Christmas Confessions. Kathleen Long

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      The detective’s hand stilled on the card he’d been reading and he lifted his gaze to hers. “Any thoughts?”

      Did she know what she wanted to say this week? Which secret confessions she wanted to feature?

      She’d had three cards picked out and her thoughts ready to go, but that had been yesterday. Yesterday, before her sense of reality had been turned on its ear.

      Today, she could think of only one message. One card.

       She shouldn’t have ignored me.

      “I want to flush him out.” She braced herself, expecting a harsh response from Jack.

      Instead, the detective narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, reached for the outstretched coffee cup and took a long drink.

      The man took his time before he answered, and Abby could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. The depth of his concentration turned his caramel eyes chocolate and his sharp features smooth.

      Abby swallowed down the sudden tightness in her throat at the precise moment the detective spoke.

      “Do it.”

      Abby blinked, surprised by his lack of objection. “Really?”

      He shrugged with his eyes. “That’s the answer you wanted, correct?” Jack gestured to the piles of cards, the thousands they’d spent the night sorting.

      Abby could follow his thoughts without him saying a word. They hadn’t found another card like the first two, and out of thousands and thousands of postcards, they’d found only a handful of cards without a postmark.

      What were the odds the two cards—the photos of Melinda Simmons and Emma Grant—both happened to slide through the United States Post Office machines unscathed? Fairly high, she’d imagine.

      Somehow, whoever had sent those cards had gotten around the system, but how?

      “He either hand-delivered the cards or slipped them into your post office box,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “He’s closer than you think, Ms. Conroy. The sooner we find him, the better.”

      Abby’s belly tightened. “How close?”

      The detective dropped his focus back to the pile of postcards sitting in front of him. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

      A SHORT WHILE LATER, Jack shifted his focus from the remaining stacks of cards to Abby Conroy herself.

      He watched her as she sorted through a stack, pulling at her lower lip with her top teeth as she concentrated. She tucked a wayward strand of long, sleek hair behind her ear then abruptly looked up at Jack, as if she’d sensed him watching.

      Her eyebrows drew together. “Something I can do for you?”

      Even as exhausted as he knew the woman must be, determination and stubbornness blazed in her expression. She was a spitfire, of that there was no doubt.

      Jack shook his head, realizing he must be more tired than he realized. He’d allowed the woman to catch him openly staring at her.

      Busted.

      Then he asked the question he’d been pondering since he’d first set foot inside the Don’t Say a Word office.

      “I can’t help but wonder why someone like you felt compelled to solicit all of—” he gestured to the thousands of cards on the table “—this. Don’t you have demons of your own to contend with?”

      Abby’s throat worked as if he’d hit a nerve. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to give others a vehicle, a safe and anonymous way to cleanse their conscience.”

      “Because you don’t have a way?”

      “Maybe I’m just a sympathetic person, Detective.”

       Detective.

      He had hit a nerve.

      Abby dropped her focus back to the stack of cards, effectively telling him to buzz off without saying so. What she couldn’t realize was that her nonverbal response had set off the investigative portion of Jack’s brain.

      The woman had tapped into his curiosity as soon as they’d met, with her all-American looks and her stubborn demeanor, but now that Jack had stolen a glimpse through the crack in her protective wall, he wanted more. He wanted the full story.

      “You’re right, though,” he said, never taking his focus from her, wanting to read her response.

      “Right about the site?”

      “Right about the cards.”

      That got her attention and she lifted her curious gaze, her eyes the color of a clear, winter sky.

      “I think Melinda’s card was the first. There’s nothing here to suggest this guy’s reached out to you before last week.”

      “But you think he’ll reach out again?” She spoke slowly, using his terminology.

      Jack nodded.

      “I don’t understand why.” Her voice tightened. “Why Don’t Say a Word? And what does he hope to gain?”

      “That, Ms. Conroy, is the sixty-million-dollar question.”

      She disappeared after that, claiming the need to clear her head. Jack couldn’t blame her.

      They’d been working all night and the truth was, the cold, cruel world outside had marched right into her life the moment Jack had arrived on the scene and burst her crank-postcard-theory bubble.

      He’d have been surprised if she didn’t need space at some point.

      As for Jack, he’d finished sorting postcards and didn’t care if he never saw another so-called confession again in his life.

      What he needed to do now was to get back to his hotel. He had calls to make and a former suspect to track down.

      When footfalls sounded behind him, Jack never guessed anyone but Abby would be stepping into the conference room.

      He rocked back in the chair without turning around. “I’m not finding anything.”

      But the voice that answered wasn’t Abby’s.

      “What was it you were looking for?” Humor tangled with curiosity in Robert Walker’s voice.

      Jack straightened, pushing himself out of the chair to greet Abby’s partner. “Surprised to see you here on a Saturday.”

      “I should probably say the same thing to you.” Robert looked as impeccable today as he had the day before. He held a cup of designer coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “I had some paperwork to get caught up on. End of the month bills, et cetera.”

      The other man’s gaze skimmed Jack from head to toe. The look of disdain СКАЧАТЬ