Page 11 of Facing the Enemy

“My point. Someone did a stellar job of covering their tracks. The person, or persons, either followed Trenton when he left to meet with me or hacked into his phone to learn the date and place. I’ve gone over this until I’m dizzy, and I haven’t found a single piece of evidence. That’s why I returned to teaching.”

“What if someone believed Trenton had given you incriminating info about a crime? What if your brother recognized the SUV?”

I let Gage’s questions roll around in my mind a bit longer. “I guess we’ll never have an answer. Gage, I’m done with this call. You conduct your job, and I’ll educate young minds.”

“What about us?”

I stumbled for the right words when I wanted to tell him I cared. More than cared, loved him. Love meant sacrifice, and I refused to lose him too.

“Risa, we’ve dodged the subject for too long.”

“Not until I find my brother’s killer.”

He sighed. “I’m praying you won’t get hurt.”

I appreciated Gage’s gesture, but I wasn’t going there. I noted the time. “I can’t be late for class.” He wished me luck, and I dropped my phone into my purse.

No sister should lose a younger brother who had his whole life ahead of him. A soul brimming with vitality. All our conversations, laughter, and hope vanished in a vapor. It’s not enough that he lived in my heart. I wanted to hug him. Hear his voice and silly puns.

I flew solo without Trenton or Gage. I didn’t even have my parents. From now on, memories would have to pacify me. Stiffening my spine, I opened the car door. Grief was a vicious parasite. It had dug and clawed its way into my heart, feeding off the guilt raging through me. But I’d find a way to exterminate it.

“Are you Miss Jacobs?” a young man called out from the sidewalk leading into the building.

I studied him. Habit. Fifteen feet away. Slender. Tousled dark hair. Jeans. Black T-shirt with Jimi Hendrix playing guitar. “Yes, I am.”

He approached me and stuck out his hand. “Carson Lowell. I’m in your creative writing class.”

Clear blue eyes. Confident. Fresh out of high school. “Great to meet you. I’m excited about the semester. What type of writing appeals to you?”

“Murder mysteries. Suspense. Thrillers. Can’t get enough of them.”

5

DECEMBER

GAGE

My cubicle closed in on me while memories of the cases Risa and I had worked scrolled through my mind. I picked up a framed photo of us from an FBI Citizens Academy fundraiser taken last fall. Three months had passed since she’d returned to teaching college kids. Not one word from her.

I missed her insight into crimes ... her perspective ... her sweet face and rare giggle ... the way she walked or rather sashayed. I should have told her my feelings, but the past tormented me, stopped me, made me feel like half a man. How could I judge her for her silence when I carried my own demons?

A text from Jack, my new partner, diverted my attention. I wanted to ignore him except he deserved more respect than I’d dished out. With a sigh, I read the text.

I’m working out at 5:30. Want to join me?

You and I have too much work to do.I considered my nasty attitude and typed,Sure. Dinner afterward? On me.

Something up?

I’ve been a pain and need to apologize—over a steak.

At the scheduled hour, I entered the fitness room of the FBI building ready to mend my relationship with Jack. The cool and filtered air masked the sweat from agents beating up their bodies to keep them in shape. Some worked out before the day began, but I preferred after hours when the stress level pounded my otherwise semi-good nature.

SAC Dunkin, often referred to as Donut behind his back, talked near the weights with Jack. The SAC’s physique had more to do with discipline in the gym than glazed sugar and grease.

Jack reminded me of a bulldog—wrinkled brow, grumpy frown, and large, jowly cheeks, but his mind was like a steel trap. More like brilliant. Once Jack found a piece of evidence, he chewed and drooled until he got to the marrow.

I greeted both men. “Relieving stress?”