Chapter 2
Jack
I’M FINISHING UP a weight session in my home gym when my doorbell starts ringing like mad. Seeing as it’s 9:30 on a Wednesday night, my inner antenna immediately shoots up. Who is showing up at my house at this hour? Did I forget I had plans with someone?
I grab a towel off the stack on a nearby shelf and pound my way upstairs. The doorbell continues to be rung at a steady, insistent pace, and now I’m starting to get annoyed.
“Hold your dang horses,” I shout as I approach the door. “I’m coming.”
Whoever it is doesn’t listen. I’m greeted by a fresh wave of dings.
“Enough already!” I growl as I yank the door open. The reproof dies on my lips as I take in the person standing there. My towel falls to the floor. “Nora,” I croak, my mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper. I’ve dreamed of a moment like this for the last three years. Now that she's actually here, I can say without a doubt that she’s even more beautiful than in those dreams. Her raven hair is swept up in a low bun; her eyes shine even more brightly green than I remember; even her curves are somehow more defined, the tuck of her shirt into the high waist of her skirt accentuating her—wait, is that blood on her shirt?
No, not just on it—all over it.
My gaze turns from appreciative to scrutinous now, and I realize the bun I was just admiring is loose, countless strands pulled wild and free. Her green eyes do shine bright, but with what I now see is panic. And her shirt…it’s covered in blood.
“Nora,” I’m at her side in a second, examining her for the source of the blood, “what happened? Where is all of that blood coming from? We need to call an ambulance. Where’s my phone?” I fumble for it in the pocket of my gym shorts, but as I take it out Nora speaks for the first time, her voice low and laced with despair.
“No, don’t call an ambulance. Please.” Her eyes find mine, haunting me with their anguish. “It’s not my blood, Jack.”
“Wait, what?” My phone crashes down to my side. “What do you mean it’s not your blood? Whose is it?” Something silver glints in my periphery, and I look past her to my driveway. “And whose BMW is that?”
“I did something really bad, Jack,” her voice cracks and fear spirals inside me. I don’t have to ask anymore questions. The instincts I’ve honed from years of working in homicide drive my body forward, past Nora and to the parked car.
A sharp expletive bursts out of me as I take in the dead body splayed out in the passenger seat, a knitting needle jammed into his throat.
“I didn’t mean to!” Nora is behind me, fluttering around like a little butterfly. A murderous butterfly.
This last thought pulls me up short. Yes, there’s a dead body in front of me; and yes, I’m pretty certain Nora confessed to being responsible for said dead body; but I know Nora. If she killed this guy, he deserved it.
My hands form fists at my sides as the prospects of what exactly he may have done to her to deserve this run through my mind.
“Did he hurt you?” I say tightly, reminding myself that you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.
She lets out a humorless laugh, finally stopping her nervous prancing to stand next to me. “I bring a dead body to your house and confess that I killed him, and you’re worried about if I got hurt? You don’t want to— I don’t know— arrest me for murder?”
I turn to face her. “You didn’t answer my question….Did. He. Hurt you?”
Tears spark her eyes. “He tried,” she whispers. White hot rage blinds my vision, and I whirl away from her, placing both hands on the top of the car as I let out an almighty roar.
“Jack!” Nora’s voice is urgent in my ear as her hands wrap around my bicep. “Shhh!” she hisses. “What will the neighbors think?”
I barely hear her, too distracted by the feel of her soft palms on my bare skin. The contact calms me somewhat, and I let out a long slow breath, then lower my hands off the car and turn back to her.
“Are you okay?” My voice is hoarse as I let my gaze sweep over her body, checking for injury. There’s a faint bruise on her left wrist and, before I can remind myself that it’s not my right to touch her anymore, I’m lifting it gently to examine it more closely.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she murmurs.
“I’ll kill him,” I growl.
“He’s already dead.”
“Then I’ll find a way to resurrect the jerk so I can kill him again.”
“Jack.”
“Nora.”
She sighs, lifting her hand to her forehead and kneading circles over it.
“I need your help,” she finally says. “And I know given what happened between us three years ago it’s inappropriate for me to even ask, let alone expect you to say yes, but Jack…this is bad.”
“It was self-defense,” I say, but there’s no real force behind the statement. Self-defense is notoriously hard to prove in court. Not to mention the length a trial could take. The effect that could have on her career and personal life could be devastating. As for jail time…
I can’t complete the thought. The idea of Nora anywhere near a jail cell makes my blood boil…my chest burn with fury…my heart ache.
Nora stumbles back, away from me. “Of course. I’m sorry. I should never have come here.” She fumbles around the car, heading for the driver’s seat.
“Nora, wait.” Either she doesn’t hear me or she doesn’t care to listen, because she yanks the car door open and lowers herself inside. A second later the engine purrs to life.
I dash around the car before she can take off on me.
“Nora, wait!” I repeat, louder this time to compensate for the window between us. She finally looks my way, her eyes gutting me with their vulnerability. I blink, attempting to sever the hold she has on me. I should step away from the car and let her go. Why would I allow myself to get further entangled with this woman’s mess when she made it clear three years ago that she didn’t want me? Yes, I should just back away from the vehicle and go into my house. I can always advocate for her in court. Any rational, law-abiding citizen would consider that doing my part to help.
Instead I find myself motioning to her to roll down the window. She does so, and I place my hands on the car door, angling my body so that my head looks through the window at her.
“What’s your plan, Nora?” I ask incredulously. “You come here and ask me for my help, then, when I don’t jump at the opportunity to throw myself into the middle of a murder coverup you decide to bolt? What are you going to do, flee the state with a dead body in your front seat? For Pete’s sake, Nora!” I rake an agitated hand through my hair. “You do realize if I don’t come forward with the information you’ve given me, that makes me guilty by association. I’d be obstructing justice!” My voice rises. “Me, a homicide detective. I could lose my job! I could go to prison!”
“I’m sorry!” Nora shouts back. “Turn me in, then! I’d hate to offend your freaking principles with my problems.”
Her words are loud and angry, but all I see is the way her hands shake on the steering wheel and the quiver of her lips. I let out a long string of expletives.
I come from a long line of law enforcers. My great-grandpa was in the Army Police Corps, my grandpa was a police chief, and my dad served on the local force for over thirty years. It’s embedded into my very nature to both enforce and follow rules.
Which is why what I say next makes no dang sense.
“Pull the car into my garage, Nora,” my voice is wary but firm, “then come in the house. I’ll get you some clothes to change into, then you can tell me the full story, after which, we’ll see what we can do to fix this.” I push off her car and stride toward my garage to open it, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose against the headache forming there.
It probably goes without saying, but in all of the reunion scenarios I’d imagined with Nora over the years, none of them involved covering up a murder.