Cold Case Witness. Sarah Varland

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      “She’s telling you the truth about what she thinks happened. I believe that.” But Shiloh clearly didn’t believe it had been an actual attack. And she seemed to think that he shouldn’t have been so quick to believe it, either.

      Had he lost all sense of his judgment at the sight of a pretty face? Matt was mostly sure the answer was no, but still, doubts haunted his mind. “I think she’s telling me what really happened.”

      “Even though I have no evidence for you that backs that up?”

      He hesitated. He didn’t know Gemma, not really. And he knew and trusted Shiloh.

      “I don’t know.” He let out a puff of air. Frustration, plain and simple.

      “Just be careful, Matt. I know what this job means to you and I’m afraid that from what I’ve heard, Gemma doesn’t exactly mix well with the Treasure Point Police Department. She may have helped with her testimony in that case, but it sounds as if she caused a lot of trouble, made them really work for the information they did get.”

      She’d been seventeen. Was he the only one who remembered that?

      “Careful. I hear you,” he promised Shiloh.

      Matt hung up the phone and opened his door, slid into the car. “Sorry, quick work call. I’m ready to go.”

      “No news, I’m guessing?”

      Her brown eyes were hopeful. This wasn’t the face of a woman who was lying. Be careful... Shiloh’s warning faded in his mind the more he searched Gemma’s gaze.

      He shook his head, started driving in the direction of the Hamilton House. They’d swing by there, pick up Gemma’s phone while officers were still there finishing their investigation. She could get her car another time, but Matt wasn’t comfortable with her being alone in this condition. Then they’d head to his house. She’d wanted to go somewhere safe to talk, and that was the best place he could think of.

      Deciding who to trust was a big part of his job. Matt could only hope he’d chosen wisely.

THREE

      Inside Matt’s house, Gemma could do nothing but stare. She’d expected that with a steady job and without his dad’s alcohol habit, Matt would have a nicer place than he and his dad had had in high school, but she hadn’t been expecting this. From the outside, it was a cedar cabin-like structure, two stories with a wide deck on the front. But the inside...

      The front door opened into a living room with a ceiling that must have been close to twelve feet tall. She’d taken a deep breath when she’d walked in, exhaled and felt her shoulders relax almost unconsciously. The floor was knotty pine that was well polished and gorgeous, much like the stone counters that gleamed in the kitchen, which she could see from the living room.

      “Everything okay?” Matt’s gaze was amused, to say the least.

      Flustered, she felt herself blush, but didn’t know what to say.

      “Hey, I was kidding, I’m sure it doesn’t look like you pictured.” Matt motioned to his living room couch that looked as though she could sink back in it and let all of her stress evaporate off her very tired shoulders. “Please, sit.”

      She eyed the couch again and took the big chair in the corner instead. She wasn’t willing to let herself relax like that, not yet.

      It was jarring to discover that she’d been right all along, ten years earlier. Someone else had been involved in the smuggling ring. Most likely had been the one in charge.

      And he’d killed someone.

      She swallowed hard, prayed she wouldn’t have to run to the trash can at the revulsion that thought caused. Fear, terror, disgust... They knotted together inside.

      “What do you know about the identity of the body they found today?” she asked Matt. Thinking of it clinically like this, detached as though she was part of the investigation, made her feel more in control.

      Less afraid.

      Matt shook his head. “Nothing for sure and nothing I could share anyway.”

      Gemma sat up straighter. “Why am I here, then? You expect me to tell you something but you’re not going to share information?”

      “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

      She stood up, moved to the kitchen. “Because I knew you’d come ask me questions eventually anyway. I came tonight to get it over with.” She heard her voice growing louder, but she didn’t care. Maybe she was tired of dealing with all of this, maybe it was the lingering effect of the carbon monoxide or the treatment they’d given her at the doctor’s office to counteract it—but she didn’t want to answer his questions and then sit around and let a bunch of professionals with no personal stake in this sort it out. She wanted to be involved, to help.

      “Then, let’s talk.”

      “Not until you tell me what you know.”

      Matt was already shaking his head. “That’s not how it works.”

      “Why?”

      “You aren’t law enforcement.”

      The quiet was complete enough that she could hear her heart pounding as she stared in Matt’s direction. She’d hate to be on the receiving end of the glare she was giving him right now. “No.”

      His eyebrows rose, slowly. He was calm, in control, and it made her mad. “No?”

      She folded her arms across her chest. “You heard me.” She shifted in the chair, managed to sit up even straighter.

      “I’m a police officer and this is my investigation.”

      “And unless I’m being arrested for something I don’t have to tell you anything. Isn’t that right?”

      Matt stared at her for a few seconds. Gemma braced herself. He’d always been one of those guys who was impossible to rile, who took everything in stride, but she was being enough of a pain right now that she knew it wouldn’t be too long until he broke.

      Instead, he just nodded.

      “Then, I don’t want to,” she shot back.

      “I guess I can see why you’d feel that way. I’m making coffee. Want some?”

      His calm seemed to knock the fight out of her. Gemma nodded, felt her shoulders drop again. Coffee was always good.

      The familiar sounds of coffee being ground—so he was a coffee snob, too; who would have thought the two of them would have anything in common—relaxed her somewhat. By the time he was pouring French pressed coffee for them in his straight out of Southern Living kitchen, she was downright comfortable. The tension had left her almost entirely and she was beginning to regret her outburst. Why did she have to be so forceful when she felt strongly about something? She had to learn to hold on to some of those emotions. It would pay off in the long run, especially while she was living СКАЧАТЬ