His lips opened.

  Hers did, too.

  He tasted her and lost thought. Let his tongue do to her mouth what his body couldn’t do lower down. He took her tongue eagerly, too, when she plunged it into his mouth. Accepting the passion her lips spread to him. Answering it.

  But when his hands reached for her waist, he used the grip to steady himself. To hold them apart, not pull them closer together as he lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Until we revisit,” he said, somewhat shakily, but firmly enough, too.

  “Thank you.” Her gaze was wide open. He had no idea what she was thanking him for. Kissing her? Stopping? Being willing to revisit?

  “I’m going to do a perimeter check and then I’ll be in. If you need anything during the night, or hear anything, make a noise, or push that speed dial I set on your phone and I’ll be right there.”

  Her smile was tender. And still so sexy. “I know. And I will. Good night, Jackson.”

  His entire body felt slammed the way his name rolled off her lips. Hit by a sense of nurturing he’d never known. He was pretty sure he said good-night.

  And positive that he wasn’t going inside until he’d given her time to get her butt upstairs.

  He wasn’t going to make a mistake in what could turn out to be a turning event in his life. Meeting Aimee Barker was certainly proving to be the most unusual thing that had ever happened to him.

  That didn’t make it right. Or the best. His old man had once described his mother as having such a head-turning effect on him. So much so that he’d not only ignored their financial and age differences, he’d missed the part where she couldn’t exist in a small town.

  Aimee was also a big-city girl. And Jackson was Evergreen through and through. Everything else aside, he couldn’t ignore simple facts.

  He was his father’s son in many ways, but he was not going to repeat the old man’s mistakes.

  Chapter 15

  Maybe she’d made a mistake, being honest with him about her attraction to him. Aimee tried to convince herself she was just overwrought and not thinking clearly—allowing as how being nearly murdered that morning could do that to a body—but in some ways, she felt as though she’d never had as much clarity as she’d had since the crash. Seeing death right in front of you...some things gained importance, others that seemed big didn’t matter at all.

  Honesty mattered. Truth mattered.

  Jackson needed her to be open and truthful with him. For her, that came with an all-or-nothing caveat attached, apparently. Because of having to open up so completely in the cognitive interviews.

  Telling him how she felt...it felt right.

  And boy had it brought with it some unexpected consequences.

  He felt the same way about her?

  Stunning.

  To say the least.

  A turn-on, for sure, but to what end? She’d allowed herself to go with the attraction because it was only fantasy, thinking there’d be no way it would ever be anything but fantasy.

  So now what did she do?

  Except get more and more turned on while she was staying in his home, waiting to revisit the idea of them sleeping together? Like she wouldn’t spend every minute wondering if they would. And what it would be like?

  Every minute that she wasn’t engaged in real life, that was. Which could turn out to be far too much time since she wasn’t free to roam about, to try to follow her senses and see if they took her anywhere familiar. To drive aimlessly and see if she recognized anything. Other than her interviews, and trying to relax, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to fill the next day or two.

  Before the revisiting.

  Jackson and his team would continue to investigate any angle he could find. Any clue she might happen to inadvertently hand to him. And go about the rest of their Evergreen sheriff business as well. With someone assigned to watching over her.

  Not at all as she’d envisioned her time in Arizona.

  She didn’t sleep nearly as well the second night in Jackson’s home, too aware of him downstairs wanting her. In the morning she gave him plenty of time to have a detail officer stationed outside the house and leave for work before exiting her room. Showered, and in a peasant-style lace-trimmed black-and-white tank that flowed to her hips with a stretchy black skirt that ended just above her knees, and black flip-flops studded with faux diamonds, she allowed that thinking of Jackson in bed had only partially kept her awake long into the night. That had been the good stuff she’d focused on every time the day’s events replayed themselves, the memories replayed themselves and panic ensued. Over and over. Panic, Jackson. Panic, Jackson.

  Maybe he was right and there was some transference going on. He sure seemed to be the panacea to a fear that could easily eat her alive...

  Turning on the winding staircase, she was one step away from being able to see over to the floor below when she heard the doorbell ring and stopped. As far as she knew, once the officer was stationed outside, she’d be in the house alone. That was how it had been explained to her, and how it had played out, the day before.

  She wasn’t to answer the door, of course.

  But no one was supposed to get as far as the door, either. The officer outside was supposed to make certain that didn’t happen.

  Hiding behind the wall, heart pounding, she pulled at the phone stuck in the waistband of her skirt, having to yank twice as the phone stuck to the sweat starting to bead on her stomach. Before she could even get the phone unlocked the door opened.

  Oh, God. Was she seriously going to die?

  “Sheriff? I’m sorry to bother you—I didn’t know it was yer’ day off...” The voice was male. Elderly sounding.

  But... What?

  Breath came in staggers. Jackson was still home?

  She sank down fully, her butt hitting the step.

  “I’m not off, just working from home this morning.” That voice. Relief flooded through her. Jackson was home.

  Weakness in every fiber of her being caused tears to form. Or the lack of strength to hold them at bay failed to prevent them.

