she looked where he had, trying to see what he saw.
“Other than the lilies, there are no personal touches. No pictures. No candles...”
She’d allowed the architecture to provide the ambience. But now that he’d mentioned it, she had to agree. She had no decorative touches, another product of her upbringing, she supposed.
“Do you like Mexican?” She went to her refrigerator.
“I like anything right now.”
“Have a seat.”
He sat at her kitchen island and she went to work reheating a green chili and beef mixture. Moments later, she had steaming burritos ready, depositing the plates on the island.
She went to a wine cooler tucked neatly into her kitchen cabinetry. “I like a glass of wine after nights like tonight. It helps me sleep. Want one?”
“No, go ahead.”
She sat and began eating, too aware of him and glad for the lulling effect of the wine.
“You never talk about your family,” he said.
Why was he curious? Her lack of pictures? Putting her fork down, she contended with the weight of his question.
“I don’t have family anymore. My dad and brother both died in the line of duty.” She hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it.
“Really?” He leaned forward, his forearms on the counter as he looked closer at her. “They were cops?”
She nodded. “Both of them. Narcotics.” She averted her face, the reminder of that time gripping her.
“My God, Jocelyn. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” He reached over and put his hand over hers.
She looked down at his bigger, masculine hand touching her so tenderly and then lifted her gaze to meet genuine sympathy.
“When did that happen?”
“They died two years ago. When I was in college.” She looked away, not wanting to talk about this now. She never liked talking about it. Their faces came to mind as vividly as if they were still here, and the painful knowledge that they never would be again crushed her.
“What was your major?”
She turned back to him. “Hmm?”
“Your major in college? What was it?”
Why did that matter? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he’d just changed the subject. For her.
Her heart warmed. “It was education. I was going to be a schoolteacher.”
“And then you changed your major.”
“Yes.” She eyed him, wondering why he probed there. Maybe he hadn’t changed the subject.
“Now I understand why you do what you do,” he said.
He’d ruined a nice moment. Snatching her hand out from under his, she snapped, “You say that as if I don’t belong on your team.”
“I didn’t mean that. I think you carry a torch you don’t need to carry.” He breathed an ironic laugh. “I always thought you crusaded more than necessary for the job. I couldn’t put my finger on why or even what struck me as off about you.”
Did he have to be so insulting? “You’re not making this better.”
“Are you going to sit there and tell me this is what you want for the rest of your life?”
How the hell had he gotten to know her so well? They never talked about personal things. Now, all of the sudden, they were.
She stared across her kitchen. Lately she had been thinking her line of work was getting to her. Living alone, working long hours, spending so much time with other agents, all of it had begun to take its toll on her. Before her dad and Nathan had been killed, she’d dreamed of finding a nice man to marry, raise two or three kids and have birthday parties and barbecues. Teaching junior high kids would give her a good schedule.
“How did they die?” Trevor asked.
He had on his investigator hat now.
“A drug raid went bad and my dad was shot. My brother was shot trying to help him out of the building.”
Sympathy darkened his eyes. “That’s terrible. Are their killers in prison?”
“For the rest of their worthless lives.” Jocelyn drank a hefty sip of her wine.
“Maybe it’s time you let them go,” he said. “Do what you want to do with your life. Do it for you, not them.”
“Why are you so interested in what I want? Do I not do a good job?”
“You’re one of the best. But I can see your heart isn’t all the way in it. It’s my job to analyze. Don’t take any of this personally. It’s just an observation, that’s all.”
“What do you want out of your life? Why are you an agent?” If he could ask her all of these things, he’d better be willing to share his side. “Was it because of your father?”
“All of us do what we do because of Matthew Colton. I consider it a privilege to work on homicide cases. It’s my honor and my duty to protect people from monsters like him.”
“Then we have that in common, Agent Colton. It’s my honor and my duty to protect my fellow officers from monsters like the ones who killed my dad and brother.”
He met her gaze, a deep discovery of kinship warming the energy between them.
“What would you have done with your life had your father not murdered your mother?”
She knew all about his past because of the case. The serial killer copied his father’s technique.
“I don’t know. Justice is all I’ve ever craved.”
Craved. One of the sexiest things about him was his drive and determination, his ambition to catch killers and his finesse in doing so. She’d learned a lot from him.
Had she just thought the word sexy about him? And then she realized the word had come up before now. She eyed her near-empty glass of wine in suspicion.
“A family of my own would be nice someday.”
He shocked her with that announcement, so mirroring what she’d left unspoken.
“But I think that’s a dream and not a reality, not for me,” he added.
“Why do you say that?” She felt the same way sometimes. Her life would never settle down. The hours and demands of her days took too much out of her. But most of the time, the rewards outweighed the regrets.
“I think you know.”
His
