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  Instead, she’d ignored it by plowing into paperwork. And completing phone interviews for the CIRG job at Quantico. A job she could flush down the toilet with one wrong move.

  McKenna stepped into her parent’s kitchen and came to a complete stop when she saw her father standing near the island. He set his morning paper aside and removed his glasses. And looked at her as if he were trying to figure out a complex jigsaw puzzle.

  They knew. Her parents knew.

  “Well, good morning. You’re just the lady I’m looking for.” Raphael Moore said.

  She swallowed, walked past him to the coffee machine, and poured some into a travel mug. “Yeah?”

  “Your landlord called yesterday. Your townhouse should be ready in two weeks. Three tops.” He picked up his own cup of coffee and sipped from it. “I’m also supposed to remind you about your final fitting for your bridesmaid dress.”

  McKenna squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid dress was the last thing on her mind on a good day. “Right.”

  “You forgot again.” It wasn’t a question. “They’re keeping the shop open late for you.”

  “What, this isn’t good enough?” McKenna pointed to her suit jacket and gun holster, then eased onto a stool facing her father. She allowed herself to relax a little.

  “I think your brother’s exact words went something like, ‘If she brings her guns, I’ll disown her.’ Just make it to that fitting or neither one of us is going to have any peace.”

  McKenna rolled her eyes. “It’s just a dress. I don’t see what the fuss is about.”

  “Don’t let your mother or Kelly hear you say that. You know how long they’ve been planning this.” He rotated his coffee cup and focused on the steam rising from it. His converging eyebrows and wrinkled forehead weren’t that of a father having a normal conversation with his daughter.

  That was her queue. She capped her mug. “Right. Dress fitting. Got it. I’ll see you later.”

  He cleared his throat. “Hold on.”

  McKenna held her breath, reminded herself that he didn’t know everything and turned back toward him. “What’s up?”

  “I noticed you weren’t wearing the ring your mother and I gave you for your sixteenth birthday.” His eyes never left hers. “You must not like it anymore, huh?”

  She tightened her grip on her mug. Okay. So, she’d worn the purity ring on her left ring finger since the day she’d received it. People took rings off all the time. No big deal.

  “No, it’s not that.” Yeah, Dad, funny thing, I had it when I went to Las Vegas and I haven’t seen it since I ran into Jordan at Club Pure. “I don’t have time to explain it.”

  He slid something across the counter, toward her. “Maybe you could explain this, then.”

  The ring that had changed her life, sat on the counter, sparkling at each touch of light. Mocking her. Perfect. Where was a shovel when you needed one? She’d dig the hole and make the coffin herself. And maybe she would throw Jordan in first.

  Could she run out the door and forget the whole conversation? No. But she wanted to. A million explanations ran through her mind, but none of them seemed right. She trusted her voice not to betray her. “It’s mine.”

  “Rupert give this to you?”

  “Rupert?” She almost started laughing. Rupert had tried to give her a three-carat ring, proving he knew very little about her. The darn thing would have weighed her down. “No.”

  “I saw the news. I’m sorry to hear about his mother.”

  “Me, too.” If she were an angrier, more spiteful person she would have let Rupert see his mother lying on the floor in her master suite. Seeing someone you love, in a casket, was one thing; seeing them dead, they’re body dismembered in blatant disrespect, was another. While one of the less gruesome crimes in her career, it wasn’t a sight she would forget any time soon. “He wanted to see her.”

  “Who? His mother?”

  She nodded, glad for the slightly less irritating subject change. “I might get pulled from the case before I can do anything to help find her killer.”

  “From the look on your face, I take it that would be interesting in a bad way.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Because the Hostage Rescue Teams at Quantico is reviewing your cases? Watching you, so to speak?”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent positive that if I screw up this case, which happens to involve Charlotte’s most high-standing citizen’s wife, I can kiss that job goodbye.”

  “I know it’s important to you, but at the end of the day, you’re only one person. It’s more than the job, though, isn’t it?”

  In the scheme of things, of veteran agents, six years with the FBI amounted to little more than peas. One more day, one more crime. Some solved, some gone cold. Families given restitution in a killer put in prison and others devastated in the not knowing.

  Rupert’s family would not be the latter. Not if she had her way. “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated like this ring?” Her dad picked up the emerald cut stone and inspected it. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody else.”

  McKenna smiled in spite of her turning stomach. “I wasn’t aware I still had to ask permission to date, Dad.”

  “Nice try.” He glanced at her. “Who gave it to you?”

  She struggled with the urge to blurt out the whole situation in one breath. Seeing her father’s response to the news, his shock, slowly fading to concern and then to disappointment would throw her into failure overload. As a kid, she could remember him chuckling when she’d told him she wouldn’t ever get married. He never told her she was ridiculous for believing that or for wanting to follow her uncle into law enforcement. He always kissed the top of her head and said, “That’s my girl. But, promise me, if you ever change your mind, I get to walk you down the aisle.”

  “I really want to respect your privacy, but here we are anyway. Who, McKenna?”

  She licked her lips. “You know how these things work. A guy usually gives a girl a ring and...” She tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat, but couldn’t quite choke it down.