  Thank You, God.

  Mother Fate.

  Angels.

  And anyone else who could possibly be looking over her...

  Not wanting to interrupt his business, she sat there, assessing her chances of crawling back up the stairs to her room undetected. He was working.

  He might not want people knowing that he had a woman staying at his place.

  Evergreen sheriff business, this citizen’s business with the sheriff, was out of her jurisdiction. She shouldn’t hear...

  Was considering staying quietly where she was, plugging her ears, when the older man spoke again.

  “Your detective, the one come asking about mobile homes, she didn’t seem to know much about the place she was asking about, not the owner, not nothing. She just had a copy of a permit I got to move it once. I answered her questions right, but I might know something about something she didn’t ask me about. About another time I moved it. I’m sure she’s right good at her job, but I don’t know her, and can’t say as that I really know you, either, but I knew your dad. He done me good and I’d do anything for him, same as I would you, being his son...which is why I called and insisted on speaking only to you.”

  Mobile home. Detective asking an old man—who might have been around thirty years ago—about a mobile home. It had to be her case...

  “Mr. Landing, come in.” Jackson’s voice was toned down. Because he thought she was asleep upstairs? Or because he didn’t want her to hear what the man had to say?

  He was letting the man in the house. Aimee took that to mean that Jackson wasn’t trying to hide anything from her.

  The old man hadn’t wanted to speak to a detective he didn’t know, and would likely feel even less comfortable speaking in front of someone who wasn’t even a cop. She didn’t want to spook him into clamming up. And remained quietly where she was.

  Did she know the man? Had he known her at three? Would she recognize him? She didn’t risk exposure, and losing whatever he had to say, by trying to get a peek at him.

  “My detective was looking through all of the ADOT files pertaining to mobile homes during a certain time frame. You said on the phone that you might know something more about one of them...” Jackson’s voice sounded calm. Reassuring. But still commanding respect. The man reeked confidence.

  And based on Evergreen’s crime record, which she’d also looked up before leaving New Orleans, he ran a safe town.

  “I live over in Tello,” the old man said after a slight pause. She couldn’t tell if they’d moved farther into the home. Their voices seemed a little more clear, a little louder. “Back thirty years ago, I ran a rig that was licensed and outfitted to move mobile homes. Some what they call manufactured homes these days, but I didn’t do none that was permanently affixed.

  “Sheriff Redmond, the other one, your dad, calls me one day back ’bout the time your detective was asking about. There was a single wide off the side of the road. Some bonehead tried to move it without enough axels under it and didn’t tighten ’em right. Thing came right off one of ’em and there it sat, blocking the road. Nearly caused a pileup. Guy didn’t have a permit. Took off. Sheriff needed me to get it out of there.”

  Everything felt shaky inside her. Nervous energy pulsing at mock speed.

  It could be nothing to do with her, she reminded herself, hands clasped together between her knees. A mobile home mishap.

  Or the accident that had killed her parents? The old man didn’t know that Jackson’s detective had been specifically seeking information about the possibility of a particular couple owning or renting a mobile home. Without record of paying electric, water or phone...

  “Did the sheriff say where the home had come from? Who’d been hauling it?”

  “Nope. I got the sense he didn’t know, neither. Time I moved it before...was a old couple. In Halston. No idea what this one was about. Guy probably took off before anyone knew he’d been there. Unhooked the truck and hightailed it. Me, I think maybe it was a long haul, folks not from around here buying it.” The man’s voice lowered then, and Aimee had to listen hard to hear what he said next. “If I had to guess... I’d say they was from Phoenix. Maybe used it up here for summers.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause something happened inside it. I was told not to go in. But there weren’t nothing about any bad stuff in the news up here.” Aimee could make out the words more easily again, but didn’t relax even a little bit. What happened in it? Her mind screamed the question.

  And she wanted to hightail it upstairs, too. She was done with eavesdropping. Wanted to stick to the business she was there to conduct. Getting her memories back.

  Easing her psyche so she could get on with life.

  Finding her parents? Getting to know them, again, through memories from the first three years of her life?

  Yeah. She wanted that. And took a breath or two.

  Her parents deserved to have their daughter know them.

  The old man had been talking about the big city. Kinds of things you heard about happening there that didn’t much happen “up here.” “Hell, you get a fight at The Monkey Bar here and it’s on our news in Tello.”

  Not making a sound, Aimee continued to listen.

  “So’s I told the sheriff, I’d get the thing off the road, and he tells me to take it to that ‘ol gravel pit five miles up Easter Road. You know the one...was still part of Oracle back then...”

  Part of the mine. She sat straight up, still hidden by the wall, but completely present now. Tense. Focused.

  “Why would you take a mobile home to an old gravel pit?”

  “That’s what I asked. He just asked could I do it. I says yes, but respecting him and all like I did, I still wasn’t doing it until I knows what’s up. That’s when he tells me they’re going to burn it.”

  Burn it? A broken-down mobile home?

