Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 by Carol Ericson (bill gates best books TXT) 📕

people who chose to live in this remote Alaskan area, the residents weren’t interested in their own fifteen minutes of fame.

It had been twelve hours since the bomb went off, but Keara parked down the street, not wanting to get in the way of investigators if any were still on scene. As she hurried toward the site on foot, she pulled up the collar on her lined raincoat, wishing she’d opted for something heavier. The temperatures were already dropping into the thirties, the sun casting an array of pinks and oranges across the sky as it settled behind the trees.

Her footsteps slowed as the park came into view and the sharp scent of smoke invaded her nostrils. The front of the building housing the public restrooms was blown out, a metal bench shredded to pieces, the once-green field charred black in places. But it was the bloodstain splotches on the ground, on the benches, even on the side of the building, that made her stomach flip-flop. Made memories rush forward that she ruthlessly pushed down.

The area was cordoned off, but she didn’t see any evidence markers, suggesting all the obvious evidence had already been bagged up and taken to the lab. There was likely more searching to do. Bomb fragments could fly a long distance, into the woods behind the park or buried under the rubble of the building.

Keara scanned the park, her gaze moving quickly over the civilians on the outskirts of the scene. She was looking for an officer who would give her straight information about the status of the case. All she saw was one Luna officer she didn’t know and another who didn’t like anyone from Desparre PD after a debacle six months ago with one of her officers. She frowned, looking for friendlier faces, but she mostly saw FBI jackets, plus a handful of people covered from head to toe in white protective gear. Evidence technicians, probably more FBI. All of them flown up the four hundred plus miles from the FBI’s Anchorage field office.

Movement off to her side caught her attention and then an adorable black-and-tan dog plopped down at her feet, staring up at her expectantly. Behind the dog was a man with dark curly hair, perfectly smooth light brown skin and hypnotizing dark brown eyes. He had more than half a foot on her five-foot-six-inch frame, was probably a few years older than her thirty-five years and he wore an FBI coat.

“That’s Patches,” he told her, in a smooth, deep voice that would have put her instantly at ease if it hadn’t made awareness clench her stomach. “And I’m Jax.”

He tilted his head, and she had the distinct feeling he was cataloging everything about her.

She stood a little taller, feeling self-conscious in her civilian clothes—comfortable jeans with a warm sweatshirt under her jacket, and a pair of heavy-duty boots that could kick in a door.

“Did you know one of the victims?” he asked as Patches nudged her hand with a wet nose.

Keara smiled at the dog, petting her head as she told Jax, “No. Well, I don’t know. Maybe.” She cleared her throat, held out her hand. “Keara Hernandez. I’m the police chief in Desparre.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the mountain. “We’re Luna’s neighbors.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her without any of the visible surprise she was used to from Alaskans when they heard about Desparre’s female police chief. Then his big hand closed around hers, warm and vaguely unsettling. “Jax Diallo. Victim Specialist for the FBI. Patches here is a therapy dog.”

“Therapy?” She looked down at Patches, who stared back at her calmly. “I assumed she was a bomb-sniffing dog.”

“Nope. Patches and I are here to help the victims.”

“Well, maybe you can give me some details, as a professional courtesy.” She showed him her badge, just in case he thought she was lying, but he barely glanced at it. “I’ve got to answer to my citizens tomorrow. They want to know if they’re safe.”

“I can’t really answer that, Keara.” He drew out the e in her name slightly, Kee-ra. It was almost Southern, and it made her flash back to another case, another man, another time in her life entirely.

She’d been a brand-new patrol officer, assigned to partner up with a man who would eventually become her husband. Juan had frowned at her that first day, and although he hadn’t said anything, she’d seen it all over his face. He didn’t like being assigned to work with a woman.

Keara glanced away from Jax, not wanting him to see the emotions that were hard to keep off her face whenever she thought about Juan. But when she redirected her gaze to the right, all she saw was that blood.

It was a dark smear across the concrete, nothing like the thick, pooled mess that had surrounded Juan when she’d found him behind their house seven years ago. His eyes had been open, glassy, his cheek already cold to her touch.

“Keara?”

She jerked at the feel of Jax’s hand on her elbow, the concerned tone of his voice. Shaking off the memory, she forced her gaze back to the Victim Specialist. “Is there someone I can talk to about the case?”

“Not right now. But I’m here if you want to talk about—”

“Sorry. I’ve got to go.” Keara gave Patches one last pat, then spun back the way she’d come, suddenly uncaring that she’d driven all this way and hadn’t gotten any answers. Because right now what she needed most was to get out of here.

Away from the bloodstains and the bomb remnants. Away from the unexpected memories.

Hopefully, the FBI would do their job fast. Hopefully, the people of Luna would get the answers they deserved about the person responsible for this bomb, the closure that would help them move on with their lives.

Without it, they could try to move on. She’d tried damn hard. She’d left behind everyone in her life and moved across the country, given up the job she’d dreamed