  “I assumed that a guy gave you the ring. It’s what comes after your ‘and’ I’m concerned about.”

  “It's no big deal. I really need to get to work, Dad.” She grabbed the ring.

  “McKenna, I know you’re an adult.” He paused, tapped his fingers on the counter. “But I’m still your father. I am entitled to worry about you every now and then. And if you’re in trouble, you know your mother and I are here.” He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed.

  She hadn’t wanted to run into her dad’s arms and cry since she turned ten. She’d come very close a few times in her teenage years, only to pull herself together. Like now. Crying wouldn’t help anything. No, McKenna Moore did not cry.

  Not over a scraped knee. And definitely not over Jordan Bening.

  ###

  If McKenna had been a different person, she might have thought about calling in sick.

  Running had never accomplished more than putting off the inevitable. In this case, another encounter with Jordan.

  Still, faking the stomach flu was tempting.

  He was the new Assistant SAC.

  She could feel it in her gut, the way she had known she would be an agent at the age of thirteen. The thought hadn’t even crossed her distraught mind—until now. And didn’t that make her look even more stupid than yesterday, when Jordan had arrived at Emily Gaidies house? Handling Rupert better than she could.

  What right did he have to show up after ten silent years, anyway? She had long since gotten over his disapp—whoa. No, she hadn’t gotten over it.

  It hadn’t mattered in the first place.

  Now who’s the liar?

  McKenna spun Jordan’s ring around the tip of her pointer finger as she scanned the conference room from her seat in the back row. The small room barely fit everyone essential to the Gaidies case. SAC Robinson stood at the podium at the front of the room going over th
e crime scene photos.

  She hadn’t spotted Jordan yet.

  She could be civil to him. She could give him back his ring. Then what? Demanding him for a divorce, and to reconsider working at the Charlotte field office, was the only sure-fire way to get him to stay.

  Either way, she doubted he had any plans to pick up and leave. Yet.

  She glanced down at the emerald cut stone. Jordan hadn’t bought this ring in Las Vegas. It looked like an antique. A familiar antique. It probably belonged to his mother.

  No. He wouldn’t have done that. That ring meant a lot to him. He wouldn’t give it to anybody. Heaven knew he had guarded it closely the summer before he disappeared.

  Kara Kimmel, one of the neighbor girls he went on a few dates with, even demanded that if he liked her enough he would give her something to make their relationship official. Kara had wanted that ring since the first time she'd discovered it on the chain around his neck.

  Seventeen at the time, McKenna could remember spying on their conversation, while trying to hold back laughter. She never saw Kara’s face as red as when Jordan told her that would never happen. His mother’s ring belonged around his neck, not on Kara’s finger.

  Kara always got her way, except with Jordan. And she blamed McKenna.

  “What’s she got, that I don’t?”

  She could remember feeling genuine confusion from her hiding spot. Didn’t everyone know that she and Jordan were only friends? Even so, she’d never take his mother’s ring.

  McKenna never asked Jordan to clarify their conversation. Deep down, she hadn’t wanted to know the answer. Hadn’t wanted it to change what she and Jordan shared.

  She had to give the ring back, before this whole thing got out of hand.

  Forget about Jordan and focus on Mrs. Gaidies. Focus on finding her killer.

  She flipped through last night’s pictures of Emily Gaidies. Instead of seeing the dead woman with missing hands and blank eyes, she pictured Jordan and how he’d looked last night hovering over the crime scene. He seemed different from the boy she’d grown up with. Serious. Unreadable. Hardened. Not at all like the easygoing man she’d reunited with in Las Vegas.

  A hand touched her shoulder, bringing her from her thoughts. A spiral of panic zipped down her spine and landed in her stomach. She knew before she looked up that Jordan stood beside her. He had one hand in his pocket, his lips cocked to one side so that a slight dimple formed. Yet, his eyes were hard, as if he expected a fight. Blue eyes twinkled at the prospect, while that blond hair gave him a just-rolled-out-of-bed look that had her wanting to rush her fingers through it and mess it up a little more.

  McKenna swallowed. The day could always get worse. He could insist they move in together and try to work this out like civilized adults. Like normal people. Only nothing about them or their past relationship was normal. Her stomach tilted. If one thing about Jordan remained unchanged, it would be his old-fashioned sense of duty.

  And he would see her as that. His duty.

  He removed his hand from her shoulder, but she swore the imprint would stay there for life. Along with the tingling sensation it had created.

  “You’re wanted,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Moore, are you listening to me?” SAC Robinson’s sturdy voice made her jump. He strode toward them in confident steps, his tall, lean figure eating up the path between them. His dark hair looked almost black, much like the annoyance on his face. McKenna gathered the pictures, stood, and barely missed stumbling over Jordan. With a hand to her elbow, Jordan managed to secure her footing.

  “Sorry, what did I miss?” She stepped away from him and kept her eyes focused on Robinson.

  Their boss studied her until she thought her life story, including the previous weekend’s events, might be tattooed somewhere on her face. Robinson glanced at Jordan as if he knew exactly what was going on between them. His expression was a mixture of authoritative questioning and the buddy-old-pal smirk of long-time friendship.