  “Says that’s what he was told to do when he called the owner about the wreck. Owner didn’t know nothing about it being moved—guess it was a rental—but said with the way the sheriff described the thing, he didn’t want it. Sheriff knew someone at Oracle and made a deal, paid ’em some, to use that old pit for the burn. I wasn’t privy to all the legal stuff. Just know what the sheriff said. And that ’cause it was an emergency, I didn’t need a permit to get it off the road.”

  “So you moved the mobile home, we assume it was burned and that’s it,” Jackson summed up. She couldn’t tell if the slight impatience was due to the old-timer’s drawn-out way of telling the story, or by the lack of any information that could give them any proof of anything, instead of just add supposition to theory.

  Like, was it just coincidence that a mobile home was set on fire on the property of the company for which her father had worked?

  But with Sheriff Redmond involved, there wouldn’t have been foul play. The man was iconic if you did any Evergreen research. He’d even died a hero—had earned a commendation from the governor of Arizona, or so she’d read.

  “Basically, that’s it,” the older man said. “But with your detective asking, I figure you might be wanting to know about what happened inside the house which was why it was being burned.”

  “You know?” Jackson’s tone changed completely. Was staccato and intense.

  “Yep. Wasn’t moving it otherwise. I gotta’ know what I’m getting into. Couldn’t have some guy up from Phoenix after me.” The man’s voice lowered again, and Aimee leaned forward. “Was really sad, that one was,” he said. “They was burning it because of all the blood inside it. A couple. Murder-suicide. Saddest part was, they had a little ’un. A girl. Just three years old...”

  Nooooooooooo!

  Throwing her hands over her ears, Aimee pressed tight, arms moving back and forth as she shook her head. Noooooo! It wasn’t right.

  It wasn’t right.

  Rigid inside, frozen and shaking, she closed her eyes and saw nothing but darkness.

  Noooooooo! She rocked forward and back.

  It wasn’t them.

  It wasn’t them!

  He wasn’t right.

  * * *

  Every nerve in Jackson’s body went on alert when he heard the sound on the stairs. A slight brushing against the wall. A small creak of wood.

  Aimee must have heard. He had to get to her.

  “Your dad, the sheriff, he was really concerned about that little girl. You could tell it was bothering him bad, the way he was so intent on getting the place off his road and down to the pit. Burned it that same night. I know ’cuz I was bugged, too, after talking with your dad, couldn’t quit thinking about it and drove by the next day, to see the place, but there was nothing but ashes...”

  Aimee.

  Needed as much information as he could get for her.

  And, he was first and foremost the sheriff of Evergreen County, with jurisdiction over the town of Evergreen. He had to do his job. Aimee was right there. Safe.

  “Anyways...” The stooped old man in his gray beard and mostly bald head, raised his watery blue eyes to meet Jackson’s gaze. “I wanted to let you know there’d be an official report on it ifn’ you want to look it up,” he said. “I asked the sheriff for a copy so’s in case anything ever came up about me moving the place without a permit I’d have my evidence why. Don’t have my copy no more, not since I sold the rig. But as I’m remembering, it was all there, ’cept the stuff about the blood inside, where I took it or about burning it. Just said abandoned, totaled and junked. Far as I know, the driver hauling it was never caught.”

  Murder-suicide. Three-year-old girl. An untraceable home that would have been set up off the ground. Any porch would have been disposed of before moving, but...

  “Did you see the steps? Were they still attached?”

  “Nope. There’d been a deck... I know cause I tried to get a peek in the front door, and ’bout stabbed my hand clear through leaning on the board left from attaching the thing to the house, nail sticking straight out of it. They was lining the whole front of the place.”

  “What color were they?”

  “White. That one, with a red splotch from my hand. Kept reminding me that house was a bloodbath.” The man shuddered. “I moved a lot of them things. I don’t remember ’em all. But I’ll never forget that one.”

  He listened for sound behind him. Willed Aimee to be strong. Or be upstairs in her room, unaware.

  He knew better than that, though. He’d heard her. She was there.

  And should not be alone. His arms ached to hold her. To let her know...

  What? What could he let her know?

  His job was to find the truth. His best gift to her would be that. So she could get back to her life and heal. Or mourn.

  “I’ve got one more question for you,” he said, still facing Wally Landing. “Do you remember anything about how the house might have been hooked up? Any evidence of electrical wires, maybe?”

  The man’s gaze focused even more; he stood up straighter, like he felt more important. “I know for sure they’d been running it on propane,” he said. “I could smell it coming from the hose when I was boltin’ up the axels. I told the sheriff about it, said he was going to need to blow that out with an air hose before he lit fire to the thing or he’d have him some fireworks way bigger than Fourth of July.”

  Propane—no electric bill. And a tank that could be filled any number of places, paid for in cash. And if it had been on a well...no need for city services. No records. No bills for him to find.

  Even if his theory was correct, he was still missing something. Some reason someone might not want Aimee poking around.

  “That report, anything about the couple who’d been killed? Did the sheriff ever mention any names?”