Another three years of working cold cases with her had slowly pulled him back toward both faith and hope. Her quiet prayers. Her certainty that God cared about justice for forgotten victims.
Until the night she told him she loved him—and the terror of losing someone else had driven him away from both Annie and God.
The radio crackled, jerking him back to the present.
“Unit Forty-Seven, respond to 438 Main Street. Assault and breaking and entering. Victim secure. Requesting detective on scene.”
Jack was already reaching for his jacket before the dispatcher finished. Any excuse to escape the ghosts on his desk was welcome.
The drive took less than five minutes in Fairview, but his mind wandered along familiar streets. He’d lived here most of his life. Every corner, every family, every buried secret.
That was the blessing and curse of small-town policing. Nothing stayed hidden for long—and everyone’s business became public property.
He parked behind the ambulance and patrol car, noting the small crowd of neighbors gathered despite the late hour. News of violence traveled fast here.
“What do we have?” he asked Officer Martinez at the door.
“Break-in at the antique shop,” Martinez said. “Victim’s a thirty-three-year-old female. Banged up but nothing serious. Says the intruder was after something specific.” He glanced at his notes. “A locket. Suspect fled when she called 911.”
“Description?”
“Tall. Broad-shouldered. Masked. Male voice. That’s all she could give.” Martinez nodded toward the stairs. “She’s upstairs. Paramedics cleared her, but she’s shaken.”
Jack entered through the side door, taking in the narrow staircase at the back of the storage room. As he climbed, his eyes scanned automatically—floor, walls, banister. Anything left behind. Hair. Blood. Fibers.
He paused at the top of the stairs, preparing to introduce himself.
The woman looked up just as he stepped foot into the apartment.
Familiar baby blue eyes stared back at him, sending warmth throughout his body.
Annie.
Her expression shifted in quick succession—recognition, surprise, then something that looked like pain before settling into careful neutrality.
“I should’ve known you’d be the detective they’d send.”
Four years. Four years since he’d last seen her, and she looked the same. Dark hair catching the light. Intelligent blue eyes that missed nothing. A quiet strength beneath delicate features.
The sight of her hit him like a physical blow. When had she come back? How long had she been here?
The officer taking her statement stepped aside, leaving them alone. Silence stretched between them, heavy with things left unsaid.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” He finally managed to say.
“I didn’t exactly advertise it.” Her tone was cool. Controlled. She was building walls—and he deserved every one of them.
He sat across from her, notebook in hand, falling back on procedure because it was the only solid ground left. “I know you’ve already given a statement, but I have a few follow-up questions.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me about this locket. Do you have it?”
Her hand lifted instinctively to her throat. “I bought a box of old jewelry at an estate sale, and it was mixed in with everything. It’s Victorian. From the late 1800s, I believe.”
“What makes it special?”
“I don’t know.” She met his gaze. No hesitation. No evasion. “There’s something inside—a small key and what looks like folded paper. They broke in while I was trying to open it.”
