on a blaze. “You don’t care about a career I would give my left leg for?” She let out a bark of a laugh, trying to keep her voice down when she was raging inside. “Oh, that’s right—I lost my career because of my left leg. Shot in the line of duty. Bang. Career over and you...” She lifted her nearly empty Scotch glass, suddenly at a loss for words. Tears welled and spilled. She wiped furiously at them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him see how messed up she was or how deep her hurt ran.
Rourke looked shocked as he reached for her. “Laura, I’m so sorry.”
She shook off the hand he placed on her arm. He motioned to the waitress to bring her another drink. That was all she needed. Didn’t he realize how close she was to telling him not only how she felt about the loss of her career but also how she felt about him?
“You’re going to do it—jeopardize everything.” Her chest ached with unshed tears. “Why would you do this?” Because of the woman in the photo. Something about that face had gotten to him.
Rourke looked distressed that he’d upset her, but also shocked. “I’m doing this because of you, Laura. I wanted to do this for you, and once I found the lead...”
She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The third murder case? It was yours before you and I became partners.”
“I wasn’t on Homicide until—”
“No, you were still a street cop, but I saw your notes on this case in the original file. You were there, Laura. You took these photographs.”
She shook her head, telling herself this couldn’t be true, but an inkling of a memory fought to surface. Was that why she’d thought she recognized the woman in the crowd, because she’d taken her photo?
“I know it sounds crazy,” Rourke continued, “but it’s the reason I first got involved in this case. I saw your notes, and I wanted to solve it for you. Then, when I found the other two similar murders from the area and the same woman in all of the shots...”
All the fire in her blew out as if doused by a bucket of ice water. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. This was the Rourke she knew and loved. And wanting to solve this case because of her... Well, this was as romantic as Rourke Kincaid got. At least with her.
As the waitress arrived with their burgers, Rourke quickly pocketed the magnifying glass and slid the photos back into the folder, dropping it again on the seat next to him. The waitress exchanged her empty Scotch glass for a full one.
Laura picked it up, closed her eyes and took a gulp of the icy cold booze.
She couldn’t believe this. He’d gotten involved in the case because of her. But it was the woman in the photograph who had him about to commit career suicide.
Even with her eyes closed, she could see the image of the dark-haired young woman with the angelic face standing behind the crime-scene tape. Rourke wouldn’t be the only one haunted by the woman now.
ROURKE MENTALLY KICKED HIMSELF. What the hell had he been thinking, going to Laura about this?
Had he thought she might want to help him by living vicariously while he solved this one? He’d been more than insensitive, but then again, Laura had also changed. He’d never seen her in tears before—even the night she was shot.
Her wounds had been nearly fatal, but she’d recovered—all except for her left leg. Like him, though, she wasn’t built for a desk job, so he was glad she had gotten into the profiling field. He thought she’d be damned good at it. Which was another reason he’d asked her to dinner.
He’d foolishly assumed, though, that the old Laura, the one who felt like an equal, would show up. This Laura... Well, she was more fragile. He should have realized that would be the case.
They ate their meals, him changing the subject to the weather. It didn’t always rain in Seattle, but still, there wasn’t that much to say.
“Is your food okay?” he asked, noticing that she’d barely touched hers. That wasn’t like her either. One of the things he’d always loved about her when they were partners was that she liked to eat as much as he did. Seattle offered every kind of fare there was, and the two of them had consumed their share.
“I had to quit eating like I used to,” she said, spearing a French fry and taking a small bite.
How had he not noticed that, along with the change in hairstyle, she’d also dropped the weight she’d gained after the shooting? Laura was an attractive woman, not classically beautiful, but striking. At five-eight, she looked strong, as if she’d been working out in spite of her leg. She’d been a blonde for as long as he’d known her, and yet her coloring seemed wrong for the pale shade, making him wonder what her natural color was. Something else he hadn’t noticed until now.
“You look great,” he said, again reminded of how little he really knew about his former partner, when she seemed to know him so well.
She smiled as if she knew he hadn’t really looked at her until that moment.
“So, you’re doing okay?” he asked, worried about her.
Laura was his age: thirty-six. It surprised him that she’d never married again. She’d apparently been married for a short time before he’d met her to a man named Mike Fuller. She never talked about it. Nor did she date much, seeming more interested in her career.
He wondered if there was a man in her life, now that, thanks to the shooting, she didn’t have such a demanding career. In the old days, he might have asked. But a lot had changed since those days, and he didn’t feel close enough to question her about her love life.
“I was glad when I heard you were finishing up your studies to be a profiler,” he finally ventured. “Laura, I know you’ll be a great one.”
She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I started doing some studying on my own while I was laid up and realized it might be something I was good at.” She met his gaze. “I can help you with this case, if you’ll let me.” She raised a hand before he could say he’d changed his mind and wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “If I could talk you out of this, I would. But since we both know I can’t...”
This was what he’d hoped she would say. If he hoped to solve these murder cases, he could use her help since all of the resources of the U.S. Marshals’ office were off-limits during his suspension. While he thought profiling could be useful, he knew it was good old-fashioned investigative work that usually solved crimes. But he wanted Laura on his team.
The truth was that he needed her for more than profiling. Lately, he’d been second-guessing himself, no longer sure he should trust his own judgment. He needed Laura’s analytical mind. “I—” But he didn’t get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say.
His cell phone rang, and when he checked it, he said, “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s the P.I. I hired.” He stepped away, relieved for the call as he hurried outside. Laura seemed so fragile right now. Even though he needed her help, did he dare involve her in this?
Outside the café, it had begun to drizzle, the sky a dull gray wash as everything quickly became
