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“That’s perfect.”The reply comes from the ghostly figure now hovering between Jake and me. I hand the rock to the detective. “One more time before we go.”

His feet eat the space between us until he towers over me, his face inches away, his gaze searching mine. His posture is more desperate than threatening. The sun, low on the horizon, shines on him and makes the color of his eyes nearly translucid, like an invitation to peer into his soul. So much pain hidden away in the corners of his heart. “What did you say?” His voice is low and urgent.

I hold the rock out to him. “One more time before we go.”

He steps back, turns away from me, runs both hands through his hair, and faces me again. I hold the rock on my open palm.

His hands go to his waist, and he stares at the rock in some kind of internal battle. Then steps closer and takes the stone from my hand. Walks to the water and positions himself sideways, bends at the knees, and flicks the rock over the water. It skips, and I silently count. One, two, three, four, five times before the lake claims it.

He watches the water until the ripples die away, then walks to the table and grabs his forgotten sunglasses and the balled-up paper bag. He waits for me to follow him.

I smile at the figure beside him, the old man who told me to find a rock and what to say. His grandfather.

Chapter11

Jake

My feet pound the ground.I slow down my jog as I turn onto the beachside trail toward my SUV. The scent of salt and sea coats the breeze. The grass around the path is wet with dew—it shines like diamonds under the early morning sun.

Up ahead another jogger joins the path from one of the many tracks that spill into the main one flanking the beach. Ava. I allow myself to enjoy the view, and I’m not referring to the ocean. The small shorts she wears showcase a nice round ass, strong and lean legs. The crop top matches the bottom. The hot pink color shouldn’t look good on anyone other than a flamingo, but she can pull it off. Her ponytail bounces with each stride she takes.

She checks her watch and slows her pace. I do the same so as to not overtake her. She looks over her shoulder, and I glance down, so she doesn’t feel threatened.

“Jake?”

She turns and jogs backward so she can face me.

I come up next to her, and she turns forward again. I match my paces to hers. “You like to run?”

She glances at me and smirks. “That’s why I’m running.” She’s not even breathless.

I’m an idiot. “I meant . . .” I don’t know what I meant. “Just surprised. I didn’t know you ran.”

“I do. Every day unless something gets in the way. Like snow or work.”

We are nearing the parking lot, and I point at my SUV. “Want some water?”

“Sure.”

We jog to my SUV. I reach for the cooler in the back seat, take a bottle out, and give it to her. She presses the ice-cold bottle to her neck and face. I can’t take my eyes off her. The gesture is both innocent and alluring. The image will be permanently burned into my brain. Arousal awakens a part of me that the thin shorts will fail to hide. I remove my damp T-shirt and use it to wipe my chest, making sure to hold it in front of me.

Her eyes widen. She stops mid-sip and drinks me in instead. Which doesn’t help the situation in my shorts. I grab my water bottle and dump half over my head. Drain the rest in one go and hope it will tame the situation below my waist.

What the hell? I have better self-control than this. I’m not a green boy. This is the third time I’ve met her, and it’s been a constant battle between being annoyed, angry, or turned on. Sometimes, all three at once. I need to get a grip.

She steps to the side and starts doing cool-down stretches. I know I should do the same, but my dick can’t decide if it’s going to behave or not. She bends down and touches her toes, her flexible body bent in half. That’s definitely a no on the behaving part. I should get out of here before I embarrass myself.

She keeps stealing glances at me. I step to the side and do stretches as well. “How long do you usually jog?”

“Usually six miles, give or take. I don’t always have a view as beautiful as this one.” She points to the sea. “When I do, I might go a little longer. What about you? Been jogging for a while?”

I toss my shirt into the back seat of my SUV. “Today or in general?”

She’s doing side lunges now. “Both?”

“I don’t run as often or as far as you. Usually, three or four miles a few times a week. I was never a runner until I joined the Army. Got used to it. Keeping fit goes with the job, and I enjoy it now.”

She brings a knee up to her chest. “Hit me up next time you go for a run. Maybe I can get you up to six.” Her smile is teasing, like a dare.