. Her favorite smell of summer. Right after barbequed steak.
Her mouth watered. Opening the fridge, she took out a Diet Coke and frowned at the sparse offerings on her shelves. Yogurt, cheese, and milk. Dairy group accounted for. Not much else. She snagged a lemon yogurt and kicked her flip-flops onto the mat by the door to the garage. Living alone was great, but sometimes she wished she had a reason to cook a big meal. Meat and pasta and crusty bread. Lots of it. Once a month she met with girlfriends for dinner and wine to catch up on each other’s lives. The rest of the month she lived on protein bars, dry cereal, and fruit.
And yogurt, lots of yogurt.
She eyed the yellow, creamy substance. She needed a change. Work, eat, exercise, clean house, mow lawn. A solid and comforting schedule but rather boring. She glanced at the calendar. Next week she was off. She’d planned to paint two of her bedrooms, but maybe she should get out of town. Do something different, unplanned. Like…go to the beach and just read. Heather had been pestering her to visit her in Bend. Jamie could drive over the Cascades and sunbathe with Heather in the dry, baking heat of Central Oregon.
She rinsed out the empty yogurt container and placed it in the recycling. Her spoon went directly into the dishwasher. Who was she kidding? The numbers on the calendar taunted her. She would be painting next week. It needed to be done.
The doorbell jangled. Jamie strolled to the door and looked through the peephole. Male. Big. Don’t know him. Her stomach stopped digesting her yogurt.
“May I help you?” She spoke through the door.
His left eyebrow rose, and he gave a half smile. Instantly charming. And hunky. Jamie felt a different sensation in her stomach.
“Michael Brody. I’m with the Oregonian.” A laminated ID suddenly blocked her view.
Jamie wasn’t impressed. Anyone could make an official-looking ID, and this guy looked anything but official in his cargo shorts and snug T-shirt. But the name on the ID was familiar…
“What do you want?” She wasn’t about to open the door.
“I’m looking for your brother Chris.” He lowered the ID and looked directly at the peephole.
Jamie froze. Not again. Every few years, reporters and cold case cops came out of the woodwork to harass her brother. Temper swirled in her chest.
“He doesn’t live here.”
The man’s eyebrow rose further. “I know. Where can I find him?”
Jamie choked out a laugh. Did he think she was stupid?
His mouth twitched at her laugh. “Are you Jamie Jacobs?”
Did he just bat his eyelashes? She swallowed another laugh. “No.”
“Do I need to call the police because you’re in her house?”
Jamie snorted.
The reporter’s face turned serious. “They found the bus,” he stated quietly.
Jamie pulled back from the door, heart in her throat. Oh shit. “What about the kids?” she whispered.
He heard her. “I’ll tell you if you open the door. Do you know who I am now?”
His name echoed through her brain and hit its target. Brody. One of the other kids. She pressed her eye against the hole again. Michael Brody’s face had lost all expression, and she instantly saw the resemblance to Oregon’s Senator Brody.
This was the brother to the senator’s missing son.
Jamie forced her lungs to pump air. She’d never really met Michael Brody. He’d been much older than her at the academy. She mainly knew his name as a byline in the newspaper. Her parents had pulled her out of school and then isolated her and Chris from all media coverage after her brother had returned.
With shaking fingers, she worked the two deadbolts and opened the door.
Michael exhaled as he heard the bolts start to slide. He’d wondered if she would talk to him. He’d dug up what he could on the woman. Her parents were dead, and all leads to her brother seemed to end at brick walls. She was Chris’s only living relative. Jamie Jacobs had been nine when her brother vanished. Eleven when he returned. Now she was a principal at one of Portland’s poorest elementary schools. Fair and sensible was the description he’d heard. Her students loved her and the teachers raved about her. Her yard was perfect. The hedges perfectly trimmed and the trees properly pruned. The grass was cut short and the flowers in a neat border. He eyed the border. Purple flower, yellow flower, purple, yellow. All the way around. Why hadn’t she mixed it up a little? It looked…too perfect.
