Not that it mattered. Not one bit. They’d never get together again.

  Even if she wanted to, which she clearly didn’t, she’d left him once. She’d do the same thing again. After his ex-fiancée, Carla, had bailed on him, he’d sworn off dating. Let other men be taken in by promises women made. He was done with that. So done.

  She ejected her card then pushed the computer back to him. “I saved all the pictures of him in a folder on your desktop.”

  As she put the card back in her camera, he opened the first picture and sought out details he’d not caught when watching the guy.

  Hard eyes. Experienced eyes. A criminal’s eyes. His attack on Jennie wasn’t his first such act. Wouldn’t be his last. Ethan clicked through the others. In an early one before he’d put up his hood, she’d caught something unusual on the back of his neck.

  Ethan enlarged the picture. A tattoo with a scrolling S in bright red ended with a vivid green snake’s head, mouth open and tongue extended at the base of the guy’s neck.

  “Did you see this tattoo?” Ethan asked.

  She shook her head, and he swiveled the computer so she could see.

  Her knee calmed, and she stared at the screen. “I’ve seen a tattoo like that before.”

  “You remember where?”

  “Yeah. A worker at Photos of Hope’s distribution center had one in the exact same place.”

  “I didn’t know your charity was large enough to have distribution centers.”

  “Just one. In Brownsville, Texas. When Photos of Hope started, we gave all the money we raised to other charities, and that still works well in the United States. But with all the corruption in Mexico, if we want to be sure the right people receive help, we have to purchase and distribute the items ourselves. So a few years ago, we obtained the necessary permits to distribute food, household items and medical supplies. We still have problems with corruption and supplies not getting where they’re intended, but it’s on a much smaller scale.”

  “So this guy works in Brownsville, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re sure his tattoo matches the one in this picture?” Ethan pointed at the screen.

  “Positive. I even talked to the warehouse manager about it. This isn’t the kind of image I want to portray for the charity.”

  Ethan was starting to get excited. “Firing him could be motive enough for revenge.”

  “We didn’t fire him. The manager said he was one of her best workers. Since he’s not in the public eye, she didn’t think he’d have an impact on our image. I trust her judgment, so as far as I know, he still works there.”

  “While I finish up here, I’d like you to find out everything you can about him from the manager.”

  “You think this worker has something to do with the break-in?”

  “It isn’t a common tattoo, and I doubt it’s a coincidence that he has the same one as your attacker.” He didn’t add that he also felt confident the tattoo marked him as a gang member. No need to share that thought until they proved this was gang related.

  Jennie took out her phone, and he set to work on his emails. He heard her chatting with the manager but he focused on his task. He not only emailed Cole, but copied the message to his sister Kat, as well. As a former Portland police officer, she had contacts in the department who could tell them if this particular tattoo linked Jennie’s assailant to a gang. He attached the pictures and hit Send, watching as the message disappeared from his screen.

  “His name is Javier Caldera,” Jennie said, clapping her phone closed. “He still works at the warehouse. My manager says he’s an exemplary employee, and she highly doubts he could have anything to do with this.”

  “We still need to investigate him, Jen. People do things you’d never expect.” He flinched as he realized, too late, his statement’s double meaning.

  If she caught his reference to the way she’d bailed on him, he couldn’t see it in the clear brown eyes peering back at him. “I asked her to email all of his details to me.”

  “Good.” He wanted to pursue their past, but he’d have plenty of time to broach the subject later. He shut down the computer and put it in the case.

  “Can we go now?” Jennie rose and headed for the door. “I really need to get started on those reprints.”

  He caught up to her. “Any chance I can convince you to lie low?”

  She turned and looked at him. “What exactly do you mean by ‘lie low’?”

  “Once we get to your house, you stay there until we can do a complete threat assessment?”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that,” she said, sounding earnestly apologetic. “I’ll barely finish printing pictures on time as it is.”

  Her answer didn’t surprise him. The agency provided security details for a number of people and most of them couldn’t just hide out. They had lives to live. Of course, most of them didn’t have such an overt threat directed at them. Still, he didn’t need to make drastic changes in her schedule. At least, not yet.

  “Let me be clear about one thing before we leave, Jen.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her exit onto the street. “I’m okay with picking up your negatives and going to the darkroom today, but things will have to change when word gets out that the show is still on.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then whoever trashed this place will try to stop you by whatever means necessary,” he answered bluntly. “So we’ll need to further restrict your activities.”

  At his grim tone, some of the color drained from her face, and he saw her clench then release her hands. He hated to be the one renewing her fear, but he couldn’t downplay the situation or she might not listen to him when needed.

  He escorted her out of the gallery, and once safely in his truck, he focused on making sure no one tailed them. They rode for thirty minutes, the air filled with tension and unease. No matter what he said, it wouldn’t change the atmosphere, so he kept quiet and left Jennie alone to peer out the window.

