The Marshal

At that, Brent’s lips spread slowly, like melting butter inching across his face, and Jenna’s brain seized. The man had a smile—one he didn’t show too often—that could spark a fire in a saturated forest.

“Heaven, huh?”

“Pure. I am sorry, though. Really.”

Not really.

“You don’t look sorry.”

But the sinful grin told her he was enjoying the game as much as she was. Sure, she liked flirting. Did it often and with purpose. But with Brent, it was just plain fun. They both knew the spark was there. They’d just chosen not to do anything with it.

At least until she’d groped him and decided they definitely needed to do something with it.

The sheriff stepped into view at the end of the hallway. “It got quiet. You two okay?”

Brent’s gaze traveled to the open buttons on her blouse and back up, giving her a heavy dose of eye contact. “Are we okay?”

“We are A-okay, Sheriff. Just having a little powwow here.”

“Powwow,” Brent said. “Is that what it’s called?”

“It is now, big boy.”

A squeak from the back of the house sounded and Brent winced, the move so small she’d almost missed it. In the second it took him to realize she’d witnessed his unguarded response, he threw his shoulders back and jerked a thumb toward the end of the hallway.

“Someone’s at the back door. Probably my uncle. Let me check this.”

Turning from her, he strode to the end of the hall, hung a right and headed to the kitchen.

If it was his uncle, she’d get an opportunity to put a face to a name. As she always did, she’d lay on the Miss Illinois-Runner-Up charm and let him get comfortable with her before interviewing him. She may have been rejected by the FBI, but they were clueless at how adept she was at handling men. Her four brothers could attest to that.

Regardless, everyone here the night of the murder needed to be interviewed. Any one of them could hold one small detail they deemed irrelevant, but might actually be important. Anything was possible.

Even twenty-three years later.

“Hey,” Brent said. “Figured it was you.”

“We just came from dinner.” Male voice. A little gravelly. Older. “I saw your car outside. You didn’t call.”

Jenna and the sheriff stood in the living room giving Brent privacy with his uncle. At least she guessed it was his uncle.

“The day got away from me,” Brent said. “Come into the living room. I want you to meet someone.”

“Really?” The gravelly voice raised with that recognizable tone every unmarried, twenty-eight-year-old woman knew and sometimes, in her case, despised.

Did Brent’s uncle think he was bringing a love interest home to meet his family? And what? Showing his girlfriend the place where his mother was murdered?

Twisted.

But, well, she’d seen plenty of twisted in this line of work. Simply put, people were weird. Brent just didn’t strike her as one of the weird ones.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Brent said.

“You’re not getting any younger.”

Finally, Brent laughed. “As you keep telling me.”

He stepped into the room, his uncle on his heels. Given Brent’s size it was no shocker that his uncle stood a good six inches shorter. He wore tattered jeans with an untucked flannel shirt over a T-shirt. His scuffed work boots clunked against the hardwood as he came into the room. Under the brim of his baseball cap, one which Jenna’s mother would ask him to remove in the house, his gaze shot to Jenna and then to the sheriff.

He nodded. “Sheriff, everything all right?”

“Just fine, Herb. Brent asked me to meet him here.”

“Uncle Herb, this is Jenna Hayward.”

Herb removed his cap, came toward her and shook her hand. “Hello.”

“Jenna is a private investigator.”

That got his attention. He looked at Brent, and then swung back to Jenna.

“No fooling?”

“No fooling,” she said. “I work for a law firm.”

Brent waggled a hand. “Remember the lawyer from last spring?”

“The mouthy blonde?”

“Seriously,” Brent said, “you did not just say that.”

Oh, he sure had and Jenna couldn’t help smiling at the spot-on description of her boss. “That’s her. She’s one of my bosses.”

Brent glanced at her. “Sorry. They were asking me about Penny and I was trying to describe her. I didn’t mean it the way it sounds.” He went back to his uncle. “Jenna is helping on Mom’s case. The sheriff came by with files.”

“Good to hear. I’m glad you’ll get some help on this.” Brent’s uncle addressed Jenna. “We need to get her justice. She was a good girl.”

His uncle gripped Brent’s arm, clearly a gesture of affection and support, and something kicked against Jenna’s ribs. Brent’s father may have abandoned his family, but his uncle sure hadn’t. These poor people. All these years they’d been struggling with loss and heartbreak and injustice. “Brent, do you mind if I talk with your uncle a bit?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

But Brent didn’t move.

“Alone?”

For a moment, he continued to stand there and then he blinked. There we go. Slowly, it all registered. “Gotcha. I’ll walk outside with the sheriff. Get those files for you.”

“And, hey,” his uncle said, “head over and see your aunt. She misses you. Jamie is there. Catch her before she goes home.”