“Ryker wouldn’t have moved anything which might have tipped you that someone had broken in. He knows ten ways to kill without leaving blood you might spot. And he’d have hidden the handyman’s body. You’d have seen nothing down here that would have stopped you from going upstairs where Ryker would have waited for you. Nothing.”
“Could the killer have been someone he sent?” Claire asked.
“No, his wife and daughter’s deaths are personal. This is something he will deal with himself. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Smith’s murder has anything to do with Ryker.”
“If you’re right, who killed poor Silas?”
“While I’m here, I plan to try to find out.” After all, keeping busy was preferable to going slowly crazy, wanting what he could no longer have.
As he’d done several times during the evening, Jackson flicked his gaze to Claire’s left hand. Her ringless left hand. “I imagine this is going to complicate things for you, but I need to stay here until Ryker’s caught. Before our search of your building I’d have suggested I bunk in the apartment across from yours where Charles lived. But since it’s now a storeroom and crammed full of inventory for the shop, it looks like your couch is the only place available.”
When she lifted a hand to push back her hair, Jackson noted it wasn’t her usual casual gesture. It was a weary one. He heard that weariness in her voice when she said, “I want to tell you I don’t need you to stay here.”
“Claire—”
“I want to tell you that. Because your being here can’t help but make things awkward between us. We didn’t split up under the best of circumstances.”
“Think maybe it’s because only one of us wanted to part ways?” he asked neutrally.
“I couldn’t stay.” Her eyes remained steady on his, but her hands clenched tight. “I tried living in your world, Jackson, but it didn’t work. You know I tried. I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.”
My wife. Even after two years, he was never quite free from the drag of hurt that came when he thought about the last evening they’d spent together. He’d proposed. She’d said goodbye. End of story.
“So, I want to tell you I don’t need you to stay here,” she repeated, her gaze returning to the floor. “But then I picture poor Silas with his slit throat. And I think about Garrett.…” Easing out a shaky breath, she remet his gaze. “I’m scared, Jackson. Terrified. I don’t want to be, but I am.”
“I’d wonder about you if you weren’t,” he said, and stopped himself before his hand lifted to stroke the dark fall of her hair. “I won’t let Ryker get to you. You have my word.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Her smile was weak and didn’t last. “So, I hope for your sake my couch doesn’t have lumps.”
“I bet it beats the straw mat I slept on recently in a shack in Sierra Leone,” he said.
Nodding, she retrieved the rag and began wiping fingerprint powder off a leather hatbox. “I’m having a hard time accepting that all of this has happened,” she said after a moment. “That I’m not going to wake up in the morning and find out it hasn’t been a horrible nightmare.”
Jackson wondered if she included his presence as part of that nightmare, but didn’t ask. “Wish I could tell you that’s all it is.”
That was a lie. As grave as the situation was, he’d been looking for an excuse to see her again. Just see her, as if that might quell the ache of missing her that went on and on. But he hadn’t made a move because he’d believed certain avenues were closed to him.
He took a step closer and breathed in a long, reckless drag of Chanel. “Claire, since you and I will be sharing space again for a time, there’s a question that comes to mind.”
“What?”
“I heard you were getting married.” He dropped his gaze to her left hand. “And had an engagement ring with a diamond the size of a gumdrop. Just curious why you’re not wearing it.”
With Jackson having moved so close, Claire had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. When she did, his spicy male scent filled her lungs, rekindling memories best left in the past.
At the moment, he was her greatest threat.
“Who told you I’m getting married?”
“Charles.” Jackson raised a shoulder. “You remember what a soft spot I developed for the old pirate during all those times he hammered me at poker?”
“I remember.”
“So, we’ve kept in touch. He mentions you now and then.”
“Does he?” Claire kept her tone cool even as her temper built. Her surrogate grandfather had never once breathed a word about staying in contact with Jackson. And she would skin Charles McDougal alive for discussing her with the man with whom Charles knew she’d intentionally severed all ties.
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “I seem to recall Charles said your fiancé is a banker?”
“He is.” She tilted her head. “Are you asking because you need to consult with a financial advisor while you’re here? If so, I’m sure Brice will be happy to meet with you.”
Jackson’s mouth thinned. “My finances are fine. I’m just curious—if you’re engaged, why you aren’t wearing your ring?”
Damn you, Claire thought. Damn you for showing up when she’d spent weeks growing more and more uncertain that marrying Brice Harrison was the right thing for her to do. She’d never had to wonder about the origin of all her uncertainty, not with her system churning with so many unresolved feelings for the man for whom she’d naively tossed aside everything. The man who’d expected her to ignore her ingrained need to put down roots, to make a home, in order to wander the face of the earth forever with him. The man who hadn’t offered to make any adjustments or sacrifices for her.
And here he was, back in her life, poking and prodding.
Fine, she thought. All his sudden presence did was enforce her determination to overcome once and for all whatever feelings she still harbored for him. Because she knew from experience that the instant Ryker was captured, Jackson would feed his need for being on the front lines of danger by taking off for wherever on the globe the hottest trouble was brewing. Just like before.
Fueled by a mix of pride and jaw-locking anger, she tugged the heavy gold necklace from beneath her T-shirt.
“I am engaged.” When she dangled the chain between her thumb and finger, light shot off the four-carat diamond like the tail of a comet. “I slide my ring onto this necklace for safekeeping when I know I’ll be digging through boxes of antiques at an auction.”
She had no intention of telling Jackson that she had driven home from today’s auction totally unsure if she would ever slip the ring back on her finger. “Any more questions?”
He waited a beat, watching her with steady blue