The door opened, and he turned back to face the woman.
Too perfect.
Eyes the color of pale green jade stared at him, fear and anxiety hovering behind them. Long black hair was caught back in a ponytail, with wavy sections escaping to frame her face. What a face. She reminded him of the old-time movie sirens. The ones who seized the screen with their noble aura the second they stepped on camera. The ones who played the roles of queens or empresses. Regal women. Like Sophia Loren…but with bright eyes. She was tall. Nearly as tall as he. He barely had to look down to meet her gaze, and he’d barely need to dip his head if he wanted…f*ck. He blinked and watched wary shields abruptly cover the anxiety in her eyes. Her black tank showed off toned arms that either spent a lot of time in the gym or working in her yard. She was buff, an interesting mix of athlete and contessa.
Every well-rehearsed question in his brain evaporated.
Why hadn’t his elementary school principal looked like this?
Her chin lifted the slightest bit, and he recognized a familiar stubbornness. Lacey looked just like that when she was about to chew him out.
“What about the kids?” she snapped. “What did they find? Where was it? Did you—”
“Hang on.” He lifted his hands, unable to process the questions pouring from freaking gorgeous lips. “Can I come in?”
She clamped her mouth shut and blatantly assessed him from head to toe, like she was sizing him up for a round or two in a boxing ring. Her right hand slipped to her pocket, wrapping around something, and he watched the muscles flex in her forearm. What’d she have in there?
He took a half step back.
“Let me see that ID again. And your driver’s license.” Her voice was calmer but still held the punch of someone expecting to be obeyed. She must be a great principal.
He handed her the newspaper ID and dug in his pocket for his wallet. She snorted at the jam-packed piece of leather. He dug through the mess for thirty seconds.
Where the f*ck was his license?
She reached out and deftly plucked the license from the stack of receipts and dog-eared business cards. Balancing both IDs in her left hand, she studied them carefully and then studied his face again. She handed them back, and he noticed her right hand slowly move from her pocket.
“Mind if I ask what you’ve got in your pocket?” He jerked his head at her hand as he fumbled to put his wallet in some semblance of order. She smiled and his heart skipped two beats. Christ! The woman was a knockout.
“Pepper spray,” she said coolly.
His hands froze. “Would you have used that on me?”
“Yes.” Another calm, regal smile. “If I’d needed to.”
“Am I safe now?” He eyed her wide lips. Now she was a movie queen packing a weapon. His stomach tightened. In a good way. In a f*cking awesome way.
“Maybe.” Her fantastic eyes narrowed at him. “What exactly do you want from me?”
Twenty-four hours in my bed. No. Forty-eight hours.
Where the hell did that come from? He shook the thought out of his head.
“Just to talk.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve heard that before.” More suspicion darkened those green gems.
“No, seriously. I just want to—”
“I’m teasing.” Her lips quirked, and she stepped back to allow him into her home.
Michael blew out a breath. He was seriously off-kilter. “Don’t make me dance, princess,” he muttered and stepped into the royal lair.
Jamie took a deep breath as the reporter moved past into her air-conditioned home. The scent of slightly sun-toasted male touched her nose, and her senses lit up. She gestured toward her kitchen, and he nodded, stepped into the cheery room, and then positioned himself against her counter in front of her microwave, arms crossing his chest, his dark green gaze on her.
She frowned. He was in her spot.
Her kitchen immediately felt smaller. Michael Brody wasn’t a big, bulky guy. He was lean but tall with wide shoulders that seemed to take up too much space. Waves of cool composure rolled off him, and frustration tightened her spine. She was being intimidated in her own kitchen. Her chin jerked up.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
He shook his head, and she reached for her Diet Coke can, condensation running down its sides. She took a nervous sip and felt an icy drop land on her chest and start to roll beneath her tank. His gaze locked on the drop, tracing its path.
Jamie brushed at her chest, and Michael’s gaze returned to hers. She glared and he blinked innocently.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
His chest expanded and his face closed off as he spoke. She listened in horror at the events of the morning, her drink forgotten.