  Wow, that gave a whole new meaning to rats arse. A hole to crawl into would have been fantastic, but she hadn’t gotten this far by hiding. “Thanks for making me take that vacation, Chief. I owe you one.”

  That got both Robinson and Jordan’s attention, but neither man said anything.

  She held up the case folder. “I’m so glad I’ll have a familiar face to work this with.”

  Robinson put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, Bening’s our new ASAC. Problem?”

  Several sarcastic remarks sat on the tip of her tongue begging for release. “You give Rupert, Bening’s phone number, and I’m all for it.”

  Maybe they could become friends and jump off a cliff together. Whoa. Too far, McKenna.

  “Anything I need to know about?” Robinson asked.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Like pretending Jordan wasn’t standing inches from her, his arm centimeters from rubbing against hers.

  Robinson nodded. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you two. This case is more politics than anything else. Sad, but true. We’re dealing with one of Charlotte’s oldest and richest families here. The only reason we have this case is because Mr. Gaidies called one of his senator friends in D.C. right after his 9-1-1 call. Naturally, Quantico passed the buck to us. So we’ve already ticked off CMPD, which is where we’re gonna need you, Moore. They were first on the scene.”

  “Already spoke with Detective Nettles. They’re not convinced this case has need for federal attention yet. But we’ll have full cooperation on Nettles’ end as long as we reciprocate.”

  “Which means we’ll be fighting tooth and nail for info.” It wasn’t a question, but fact, because while her best friend from CMPD and SAC Robinson made one heck of a team, they also had a love-hate relationship as far as McKenna could tell.

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  “Okay. After that display with Mr. Dillon last night we’ve also struck a nerve with the family. Mr. Dillon would like to see you both demoted.”

  What? Rage billowed up her esophagus like a hot air balloon.

  Jordan didn’t look the least bit rattled, as if he’d left his emotions back in Las Vegas. “Why not just ask that we be removed from the case? Makes more sense, doesn’t it?”

  Robinson held up a hand. “Right now, we don’t have a formal complaint. Even if he files one, which I don’t think he’s stupid enough to do, it won’t stick. I know you did what you had to do. Bottom line. Find our guy.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

  McKenna wanted to run toward her office. Instead, she took a not-so-calming breath and turned toward Jordan.

  “Nice start to the morning?”

  “You have no idea,” she said under her breath.

  “This doesn’t have to be awkward, McKenna.”

  Not awkward? She couldn’t help it, she let out a small snort-laugh and garnered a few glances in their direction before she composed herself. “I don’t think that’s possible. Here.” She slapped the ring into the palm of his hand, turned on her heel and headed for her office.

  Their office. Their case. Their UNSUB.

  They needed ground rules. ASAP.

  She opened the door, slipped inside and tried to concentrate on her job. Nothing more. First opportunity, she’d have divorce paperwork drawn up. Or annulment papers or whatever this particular situation required. As long as it helped dissipate the ball of tension growing in her chest.

  Jordan walked inside the small domain, where two desks, an armoire and a small basketball hoop in the corner stared back at him. He seemed engrossed in the various pictures that filled the walls as well as the desk that was hers.

  “Nice office, Slick.”

  “Um, thanks.” She picked up a piece of paper on her desk and tried to read it. The words didn’t make any sense. She had to find a way out of this mess. Even if that way out was only a temporary fix until she filed for divorce. Yes, technically that was running, but for a very good reason. A reason she coul
dn’t seem to grasp and, at the moment, didn’t feel the need to.

  “It’s nice to see you too. I haven’t been doing much since I got back into town. Went and saw some family, some friends. You know how it goes. Thanks for asking.” He sat down at the desk that was now his. “It sure is good to see you after all these years.” He put his feet up, grabbed the basketball, and put it through the hoop. “And you’re as beautiful as ever.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting us past the awkward stage.” Jordan threw a few more shots toward the hoop—missing nearly every one. Then he turned and grinned at her.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She rubbed her temples. This wasn’t what she expected. Too bad, she could have used a good fight. She should just tell him and get it out in the open. He couldn’t possibly want to stay married any more than she did. “You think a bunch of small talk will fix everything?”

  He turned from the hoop and gave her his full attention. “It’s got to be better than tucking tail and running.”

  “I learned from the best.” The minute the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Recognition, filled with a hint of regret flashed through Jordan’s eyes, quick enough that, had she not been paying attention, she would have missed it.

  “If the positions were different you might have done the same thing.” She could do this. She could. McKenna expelled a pent up breath, rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants.

  “The way I see it, we’re in the same boat.”

  “You need to have your eyes checked.”

  “We were both drunk. I figure that gives us fifty-fifty liability.”

  “That’s not how I remember things.” Not that she could remember much past the chapel.

  “You really want to point fingers?”

  No. She didn’t want to have this conversation at all. Ever.

  “I could start with the fact that my savings account is minus about four-thousand dollars. That doesn’t include a receipt I have for two tattoos, matching I think, and two tickets and elevator rides up to Insanity at the Stratosphere.”