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“Ah, yes, the constant battle with the dreaded ZESA.” She took a mouthful of scone, and felt it melt on her tongue. “This is divine.” She covered her mouth as she spoke.

He nodded, running his finger up and down the white bone china mug. “You said you have a photo of Dougie Cavanagh with Bjorn. Do you have it with you?”

She wiped the crumbs off her lips, reached into her purse. Hesitated. “Okay. Before I show you the photo, there’s something I didn’t tell you earlier.”

His dark brows pulled together over serious eyes. “This isn’t the time for secrets, Rowena.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m telling you now. And please call me Row. I hate Rowena. I sound like someone’s grandmother.”

“I like it. ”

The admission startled them both.

He looked away and then back again. “What didn’t you tell me?”

She dragged an envelope out of her purse. She pushed it across the table. “This contains one of the letters Dougie wrote my mom before I was born. The photograph is inside too.”

He carefully opened the letter and smoothed it out. Examined the old photograph of Dougie and Bjorn standing together and smiling.

“The letter mentions him being sorry she left so suddenly and the hope she was okay. The hope she’d write back and he could come visit her in England.”

Montana turned the photo over. The date was written there. He frowned again, and she thought it might be his default expression. He still managed to look handsome even when grumpy.

“You said this was written before you were born?”

“About seven months prior. There were three letters in all. That was the first one. I only brought that one with me.”

He caught her gaze. “That makes you, what, twenty-seven?”

“Twenty-eight in June.” She took another bite of scone.

His eyes traced over her features. “You don’t look that old.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, thanks. I feel about seventy-five right now.”

“Join the club.” He captured an image of the letter and photo with his cell camera and then put it back in the envelope. Slid it back across the table and met her gaze. “What didn’t you tell me?”

The blue of his eyes was darker around the edges—like true navy—and cerulean closer to the iris.

She’d read somewhere that people with blue eyes didn’t actually have any blue pigment, instead they were blue the same way the ocean was blue or the sky, because of the wavelength of light that was reflected back.

Those steady eyes watched her now with quiet intelligence.

She put the envelope back between the covers of her journal .

She swallowed, nervous now because what she’d done was fundamentally wrong.

“You can trust me, Row.” His warm hand closed over hers on the table and squeezed.

His touch sent a shiver skating over her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. He withdrew and watched her patiently.

She pulled his business card from her jeans pocket. Slid it across the table. Presumably she’d have to ditch these clothes sooner or later because of the risk of contamination from the crime scene. “When I was in Anders’ office, I spotted your card on the floor amongst all the papers?—”

“They tossed his office?”

She sipped her tea. Nodded. “Threw everything out of the drawers and stacked them against the wall. The official seal on your card caught my eye, so I reached down for it and recognized the name Montana from our conversation last night. I was shocked to realize you were with the FBI.” She licked her lips.

“Anyway. From that angle, crouched on the floor, I spotted an envelope taped to the base of the desktop, right at the back.”

Her mouth went dry as she pulled out the second brown envelope with tape still darkening the edges.

Maybe this would push the limits of the law too much for him.

Theft from a dead man seemed particularly unsavory.

She put it on the table. Slid it over the scarred wood.

Hugged herself. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I was convinced the killer had been searching for something, and I figured it might implicate them.

We all know the potential for corruption should the police find it, which they would have, given it was at the scene of a murder. ”

“You took it?” Those navy eyes sparked with something she couldn’t identify.

“I planned to send it to the family. Probably mail it from back home. But I really wanted to look at it myself first. Does that make me a terrible person? Stealing from a dead man?”

“The terrible person is whoever killed him.” He shook his head. “I’d have probably done the same thing if I’d been there. ”

She released a deep breath. “I went to ask Anders if he knew my d— I mean Dougie Cavanagh. That’s all.

Not to hurt him.” She could feel her cheeks heat.

She shouldn’t assume Cavanagh was her father.

It could literally be anyone who’d had sex with her mother back then.

Her uncle and aunt had claimed not to know, but she wasn’t sure she believed them.

Montana opened the envelope and slipped the photograph into his large palm and stared at it for a few seconds.

She couldn’t read his expression.

“When I saw him, Dougie, in that photo, there was no way I couldn’t take it with me to try to figure out who the other men were. One guy looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. I can do a reverse image search which might turn something up. Dougie died six months after that photo was taken.”

Montana turned the photo over. His jaw clenched as he slipped the photo back into the envelope and the envelope into his jacket pocket. “I’ll make sure this gets to the authorities.”

Oh .

He didn’t say which authorities, and his expression had closed down so she didn’t feel as if she could ask.

She’d taken a photo of it on her cell, so she’d have to be satisfied with that.

She dabbed her finger into the scone crumbs and finished her tea.

Montana immediately stood and gathered the dishes onto a tray and carried them inside.

She followed him out of the café, and they ran through the rain to the car.