The Agent's Redemption. Lisa Childs
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laughed. “You were playing bodyguard?”
He should have been offended. After all he wasn’t the too-small-for-his-age child that he had once been. He was tall and muscular now, but he was no bodyguard. He’d learned all the skills of being a field agent, but protecting someone wasn’t something he had done often enough to get good at it. Usually he came on the scene when it was too late for protection—when the victim had already gone missing or been found dead.
He rubbed his head where he’d taken the blow from the butt of a gun. He was lucky he hadn’t been shot instead, but the killer hadn’t wanted to forewarn his victim and have her get away again.
“I’m not a very good bodyguard,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened with alarm. “Did whoever you were protecting get hurt?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “No, but that was thanks to better agents.”
She tilted her head, and a lock of blond hair fell across her cheek. He wanted to brush it back; he wanted to touch her again. He was close enough. He only had to lift his hand again, like he had touched her lips. His skin tingled yet from that too-brief contact.
Then she mused aloud, “You are different than you used to be.”
A self-deprecating grin tugged at his mouth. “Less cocky than I used to be?”
She smiled, too. “Yes.”
He didn’t have to tell her why; she knew—because he’d failed to find Lexi’s killer. He had failed all the subsequent victims of Lexi’s killer, too. And most of all, he’d failed Becca.
He hadn’t given her the closure she needed. She didn’t seem to think it would help, but he’d seen it help others—when he’d found their loved ones’ killers. He’d had a lot of success in his profiling career with the Bureau. He’d actually had mostly success and just this one failure when it mattered most.
Because Becca mattered most.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. He couldn’t apologize enough to her—for so many reasons.
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” she murmured as she stepped back from him and lowered her gaze, as if she couldn’t look at him.
He stepped closer, not wanting any distance between them. And he touched her, just his fingers on her chin, tipping her face up so that she met his gaze again. So that she would see his sincerity when he told her, “But I am...sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you. And I’m sorry for not catching your sister’s killer yet. And I’m sorry for letting Kyle Smith get to me so that I accused you of keeping my son from me.”
She pulled away from his touch and lowered her gaze again. Maybe she wasn’t willing to forgive his unfounded suspicion.
He groaned. “Right now I’m the most sorry about asking you if Alex is mine. I know you better than that. You would never do something—”
She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, stilling them. “Jared...”
It was still there. The attraction. It had overwhelmed him six years ago, so that he’d acted on that attraction instead of his better judgment. If anything the attraction was even stronger now.
He lifted his hands to cup her shoulders, to pull her into his arms. But then his damn phone rang. He silently cursed the timing. But he couldn’t not take the call. A young woman was missing.
He stepped back from Becca, so that her hand fell from his face. And he pulled out his cell phone. He recognized the number as belonging to another agent—an agent who had recently become a good friend. So it could have been a personal call. He could have ignored it and reached for Becca again.
But dread clenched his stomach into knots. And he knew...
Even before he clicked the talk button, he knew what special agent Dalton Reyes would tell him. A body had been found. He was no longer working a disappearance; he was working a murder.
* * *
“AGENT BELL HERE,” he answered his cell.
But he wasn’t there. Even though he stood only a couple of steps from Rebecca, he was already gone—already off to handle whatever had come up with this call.
Fear gripped Rebecca. She glanced down at the photo of Lexi and Amy Wilcox, smiling, with their arms around each other. She wished she’d known how they knew each other—what had connected them in the past. Because she had a horrible feeling they had another connection—that they were both dead—murdered by the same man.
But why would Harris have murdered Amy? Rebecca needed to go through her sister’s things again and try to figure out how Lexi had known Amy and if Harris would have known her, too.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jared told whoever was on the phone. Then he clicked off the cell and slid it back into his pocket.
“Did they find her body?” she asked. Tears stung her eyes with sympathy for what the young woman’s family would go through—for the loss and pain.
He lifted his shoulders, but it wasn’t a shrug. “There’s been no confirmation yet. I have to leave, though.”
He was the one who would make the confirmation—the one who knew the case better than everyone else no matter how short a time he had been working it. He would have immersed himself in it. He had even risked seeing her again, although he’d had no idea how she might react, in order to investigate the connection between Amy Wilcox and Lexi.
Despite saying he had to leave, he stood in front of her yet—as if there was something he wanted to say or do before he left her. He lifted his hand to her face and skimmed his fingers across her cheek, brushing back a stray lock of hair.
Her breath caught in her throat, choking her—choking back the words she needed to say. The truth.
He leaned down a little—as if he intended to cover her mouth with his. To kiss her...
She wanted his kiss. Her pulse quickened in anticipation of his lips sliding over hers. And she closed her eyes.
But his mouth never touched hers. She opened her eyes to find that he’d moved. His head was no longer bowed toward hers. And he’d taken a step back.
He took another step. “I—I need to leave.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
Unfortunately, he probably had a body to identify. And then he would be caught up in the investigation. He might come back—to follow up on the connection with Lexi. Or he might be too busy to come back, so he would send another agent instead.
He took another step back, nearing the door. Then he turned and reached for the knob.
Maybe it was because his back was turned. Maybe it was because she wasn’t sure if she would ever see him again, but she blurted out, “Alex is your son.”
His hand tightened into a fist around the doorknob. She thought he was going to open the door and just walk out. But then he turned around and strode back to her, and his gaze pierced her heart with its intensity.
Her chest ached as her heart hammered with fear and guilt. She expected an outburst. Angry words. Accusations. At least questions.
He had to have so many questions.
Answers jumbled together in her mind.
You said we shouldn’t see each other again.
I didn’t know if you would think I got pregnant to trap you.
I didn’t know if you even wanted to be a father.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. Maybe his questions were as jumbled in his mind as her answers were in hers. Then he shook his head. In denial of her claim? Didn’t he believe Alex was his son?
Maybe