“One child’s body is missing?” she whispered. All those bones. Buried all these years. Her eyes smarted.
Michael nodded grimly. “They didn’t find my brother…well, there isn’t a preliminary age match to my brother, and there should be one more…child’s remains.”
Jamie closed her eyes. What was he going through? No closure for his family.
“It’s been so long—”
“Where is Chris?” Michael stopped her apology.
Jamie bit her lip. The last thing Chris would want was the media hounding him again. “I don’t think he’ll want to talk to the media.”
Michael unfolded his arms and leaned toward her. “I’m not here as the media. I’m here as a brother who’s got a lot of questions.”
Jamie shook her head. “Chris doesn’t remember much from back then. He had a pretty bad brain injury, and the doctors believe he blocked everything. He’s never had any memory return.”
“So he says.”
Jamie slammed her can on the counter. “Get out.”
Michael rubbed a hand across his forehead. “F*ck. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just need to hear it from him.”
Seeing red, Jamie pointed at the door. “That way.”
He locked gazes with her, and Jamie’s stomach did a slow warm turn. Michael Brody exuded a hell of a lot of testosterone that was hammering away at her hormones. She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry about your brother. I’m certain it’s just a matter of time before they find his body.”
Michael’s face blanked, and her heart contracted. She hadn’t meant to speak like a bitch. The words had sounded better in her head.
He pushed away from the counter and brushed past her, avoiding her eyes and leaving that sunshine scent in his wake again. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Jacobs. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”
Jamie caught her breath and turned to follow, but he was already out her door and halfway down the walk. She stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and watched Michael climb into a black Range Rover at the curb. His tires came just short of squealing as he pulled away.
Jamie exhaled and leaned against the frame.
Well. That went real smooth.
Michael pulled to a stop at the end of Jamie’s street, out of sight of her home, and hit a button on his cell to call his invaluable source at the phone company.
“Grace? Brody here. That address I gave you earlier? Any calls go out in the last few seconds?”
He scowled at his cell as he scribbled a number on the back of a napkin. “Where the f*ck is that number from?” His writing slowed at her answer. “Really? Who’d want to live out there?”
No wonder he couldn’t find Chris Jacobs. He was hiding out in one of the remotest parts of the state.
“Thanks. You’re a doll. Dig up everything you can on this number for me, okay? I need to know just where I’m going. And I owe you a big one, Grace. Drinks are on me next time.”
Michael felt adrenaline dump into his veins. Time for a trip.
Chris erased his phone message and sat in the evening light, his brain spinning. He’d always known the call would come. Now that it had, it was almost anticlimactic. He’d lived this moment a thousand times, dreamed it even more. The call had come and gone, and the world still went on, not stopping like it should.
A large weight lifted from his chest. No more waiting. Time to put the wheels in motion.
He breathed the sweet air deeply and listened to the silence. Only the normal, nearly inaudible sounds of nature reached his ears. The breeze rustled the tall grass around his cabin. No vehicle sounds, no human noise. As it should be.
For ten years he’d speculated every time his cell rang. Would this be the call? Would he be ready when it came? Maybe it’d never come. He’d had his plans in place for several years now. Checked and double-checked every few weeks. He’d thought them through and through, hoping to find a way to avoid them altogether. But there was no way out. He’d known if the call ever came he would have no choice but to act.
An image of the Ghostman flitted across his memories, and he mentally crushed it down. The Ghostman stood for failure; Chris wasn’t going to fail. The Ghostman had haunted his dreams for a long time. Not dreams, nightmares. Nightmares of torture and pain.
He turned to his laptop and typed the usual words into the search engines. Nothing. How had the phone call come before the computer warning? He shifted in his seat, brow wrinkling in mild surprise. Anyone with a little skill could find whatever he needed. Anyone with a lot of skill could manipulate that information to do as he pleased. Like him. Computers hummed under his fingers, their languages as second nature to him as English. Or Spanish. He had alerts on many phrases and names, but none had been tripped in the last twenty-four hours. Tomorrow would be different. The story would be everywhere. The cursor blinked. Taunting him to run another search. Chris closed the lid.
