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Taking a step closer, she tried to see what he’d been reading that had apparently been boring enough to put him to sleep. When she saw the title, her heart melted. He had told her he was trying to improve his cooking skills, and she had to admit the last few meals had been much more edible. And now she knew why. In between taking care of her and digging for intel on who had abducted her, he’d been reading cookbooks.
How could she not trust this man with her secrets? He had done nothing since she’d known him to make her believe he’d be anything but supportive, no matter what she told him.
Vowing that the instant he woke, she would spill the secret she’d been keeping, she took a step back, not wanting to disturb him. The floor creaked beneath her foot, and in an instant, Xavier’s eyes popped open.
Instantly alert, he sat up and said, “Jazz? Everything okay?”
“I…” She swallowed past her now sandpaper-dry throat and tried again. “I have something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.” His eyes went to the laptop in her hand. “Did you find something?”
“No, it’s not that. Well, it is that…but not really.”
Confusion furrowing his brow, he said, “Okaaay.”
Sometimes not having a filter worked to her advantage because if she had to think about what she was going to say, she might never get it out. Instead, like a pressurized water spout, the words spewed forth. “I know who the shooter is.”
“You do? Who?”
“Brody. My brother. He’s the one who killed Franco Bass.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Of all the things he’d thought he’d hear Jazz say, her telling him that Franco Bass’s assassin was her brother had not been on his radar.
Examining her face, he saw resolve, fear, and a whole lot of guilt. What he didn’t see was doubt.
“Sit down and tell me.”
Still gripping the laptop, Jazz perched on the edge of the chair across from him. “I know it’s him… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before… I just…” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Slow down and start from the beginning.”
As if a dam had burst, she explained how she’d followed the shooter out the door of the restaurant and what she’d seen. She described the features that had given her the notion that the shooter was her brother. She explained how and why she’d chosen to conduct her own investigation. Her abduction in the middle of that investigation had, of course, halted everything.
He now knew why she’d taken off on her own. Why she’d removed the tracker. And why she’d been investigating the case by herself. Before he could get his head wrapped around the possibility that Brody McAlister really was the assassin who’d taken out one of the Wren Project’s major players, he had to know one thing.
“Why the hell would you not tell us, Jazz? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
If guilt had had a face, it was Jazz’s. “I panicked. I thought if I could find him first, I could convince him to come in on his own and work with us.”
“Do you think your abduction had anything to do with him?”
“What?” Horror replaced the guilt. “Of course not. Brody would never have anything to do with me being hurt.”
“If the assassin truly is your brother, do you really know him anymore? Would you ever have considered that he would become a paid assassin?”
All the air left her body as she slumped down into her chair. Maybe she hadn’t considered that, and he didn’t want to hurt her any more, but it was something they needed to pursue. If—and it was a big if—the shooter actually was Brody.
“Okay, let’s go over it again. Tell me specifically why you think he’s your brother. Leave nothing out.”
With meticulous detail, which was one of her greatest gifts, Jazz described every aspect of the event, from the time the bullet had left the chamber of the gun that had killed Bass. He’d been there for the first part of it, but still he listened carefully, knowing that she often saw things he didn’t.
When she finished, he said carefully, not wanting her to shut down, “Jazz, do you not trust me?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”