  Nearing Beaverton, his phone chimed from the holder on his dash, and she jumped.

  “Relax,” he said and checked caller ID.

  Cole. Good.

  Ethan didn’t want to share this conversation with Jennie until he knew what Cole had to say, but Oregon’s hands-free driving law prohibited any other option, so he clicked his speaker button.

  “I’m in the truck with Jennie, and I’m putting you on speaker.” He hoped the warning would encourage Cole to filter his words.

  “Got an ID on your guy,” Cole said. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

  Ethan glanced at Jennie. Saw her eyes narrow.

  He didn’t want to ask but he had to. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Juan Munoz. Lives here in Portland. He’s a known member of the Sotos gang.”

  “What’s that?” Jennie asked.

  “A local gang affiliated with Eduardo Sotos’s drug cartel in Mexico,” Cole explained. “They’re based out of Matamoros and specialize in exporting cocaine to the U.S.”

  Jennie gasped.

  “This guy is dangerous, bro,” Cole went on. “Besides priors for drug trafficking, he’s a person of interest in several gang slayings.”

  A murderer?

  Ethan’s heart slammed against his chest. He couldn’t look at Jennie. She must be terrified. Still, he wouldn’t lie and tell her discovering Munoz’s history was no big deal.

  It was a big deal.

  Her attacker was wanted in gangland slayings and the important thing to focus on right now was finding out what a vicious killer like Munoz wanted with Jennie.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jennie could barely breathe. It seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the truck.

  “I’ll get Kat to start tracking down Munoz, but we need to figure out his connection to you,” Ethan said. His tone was soft, but did nothing to ease her distress. “I know this is shocking news, Jen, but we need to focus here.”

  She pulled in a deep breath. Let it go. In, out. In, out. One after another.

  “This is crazy,” she wheezed. “Just crazy.”

  “You’re right, but dwelling on it won’t help us move forward.” He paused as if waiting for her to get it together.

  She lowered the window to let air fresh from an afternoon shower cool her burning face. Tipping her head toward the opening, she peered at familiar sights as the tires spun over wet pavement toward her home.

  She sighed and waited for normal breathing to resume.

  “Okay to talk about this now?” Ethan asked.

  She nodded.

  “So what do you and a Mexican drug cartel or a local gang have in common?”

  What, indeed. “The only thing I can think of is that most of the pictures for the show were taken in Mexico.”

  “What part of Mexico?”

  “Just over the South Texas border in Nuevo Progreso.”

  “Cole said the cartel’s home base is in Matamoros. Is that close to Nuevo Progreso?”

  “Less than an hour away.”

  “Then this could be our connection.”

  “You think I caught a cartel member in a picture?” Her voice was starting to rise again.

  “I can’t think of any other motive the cartel or this gang might have. I highly doubt they have a grudge against the gallery. And I’m assuming your charity hasn’t done anything to anger either of them.”

  “Of course not. At least, not that I know of.”

  “So catching them doing something illegal in a picture is a more logical explanation, which means we really need to get those negatives scanned.” He glanced at her, and she could see the concern in his eyes, the warmth lingering in the depths.

  She may have hurt this man, but she wasn’t alone here. He was with her. No matter what they learned next or what happened. He’d stand by her side or in the line of fire until this was resolved.

  “Thank you, Ethan,” she said. “For being here and not treating me the way I deserve.”

  He cast a tender glance her way, warming the chill still claiming her body.

  She rushed on without thinking it through. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I didn’t want to end things that way, but I…” She couldn’t explain so she looked away. There was a pause, then Ethan spoke.

  “I told myself this wasn’t the right time, but with the way this case is heating up, we need to talk about our past and clear the air before our history gets in the way.”

  She froze at the tension in his voice.

  “I mean,” he went on, “we can’t just ignore it.”

  Yes, they could. At least, she had for years whenever thoughts of him had come up.

  “Can’t we just leave it in the past where it belongs?” She shifted and peered at him. “I’m sorry I even brought it up. It was a long time ago. We’re both adults and we can—”

  “Can what?” he jumped in. “Spend time together and not remember how much we meant to each other?” He gave her an appraising look. “At least, you meant a lot to me.”

  “Ethan,” she said and let her voice fall off before she shared something she’d later regret.

  If she shared, he’d look at her with the same loathing she’d seen in her last boyfriend’s eyes when she’d told him about her past. Or feel the same judgment people in her church had meted out.

  They’d claimed the church was a safe place. A place to cast all of her burdens. When she’d believed them and told them about her pregnancy, they’d judged her and treated her like an outcast—or rather, more of an outcast. Her family situation had ensured that she felt out of place even before she shared her secret. She knew her place now and it wasn’t with a decent man like Ethan, so why put herself through all of the pain of rehashing the past?

  “I’m sorry, Ethan. I just can’t talk about it.” She clenched her hands and waited for him to yell at her. To get angry. To do anything other than look at her with such intense pain.