A quiet cough came from the other end of the bungalow. Chris silently padded down the hall and stopped, pushing open the bedroom door. Brian didn’t move. Chris could see the outline of his son under the thin covers and hear the soft sounds of the boy’s breathing.
Chris’s heart clenched, and he ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the faint raised seam of bone beneath the skin where it’d never healed correctly. His son would never suffer. He would never experience the horrors that men can inflict on children. He would only know love and peace. It was a familiar mantra. One he’d repeated every day for the short eight years of his son’s life.
Was that about to change?
“I don’t want to do that again.” Detective Ray Lusco shook his head as he stared into his coffee at the diner. “I don’t know if I can face another set of distraught parents like that. Shit. I feel like the bad guy.”
Mason nodded in agreement with his partner. The only thing worse than discussing the death of a child with parents was being the one to deliver the news. And that was what he and Ray had spent the day doing. The parents had been informed of the find yesterday, but conclusive evidence hadn’t emerged until today. Most of them had long ago accepted that their child wasn’t returning, but the parents of nine-year-old David Doubler had always believed their son would walk in the door one day.
They’d talked with several sets of parents in the office of the medical examiner. Weeping and acceptance had been the staples for the day. Until the Doublers. The Doubters described the couple better. The parents had brought in tiny dental X-rays of their son’s teeth. Twenty-year-old X-rays that the mother had kept in an envelope in case their son’s body was found one day. David Doubler Sr. had argued with Dr. Campbell’s identification.
Mason shook his head. David Sr. had met his match with the feisty odontologist. Lacey Campbell had calmly placed the films on a viewbox next to the films she’d taken on the skull and proceeded to give the father a calm lesson in reading dental X-rays. Even Mason had seen the match. David Sr. had refused. “Baby teeth all look alike,” he’d argued. “Every kid had silver fillings back then.”
Dr. Campbell had quietly pointed out the distinctive white shapes the silver created on the boy’s first permanent molars. David Sr. had shaken his head. It wasn’t good enough for him. The chief medical examiner had stepped into the room at that moment. Dr. James Campbell could tell his daughter was about to pull out her hair in frustration.
“Maybe this would help,” the gray-haired ME had said and held out a plastic baggie to the parents. “You recognize this? It was found with the remains of this child, about where his neck would have been.”
Mrs. Doubler had stared at the silver strands in the baggie and promptly burst into tears. Mason had swallowed hard. He’d known the shape of the pendant on the chain. His son had worn one for years after being diagnosed with juvenile diabetes.
Ray took a sip of his coffee. “Thank God, that was the last one.”
Mason said nothing. Ray was wrong. There had to be another body. One boy was missing, and Mason had already met his parents.
Dr. Brody was a tough woman. She knew her son wasn’t coming back, but Mason wasn’t certain about the senator. The senator had a look of denial that matched Mr. Doubler’s.
“Doesn’t feel right. Why would one body be in a completely different place? Why weren’t all the bodies found on that farm?” Ray asked.
Mason stirred his coffee. His thoughts exactly. His gut was telling him something wasn’t right.
They sat in silence for two minutes, letting the conversations of the other restaurant patrons flow around them.
“Went home and hugged my kids last night.” Ray had two preteens. A boy and a girl who creamed Mason at their video games every time he visited. Ray was looking him straight in the eye. Most cops would have mumbled the words into their coffee. Not Ray. The big guy was never afraid to show his emotions when it came to his kids or sexy wife.
Ray was looking at him expectantly.
“Yeah, I called Jake.” Mason fought the urge to look out the window instead of meeting Ray’s gaze. Jake had been his usual smart-assed self, making Mason struggle to get a complete sentence out of the teen’s mouth. Jake’s stepdad had originally answered the phone. Mason would rather talk to his urologist than the cheerful superdad. The man had done everything right in his life that Mason had done wrong. Now he had Mason’s wife and kid. Ex-wife.
