Cold Case Affair. Loreth White Anne
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never have again.
A man she’d never stopped loving.
Jett found her sitting on stairs, crying.
His heart torqued and his throat tightened—the old Muirinn had never cried.
He shut of his ignition and got out of his truck. As he approached her, he felt his mouth go dry. She was wearing a chiffon skirt in pale spring colors. She had dirt on her smooth legs and he could see way too much of her thigh for male comfort. Her fiery hair hung wild and loose around her slender shoulders, glinting with gold strands in the sun.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting awkwardly beside her, trying to restrain himself from putting his arm around her and comforting her. “What’s up?”
She sniffed, then laughed dryly as she smeared tears and dirt across her face. “God, I’m a stupid wreck. It’s … it’s the hormones.” She nodded toward the truck. “Gus’s truck didn’t start. It was just a last little straw …” her voice faltered, hitched and flooded again with emotion. “I … miss him, Jett.” Tears came again. “I really miss him.”
And then he did touch her. He put his arm around her shoulders, drew her close and held her while she left her grief out. And he knew it was a mistake.
The warm curve of her breast, the firm swell of her belly against his torso, the exhilarating sensation of her thigh against his jeans … they did things to his body. Clouded his mind. With them came a raw and powerful protectiveness that surged through his chest, and Jett felt afraid—of what this could mean to all of them.
He was crossing a line. One look at her and he was falling in love all over again, when all he wanted was a reason to push her away, a reason to hate her, to despise her for what she’d done in the past.
But in this moment, the lines between past and present were blurring.
“I just wish I could have been here for Gus, then maybe … maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
“What do you mean? His death?” Jett’s voice came out thick.
She glanced up, luminous eyes red-rimmed from crying, and his heart squeezed all over again.
“You led the search-and-rescue team that found Gus, Jett. Tell me about it. Where exactly did you find his body?”
“Muirinn—”
“Please, Jett, everything. Step by step. I need to know.”
He moistened his lips and nodded.
“When we first got the report that Gus was missing, we really had nothing to go on. Then on the thirteenth day, we got a break. A hunter called the police tip line to say he’d been on his way out into the bush almost two weeks earlier, when he’d seen Gus walking inside the perimeter fence of Tolkin Mine. He hadn’t thought anything of it until he’d returned and heard the news. We brought dogs in immediately, set them to work on the Tollkin property. They led us straight to the shaft—”
“Sodwana shaft?”
He frowned. “Yes, why?”
She hesitated. “Just wondering.”
“The grate covering the man-way inside the headframe building had been pulled off. So we went down with ropes, flashlights.” He paused, watching her, compassion filling his heart. “We found him down there. On the 300 level.”
Muirinn’s neck tensed. She swallowed. “What’s on the 300 level?”
“More tunnels. Another man-way that leads further down, possibly as far as the 800 level.”
“Who was the hunter who called in that tip, Jett?”
“The cops don’t know. It’s an anonymous tip line.”
Her cheeks flushed with frustration, or maybe anger—he’d always found that so sexy, the way her complexion betrayed her emotions so easily.
“So, basically, my grandfather might’ve been saved if he’d just taken the trouble to tell someone where he was going that day. Why didn’t he?”
“Who knows, Muirinn. You knew he was stubborn.”
“But didn’t you guys think it was odd that he was down there, down that shaft?”
“I had questions, sure,” said Jett. “But the ME and the police went through everything. So did Dr. Callaghan. Pat had been treating Gus’s heart condition for some time already. There was no evidence of foul play of any sort, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She bit her lip to stop it from wobbling, looked away.
“Hey—” he cupped her jaw, turned her face back to his, and immediately regretted the impulse. “Gus was a really eccentric old guy, Muirinn, even more so these past few years. This was in keeping with his character.”
Tears pooled in her eyes again, and Jett couldn’t stop himself from asking. “You’d have known all this about Gus if you’d come to see him,” he said quietly. “Why, Muirinn? Why didn’t you ever come home to see your grandfather?”
She held his eyes, silent for several beats, something unreadable darkening her features. Then she sighed heavily. “I sent Gus plane tickets, Jett, so he could come to see me in New York.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t that impressed with the city. He told us about it.”
Her lips flattened. “And for his birthday, I sent him a ticket to Spain. I met him in Madrid. Gus had a thing for Hemingway—he wanted to see a bullfight.” Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “Damn, I’m so sorry,” she said brushing them away.
“Sorry for what? Caring?”
Her eyes shot up to his.
“Look, I guess I just don’t understand why you didn’t even come back for his memorial service, Muirinn. Or when you first heard he was missing.”
“I didn’t know he was missing!”
“Someone must have told you.”
“I was unreachable, Jett, on assignment in the remote jungles of West Papua—”
“With no cell phone? No satellite connection, nothing?”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her face. “That was the whole point of the assignment, to be inaccessible. For myself, an anthropologist and a photographer to spend some time with one of the world’s last truly isolated tribes. Part of my story was to be about that sense of isolation. Our goal was to feel it.”
“But you were—are—pregnant.”
“And in good health. Women in those tribes have been bearing children in that jungle for centuries. The photographer was also a paramedic. I was not at risk.”
“What if there had been an emergency?”
“That’s the point, Jett. Our society can’t conceive of living without phones, Internet, radios. We don’t know how to cope on our own anymore. We go into a total panic at the mere notion
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