Page 27 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I freeze as Gavin’s gaze sweeps over my face. Though I can’t quite read his expression, something’s shifted inside him.

“You’re talking about Detective Jarrod Reid?” I ask, needing to be sure.

“Yeah. That’s him. The prick who led the investigation and made sure I was convicted.”

Moments ago, those blue irises had emanated warmth, now they reveal an anger so ice-cold a shiver runs up my spine and settles at the nape of my neck.

“Are you saying he knew there was another witness?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low with barely controlled rage, “he fucking knew.”

“It’s just … he, ah, was always so helpful, so kind during the whole thing.

Even years later, he …” My voice fades away at the mask of stone staring at me, his eyes hard and unforgiving.

I take an involuntary step away. The added distance lets me take in the fists at his sides, the muscles flexing in his arms.

Suddenly, I see the man he must have been in prison.

His size, the look on his face, in his eyes.

Add to that a shaved head, he’d have intimidated the toughest of the tough.

This, I realise, is how he survived. Keeping this side of himself present at all times to avoid conflict.

It’s certainly working on me. But unlike the inmates, I’ve experienced the real person behind the shield in front of me.

The one who oozes compassion and a gentleness I never knew could exist in a man.

There’s no way I’m telling him I briefly dated the man he clearly hates.

If Gavin’s right, if Jarrod buried a witness, then the detective’s reaction to my phone call last week makes perfect sense.

But I can’t tell Gavin that either. By calling Jarrod the night of my father’s death, I royally screwed up.

And I’m fucking embarrassed by my stupidity.

Scratching the back of his head, Gavin lets out a long sigh as his gaze softens and his muscles relax. “Sorry, I didn’t mean … just the mention of that guy fills me with something so vile I don’t want it anywhere near me, let alone in me.”

That admission makes me wonder what soul-crushing terror the detective’s interrogation had on that innocent, eighteen-year-old boy.

“He hurt you?” I ask gently.

He shakes his head and sighs. “The lies are what hurt. I kept insisting my kid neighbour, Liam, saw the whole thing. But Reid categorically denied there were any witnesses besides Liam’s mother and the security guy.

Said I was making it up. Said he had me dead to rights and he’d make sure I was put away for the rest of my life. ”

“I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. No one knew but me and Liam.

Obviously, I was in no position to demand someone speak to the kid.

Even my useless lawyer thought I was full of it because Reid made sure there was no record of Liam seeing anything.

That feeling … of being trapped, deprived of any ability to prove what really happened … That was not a fun fucking time.”

The palpable stress and anguish bubbling out of him at the memory has the veins in his arms protruding, his whole body tense again.

But why would Reid do that? What could he possibly have to gain by arresting the wrong person? This whole thing is more screwed up than I imagined.

But it’s exciting, too. We might just have a new witness.

For the second time today, I reach out, my hand landing gently on his upper arm. I’ve never been a touchy-feely type of person, but something about Gavin Lake brings it out in me. I can’t seem to help myself. Which, for someone who’s always in control, is more than a little unsettling.

“Forget him. For now, anyway. This witness … Liam? Do you know his surname? Where he is now? Anything?”

“Liam Thompson. He was only six or seven at the time. I knew him enough to say hi when we saw each other on the street, but I was too old to be hanging out with a kid his age. You think, after all this time, it’ll help?”

“Oh, it’ll do more than help. It’ll show corruption, or at the very least incompetence. As long as we can find Liam, it’s not over, Gavin.”

He nods, his eyes briefly flicking to my hand resting on his arm, which I realise is squeezing a little too hard from my excitement over this new possibility.

As I let it drop away, my fingers briefly dust over his forearm.

My heart jolts at the contact. And the way he’s staring at his arm, like he’s never seen it before, I know he feels it too.

When he lifts his gaze and our eyes hold, I want to touch him again. While I battle to resist the urge, he glances away and runs a hand through his hair. I have the strangest feeling he’s trying to stop himself from touching me.

“But, ah,” I swallow, trying to concentrate. “Thompson’s a common name. You have any clues as to where we might find him?”