All Mason had was frozen pizza and an empty bed.
Ray’s cell rang, and Mason exhaled in relief. He’d seen the look in Ray’s eye. The one that said his wife, Jill, had been talking about more blind dates for Mason. Jill tried to set him up several times a year, and Mason talked his way out of them. Not easy considering Jill had once been a trial lawyer.
“It’s where?” Ray’s voice raised an octave. “They think this is it? How far?”
Mason’s spine tingled as he watched Ray scribble in his ever-present notebook. Something big. Mason could feel it
“Oh f*ck. Oh f*ck!”
Mason froze. Ray rarely swore.
His eyes angry, Ray moved the phone from his mouth and whispered to Mason. “They think they found the place where the kids were kept. Before…”
Mason nodded. Before he killed them.
Jamie studied the calendar on her office computer, tapping her sandaled toe to the soft classical music from her speakers. Two more days. Then she was out of here for a week. Last night she’d painted a dozen paint samples on the bedroom walls, unable to sit still, trying to put all thoughts of the sad crime scene out of her head. She flipped open the color chart from the paint store. How many shades of beige were there? Cappuccino, wheat, sand, Hawaiian sand…
Her gaze lingered on the dark greens. Forest green really would be great with her wood floors and throw rugs. She flipped the brochure closed and buried it in her inbox. Too many choices. Why did she suck when it came to these types of decisions? She had the same problem at Baskin-Robbins. She had to read every flavor and study the look of every ice cream twice before making a choice. And she always ended up with chocolate chip mint.
A throat cleared, and her gaze flew to the tall figure at her door. Her heart stopped.
“Jesus Christ.” She glared at Michael Brody leaning insolently against her doorframe. “How long have you been standing there?”
Emerald eyes sparked at her. “Long enough to tell you can’t decide on paint.” A slow smile widened his mouth, and Jamie drew a deep breath. He was tan and tall, and his legs and arms were solid, lean muscle mass. She blinked as she caught herself staring and jerked her gaze up to his face. And found herself staring again. His light-brown hair had sun-bleached highlights that her friends paid hundreds for. Not fair that a man should have eyes of that rich color and freaking long black lashes to set them off. Jamie thought of all the tubes of black mascara she’d bought over the years.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m still looking for your brother.” He strolled closer and stopped, studying her perfectly organized desktop.
Jamie stood. Michael was using his height, looming over her desk. He probably had lots of physical tricks to get answers out of his victims, er…interviewees.
“I don’t need to tell you where my brother is. He doesn’t like press and just wants to be left alone.”
Michael pressed his lips together and leaned forward with his palms on her desk. “How much does he remember?”
“None,” she snapped and took a step back to lean against her office windowsill.
“Have you talked to the police?”
“They called last night.”
“Callahan?”
Jamie straightened. He knew the detective? Or was he messing with her head? “Yes.”
“Have you heard from him today?” His eyes were green ice as they studied her intently.
She shook her head and felt her stomach painfully knot. “What’s happened?”
“How much therapy did your brother have after he came back?”
Jamie sucked in a breath. “Get out.”
“He was tortured, wasn’t he? He probably had nightmares for years.”
She simply stared. “Why are you doing this?”
Michael’s eyes softened, and she couldn’t look away. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to understand how your brother thinks. They’ve found a place they believe the children were held. There’s evidence of…Maybe seeing it could help your brother with some memory recall.”
What was in that place? What’d the police find? Oh, Chris…
“No. He shouldn’t see it. I won’t put him through that.” Chris’s screams rang in her head. How many times had she awakened to hear his screams in the middle of the night? His body had finally healed, but his mind…his mind was never the same. Her happy, joking older brother had never returned.
“Where is he?” Michael spoke evenly, drawing the words out.
“I’ll tell you the same as I told the police,” Jamie snapped back. “I have a phone number. I leave a message on a voice mail. Sometimes he calls me back or texts me, but the number is always blocked, so I know it’s probably not the number I leave the message at.”
