Chapter 9
With a mug of steaming coffee in hand, I sit on Shawn’s couch, my Bible open before me. I’ve showered and dressed for the day, and I’m feeling a lot better now than when I first crawled out of that ridiculously comfortable bed this morning.
A workout will definitely do that. And a workout in the same vicinity as Detective Shawn Sampson? It should be illegal to be so attractive that it’s distracting. Especially when a relationship with him isn’t remotely close to something I want. Right?
It’s even more than surface attraction, too, which isn’t something I thought I could ever admit. But he’s so much more than I thought he was.
He’s caring.
Sensitive.
I lift my gaze toward the sliding glass door as I hear it open.
He looks frustrated now, his blond hair a mess on top of his head as if he’s been running his hand through it. A habit I’ve noticed he does relatively often when frustrated. “Everything okay?” I ask, closing my Bible and setting it on the coffee table.
He comes around to sit on the chair across from me. “That was my captain.”
“Okay.”
“He hasn’t changed his mind about me looking into your husband’s death.”
Frustration threatens the peace I found only moments ago. “What? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Even after the attacker told me to stop looking into it or I would be killed, too?”
Shawn sighs. “Captain Reynolds believes that you heard what you wanted to hear. Traumatized woman and all that.”
“Traumatized woman?” I growl. “I may have been terrified, but I’m not going to imagine things that don’t happen.”
“I know that,” he says.
“I can’t believe this. A direct threat related to the case, and they still won’t take me seriously.” Desperate to move, I get to my feet.
“We’ll figure it out.”
I turn toward him. “We’ll? You were told to leave it alone.”
He stands and shoves both hands into his pockets. “I never was good at following directions when I didn’t agree with them.”
I can’t tear my gaze from him. Is he serious? “You could get into trouble.”
“Oh, I offered to resign if they catch me.”
“Shawn. No. What?”
“I became a cop to find the truth. If I back down from every bully who doesn’t want me to ruffle a few feathers, then I wouldn’t be able to do my job. Reynolds is worried about his own career, I’m not.”
“But you could lose your job.”
“And you could lose your life. Are you going to stand there and tell me you plan to walk away from this?”
I stare at him, completely and utterly entranced by his willingness to sacrifice everything to help me find the truth.
“Why?” I whisper.
Shawn crosses his arms. “Why what?”
“Why are you helping me? Why are you risking everything? Like you said, this isn’t in your jurisdiction, but you told me that you’d keep going even if it cost you your badge. That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Your attack was in my jurisdiction,” he says, completely ignoring my question.
“Sure, but Paul’s accident wasn’t.”
“Paul’s murder,” Shawn corrects, “may not have been in my jurisdiction, or Seattle PD’s, but it clearly wasn’t handled properly. I had some vacation time. Now is as good a time as any to use it.”
Guilt settles heavily on top of my shoulders. “You can’t risk your job for me, Shawn. I won’t let you.”
“I’m taking vacation,” he replies. “We can call it a hobby.”
“Solving murders is your hobby?”
“No. Crocheting is.” He heads toward the kitchen. “But solving a ten-year-old murder is a close second.”
Before I can think about it, I reach out and grab his arm as he passes by me. Shawn freezes beneath my touch, then turns his head to look at me, eyes darkening.
“Sorry. I just…” Trailing off, I release his arm and cross my arms because I can’t pretend I didn’t feel it—that instant, electric connection the moment my hand touched him. “I don’t want you to get fired for me.”
“And I don’t want to get a call that you’re dead. We both know you won’t quit looking into this, and I don’t trust anyone else to keep you alive. So, for the time being, Counselor, we’re stuck together.”
“Would you stop if you were me?”
“No. If someone murdered the person I loved, there is no one in this world who could stop me from finding the truth.”
The heaviness between us is too much.
There’s too much tension.
Too much…everything.
So, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Crochet, huh?”
He shrugs. “My mom taught me, and it stuck.”
Shawn’s been standing in the same spot, hovering over his kitchen table for the last three hours. He’s barely moved, aside from drinking the coffee I keep refilling for him and making marks on the map spread out to his right.
Meanwhile, I’ve been making notes of everything I remember from the last few days Paul was alive.
It’s been painful to relive these moments, specifically the fighting, but if I can remember something he might have said, then maybe I can find another lead for us.
Someone knocks on the door, so Shawn straightens and rolls his shoulders before crossing the living room. I don’t miss the way his hand hovers over the weapon holstered at his lower back as he peers through the peephole in his door.
His hand drops, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as he pulls open the door to reveal an older woman with a cooler in hand. A red scarf is tied around her short silver hair, and she beams up at Shawn as if he’s her favorite person in the world.
“Hey, Ma,” he greets as he leans down to kiss her on the cheek and takes the cooler from her.
“I’m here with lunch.” She shuts the door, then smiles at me as I stand. “You must be the lawyer.”
“I suppose that’s me,” I reply with a friendly smile as she rushes over to take my hand in hers. “Beckett.”
“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Beckett. I’m Samantha. Shawn told me what happened to you and that you both were hard at work, so I figured I would bring some food over. I hope that’s okay?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, my stomach already growling. “Thank you.”
“You are so welcome, honey.” She releases me and heads into the kitchen where Shawn is standing.
Now that I can see her fully, I see the resemblance between mother and son. Their eyes are the exact same shade of hazel, their smiles similar. Happy and genuine.
Though this woman certainly seems to smile a lot more than her son.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Shawn insists.
“I know, but I wanted to. Oh!” She claps her hands together and squats down as Trigger rushes in to greet her. “There’s my boy. Don’t worry, I brought something for you, too.” She straightens, then shoos Shawn with both hands. “Out. Go work. I’ve got this.”
“I can help—”
“I’ve got this,” she repeats then washes her hands.
Shawn puts both of his up and steps out of the kitchen, though he doesn’t go back to the table. I notice the way he watches her, the concern that never quite leaves his face.
“So, how are you feeling today, Beckett?” Samantha asks as she starts unloading glass food containers from the cooler. My stomach growls just looking at the food.
“Better. My throat’s a little sore, and my head is achy, but I’m okay.”
“You have a headache?” Shawn asks as he turns toward me. “You didn’t say anything.”
Is that concern I see for me, too? “Because it’s not bad. I get migraines, so I’m careful about what I take medicine for.”
“Smart girl. Migraines are the worst. I used to get them, but luckily I’ve been free of those buggers for the last few years. I suppose that’s one upside to battling cancer.”
My stomach plummets. “Cancer? I’m so sorry.”
Shawn swallows hard and shoves both hands into his pockets. As he does, the words I brushed off last night come flooding back. “My mom stayed with me a while.” Is that because he took care of her?
Is that why he’s hovering now?
“I appreciate that, honey. But I’m doing fine these days. As I keep trying to tell Shawn. He’s a worrier.” The love on her face is so evident, just as the affection Shawn has for her is on his.
It’s strange—I’d painted this picture of him in my head.
Arrogant.
Self-centered.
But now I’m starting to think I was way off base. Because the sides I’ve seen since he showed up at that hotel room speak of a different man entirely.
Clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, Shawn heads back toward the computer while his mother starts humming as she prepares lunch.
My gaze shifts completely to Shawn, though, and I try to imagine what things might have been like if it had been this version of him I’d seen on our first date.
Would we still be together?
Would we have found a way to make it work despite the geographical obstacle of living in two different states?
His attention moves from the computer in front of him to me, and those captivating eyes hold mine. For a moment, the rest of the world fades away, leaving the two of us standing here, unable to look away from each other.
The attraction has always been there.
But is it possible there could have been more if things had gone a little differently that night?