“Last I saw him, he was watching what happened from his bedroom window.”

“Why don’t we go for a drive? Maybe he or his parents still live there.” My heart suddenly picking up speed as the significance of that suggestion resonates through me.

“I suppose we could, but—”

“Great. Let’s go,” I say, already marching toward the car before I change my mind.

“Now?” he asks, catching up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You have other plans?” I glance at him quickly enough to see his lips twitch.

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be. I thought, maybe you do?”

“Nope. So, looks like we’re doing this.”

“Looks like it,” he agrees, though I don’t miss the reluctance in his voice.

Once we’re in the car and on the move, the rustle of paper catches my attention. I look over to see him peering into the open hamburger bag. When he spots me watching, he holds it out. I shake my head.

“Any objection if I eat it?” he asks.

“Go ahead.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch him demolish the remaining half in a couple of bites. Satisfied, he wipes his mouth and balls up the paper bag.

“What a guts,” I say in an effort to lighten the tension that’s developed since we started toward our destination.

He lets out a contented sigh and rubs his stomach. “I know, but feeling full like this is so … strange. I kind of love it and hate it at the same time.”

I shoot him a serious glare. “Do not throw up in my car.”

“I promise not to, as long as you promise not to scare the crap out of me again.”

“Deal.”

Resting his head on the headrest, he watches me. “Have you ever been there?”

“No, but I know where it is.”

A sudden thought pops into my head. My fingers clutch the wheel as the statement I made to the police all those years ago disperses dread into my blood stream.

“Jamie? Are you okay?”

I need to get that night straight in my head. When I pull up at a red light, I glance at him. “Sorry?”

“Last time we were in the car, you barely had your hands on the wheel. Right now, I don’t think Superman could pry them off.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “Seeing where your mother died … maybe we should just turn around.”

I know what he’s trying to say, but right now, what has me in knots is so disturbing, I can’t keep it in.

“Have you ever believed something so entirely that you’d swear your life on it,” I ask quietly, “only to have your world thrown off-kilter, revealing it to be a lie?”

He doesn’t push me. He simply waits.

“I remember the police asking me if Dad had been home all night. And I truly believed he was. But I just realised, he wasn’t actually with me the whole time. I was upstairs, giving Anika a bath. For at least an hour, I didn’t see him, but …” God, how do I say it?

“What’re you thinking?”

“There’s no way my father could have driven to your house and back. The garage door, it always made a hell of a racket every time it went up or down. I never heard it.”

When I glance over at him, he’s facing front, his jaw clenched, hands fisted on his thighs. “You don’t think he did it?”

“Gavin …” I wait until he turns and meets my eyes. “I know he did. I just don’t know how.”

A car horn beeps behind me. The lights have changed. I get moving again, hating the way he’s doubting me. I suppose, after a decade and a half of no one believing him, he’s finding it hard to trust. And I want him to trust me.

“The cops never bothered to even look at your father, let alone how he might’ve done it.” The bitterness dripping from his words sound nothing like him. “They had their man and that was that.”

“Clearly the police failed in their duty to conduct a thorough investigation. If we can prove that they literally let the real killer walk free right under their noses, that they buried the fact there was another witness, well … you’re not only going to get your conviction overturned, Gavin, you have a strong chance of receiving compensation as well. ”

He scoffs in disbelief.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get what you’re entitled to.”

His intense look of gratitude has tears threatening, forcing me to blink rapidly to keep them at bay.

When we’re about five minutes from the scene of the crime, he asks, “Did you live around here?”

“We did, but after Mum’s death, we moved to where I am now.”

“It’s taken almost an hour to get here.”

I glance at the clock on the dash. “And?”

“Just … it took you an hour to drive out to me. Now an hour to get here. There’s no way you’re taking me home. I’ll get an Uber back once we’re done.”

I almost protest about that costing a fortune, but think better of it. He won’t appreciate being reminded of how little money he has, especially since I’m the one who had this bright idea. Instead, I say, “I love driving.”

He lets out an amused snort. “If you can call it that.”

I grin as I take the turn into the Sharman Grove Estate.