“Did he come home when your parents died in the car accident?”
Jamie swallowed hard. “No. I don’t think so.”
Michael tensed in a way that reminded of her of a hunting bird spotting its prey. He jumped on her words. “Don’t think so? Was he here or not? How long ago was the accident? Two years?”
“Two and a half.” Tears smarted at the corners of her eyes.
“Was he here?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“But?” His eyes wouldn’t release hers.
“But I could tell someone had been in my parents’ home. Some photos were missing. And there was a sketch left on the counter.”
“A sketch? Like a drawing?”
Jamie nodded.
“You didn’t tell the police that someone had been in the home?”
“No one forced their way in. Someone had a key. The sketch told me it’d been Chris.”
“Why? What’d he draw?”
Jamie shrugged. The sketch was matted, framed, and on her bedroom wall. It wasn’t a big secret. “A mountain range. He did lots of drawing after he came back. Especially mountains or beaches. Part of his therapy…” Her voice trailed away.
“You didn’t see him at the funeral? He didn’t make contact with you?”
“I haven’t seen him since he left,” she whispered. A small crack widened in her heart.
“When did he leave town originally?”
“It’s been close to ten years.”
Surprise crossed his face. “You haven’t seen your brother in ten years?”
Jamie shook her head.
“What an ass.”
She jerked. “Don’t call him that. You don’t know what he’s been through.”
“You’ve been through a lot, too. Your parents died and your brother won’t even see you? Sounds selfish. Really selfish to me.”
“He…it was okay. I didn’t mind. I understood. He’d been through so much. I handled everything for their funeral.”
Michael was silent for two seconds, his gaze penetrating. “I bet you handled everything.”
Jamie lifted her chin. “I managed.”
He was silent for another ten seconds. Jamie could nearly hear the wheels and gears working in his brain.
“Why haven’t you seen him? Why does he hide from you?”
Jamie licked at her lips. “He likes to be alone. He doesn’t want people talking to him or staring at him. It’s always been that way. Ever since he came back. His face…his face wasn’t right. His jaw was broken…” Her voiced cracked. “And he had burn scars and cuts that never went away. Even with all his plastic surgery. He didn’t like people staring.”
“But he’s an adult now.”
“I don’t know if that matters. As soon as he finished high school, he left.”
“Your parents let him leave?”
“They didn’t try to stop him. They pretty much let him do whatever made him happy. He’d been through hell. He couldn’t tell us what, but at night—” Jamie closed her lips.
“Nightmares. Screams?”
She nodded.
“Do you think he’s still struggling with that?”
“I think he would come home if he wasn’t.” Jamie finally looked away from those green eyes. Why was she telling him this?
“Maybe it’d be good for him to face some of this. Put it in his past.”
“He did so much therapy. Physical and mental, emotional. But he wasn’t stupid.”
Michael blinked. “Of course not. I didn’t say that.”
“He was smart. Chris was the sharpest kid in school. Just because he got bad grades didn’t mean he was stupid. He could have gotten a scholarship to college—he was so smart. Or a scholarship for his art. His paintings are amazing! He always helped me with my homework because everything was a breeze for him. He was just bored.”
Michael stared at her. Her rant had obviously surprised him. He’d been working to pry answers from her, and now she was running off at the mouth. Jamie blinked hard. She wanted Michael to know how intelligent Chris was. She didn’t want him to think Chris was some psycho hermit in a hut, in the forest, planning to blow up buildings. Her brother wasn’t like that. He was good and sharp and couldn’t help it if he felt things very deeply. He needed to be away from crowds. He needed peace. Cities were too fast for him. He’d needed to live where he could move at his own pace, working where his talent was appreciated but not in an office with cubicles. Chris lived and breathed through computers. He freelanced. His clients never met him face-to-face. He only interacted with others through cyberspace.
Or so he’d told her.
Jamie didn’t know exactly what her brother did. They stuck to generalities when they talked. No specifics. She’d learned a long time ago not to ask questions.