  He turned his attention back to the road but she couldn’t help thinking about his eyes. Those amazing deep brown, almost black eyes.

  She’d never seen eyes like his before. Never forgot them. The way they cut through everything. Warming her heart with one look.

  She looked away, but could still feel his larger-than-life presence.

  He’d always made her feel special. The first man—the only man—ever to make her feel cherished. And here he was. Beside her. The same unwavering set to his prominent jaw, his profile all hard and angular. With this new determination and focus as if nothing could best him anymore.

  That was so powerful. And attractive. So attractive.

  Jennie, Jennie, Jennie. You have got to get a grip.

  Thinking about him like this was nuts. Just plain nuts. Sure, he’d let go of his professional detachment and gotten personal for a moment. But only because he wanted an answer. Closure, maybe. Nothing had changed. She’d hurt him too badly for him to care about her again.

  He pointed out the window. “The one with black shutters yours?” His tone was flat and all business again. The way she wanted it. So why did she suddenly feel sad and alone?

  “How did you know my address?” She stared at him.

  “I did my homework after Madeline called me.” He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

  Good. She needed to put some space between them. She reached for the door handle.

  “Not so fast, Jen. I need to check things out first.” His pain vanished and a deadly intensity darkened his eyes to a midnight black, reminding her of where she should focus her mind.

  She had no time to linger on thoughts of their past or how he still made her heart beat faster. No time. Not when a killer remained at large and could return any moment to finish what he had started.

  * * *

  Ethan watched a variety of emotions flitter across Jennie’s face. She was thinking about Munoz, as was he. But despite the threat, he wanted to move back to their discussion of their past. Have a do-over. This time he’d use more patience and understanding. Not be all blunt and harsh.

  He needed to talk about what had happened between them. To get it out in the open so he could let it go, focus on the job and figure out how to keep her safe. But her mind was somewhere else, her eyes staring blankly at his chest.

  “Jen,” he said, trying to sound detached. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Really. Just seeing you like this…brings back things I haven’t thought about in a long time.” There was a tense edge to her voice.

  “And from the tone of your voice, I’d say things you don’t want to remember.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just…” She shook her head as if unwilling to talk about it any more. “Never mind.” She grabbed her bag and lifted the handle.

  He shot out a hand. “Remember, I go first, Jen. No matter where we are, I always go first.”

  “Sorry.”

  He ran around the truck, sweeping the area, keeping his focus on her safety. He escorted her up a damp sidewalk leading to a modest bungalow painted in dark beige. The air smelled fresh. He didn’t see any signs of a disturbance…yet.

  “My keys,” she muttered near the stoop and stopped to dig in her camera bag.

  He climbed the steps and found the door cracked open.

  “Did you leave this open?” he asked.

  “What?” She looked up, her eyes creasing with concern. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

  He held out his keys and drew his gun with the other hand. “Go back to the truck while I check this out.”

  “I probably just forgot to lock it and the wind blew it open.”

  “What wind, Jen?” He jingled the keys. “I need you to go back to the truck.”

  She didn’t move.

  If he was going to get her cooperation now and in the future, he needed to remember she often balked at others telling her what to do. He’d need to dial things back a notch. “Please go to the truck, Jen.”

  This request seemed to bother her more, but she took the keys and turned to leave.

  “Call 9-1-1. Make sure you tell them I was with the bureau and what I’m wearing so some trigger-happy cop doesn’t take me out. And lock the doors.”

  He waited until he heard the lock click then raised his gun and shoved open the door with his shoe, noticing the pry marks on the wooden jamb on the way in.

  A forced entry. Just as he’d thought.

  He glanced in and out. Caught sight of a family room thoroughly tossed by someone looking for something. Blowing out a breath, he stepped in, picking his way through her personal belongings scattered on the floor and heading toward a doorway. He flattened his back against the wall. Counted to three. Glanced in. A hallway. All clear.

  He eased forward, quietly pressing open the first door. Empty and tossed. Obviously Jennie’s room, tasteful and understated. Fit her personality perfectly. A quick check of the master bathroom, and back into the hall.

  Moving cautiously, he slipped into the main bathroom and slid open the shower curtain. No one. On to the next room. Same story. Set up as a guest bedroom before this creep ripped everything into shreds. Last door, an office, surprisingly neat. Just a few binders tossed on the floor.

  On to the trendy kitchen. Interesting. Not touched by the intruder. The garage next. Neat and tidy. He went out the back door. Swept the yard. No one.

  Their intruder was gone. Long gone. He lowered his weapon and holstered it as he returned to the living room.

  The sofa and cushions lay in tatters, slashed open, the stuffing strewn across the floor. Someone had emptied shelves and tossed every item in the room to the floor like trash. This wasn’t some random burglary, but a professional search meant to leave nothing unturned.