“After I left yesterday, you made a phone call to Eastern Oregon. Is that where he is?” Michael asked.
Jamie stared and heat flushed her face, her spine straightening. How in the hell did he do that? “Isn’t that illegal?” she choked out, her words tripping. “How can you get away with that?” What else could this man find out about her? Or Chris?
Michael shrugged crossing his arms. “It’s my job.”
“I seriously doubt breaking the law is part of your job. That’s outrageous…snooping into other people’s private business. And my brother and I are not part of your job.”
He looked at the ceiling and blew out a deep breath. “No, you’re not. But I’ve been dealing with a missing brother for twenty years, and this is the first solid lead. I’m going to dig and rip at it until I’ve exhausted every bit of it.” He brought his gaze to hers, dark green eyes hard and cold as granite. “Excuse me for snooping, but right now I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
A missing brother. Understanding and guilt flooded through her. She’d always felt that part of Chris was still missing.
“I don’t know where he is,” Jamie said quietly. “If he’s in Eastern Oregon, this is the first I’ve heard about it.” She refused to be embarrassed that she knew so little about her brother. It was how Chris wanted it. He’d claimed it was for her own good.
Which made no sense at all.
Michael glanced at his watch, and Jamie watched his tan arm muscles ripple as he twisted his wrist.
Christ.
She turned her back on him and looked out the window. Now she wouldn’t stare. She focused on the empty swings of the playground but lost concentration as she noticed in the window’s reflection that Michael was stepping closer. She whirled around, arms crossed, and he stopped.
His mouth turned up at one side. He’d known she was watching him even with her back turned. “I’m heading to the recovery site right now. Do you want to come?”
Jamie shuddered. “God, no. I don’t want to see where…”
All those children.
“I’ve got someone working on the source of that phone number. Hopefully, I’ll have a lead pretty soon. I’d like to narrow the field before I head over to Eastern Oregon.”
“You’re going to the other side of the state? A seven-hour drive?” The questions burst from her lips. Was he nuts? He’d never find her brother.
His forehead wrinkled. “Of course. How else I’m I going to talk to him? I wouldn’t mind some company for that trip. He’d probably be more open to a visit from me if you’re with me. Unless you can convince him to talk to me on the phone.”
Jamie shook her head. Chris deserved his privacy. “I also told the police I couldn’t convince him to talk to them.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I guess Chris knew what he was doing when he wouldn’t tell me where he was. I was completely useless to the police, and I didn’t even have to lie. He always said the lack of knowledge was for my own good.”
“What? What do you mean?” Michael had that “I see prey” gaze again. Jamie stared. Had his eyes actually grown darker?
“He always said it was for my own good that I didn’t know where to find him. I didn’t understand that explanation until just this second.”
Again, Jamie watched the gears churn behind those stunning eyes.
He broke the moment by glancing at his watch again. “I need to make some calls. I’ve got a line on a sheriff from the remote area where I think your brother is at. I’m outta here. Last chance to come.” He gave her a sly glance, letting heat infuse his gaze.
He was teasing her, trying to make her uncomfortable. Men.
She shook her head again. No question. That was the last place she wanted to be. Buckled into a seat next to Michael Brody in a car for seven hours.
“Fine.” He gave a wink. “Till later, then.” He turned and vanished out her door.
Jamie sat down hard in her chair, making it groan in protest. She sucked in a deep breath and was rewarded with the reporter’s toasted sunshine scent that made her brain spin and her stomach growl. The man was getting under her skin. She’d told him more about her brother than she’d told anyone else in the last ten years. It was those eyes, she mused. He obviously used some sort of Jedi mind-control skill with them to make her talk.
Must be nice to pack up and take off for where-the-hell-ever when his job called for it. She stewed for a few seconds, resenting her job and lack of wanderlust. She wasn’t the type to simply up and take a trip. Proper travel took planning and scheduling. Who takes off at the drop of a hat?
Michael Brody—steaming hot reporter and manipulative Jedi mind-bender—did.