He moved the rest of the way into the room and looked at the sketch pad, then smiled. “Feeling inspired?”
“How can you tell?”
Angling, he peered down at her, so much understanding in his gaze, and maybe even ... something deeper, something more. No. She had to be wrong.
“I hope you’ll get some rest,” he said.
“I will, I promise.” Eventually.
He left her to her own devices then. Left her to think of the scent he’d left behind and the emptiness now that he wasn’t in the room. This tough special forces guy, the quiet professional who could rescue, protect, and defend. He could also show such gentleness and compassion that it nearly made her weep.
She drew in a breath and refocused on her last thoughts of Mom. Something there was nagging at her. Bugging her.
I have to get this. God,please helpme see what I’m missing.
She looked at the clay again, closed her eyes, and remembered Mom.
Who wereyou?
Like Cole said, Mira was her loving mother, and she shouldn’t have died at sixty. Jo should have had many more years with her mother. Instead, she was killed. Murdered. Who had wanted her dead and why? Mason’s sister Naomi made it sound like he’d been framed, and it all had to do with before.
Before...
Whatever Mom had been involved with before, she’d been a forensic artist for as long as Jo had known her, andshe couldn’t fathom her mother doing anything else. But what had she been doing right before something had upset her? Had she received a call at home? Seen someone? Jo had been caught up in her own world, oblivious.
She squeezed her eyes shut.Think.Figuring out what had set Mom off to make her afraid so that she warned Jo felt utterly futile. Opening her eyes, she moved to the box of clay and pulled out the big block wrapped in plastic. Peeling back the plastic, she pressed her hand against the clay, Mom’s preferred material for forensic reconstructions. Jo hadn’t sculpted since she’d left Michigan because she didn’t want to remember—
Suddenly, an image flashed in her mind.
Mom’s last reconstruction. Her mother had stared at the image and become visibly shaken. She’d gotten on her cell. Jo hadn’t connected the face to her reaction. Jo searched through her photo library in the forensic album where she and Mom kept their work for reference. She’d kept it all on her personal cell. Right or wrong. She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
Scrolling through the images—and there were many over the years—she didn’t find the ATM murder image loaded that looked like Mason Hyde, which was odd, but she found the last reconstruction and enlarged it on her smartphone screen.
Her heart might have stopped at the image.
I know this face.
30
After Hawk left, Cole opened up the fridge to look at the food Remi had sent from the Cedar Trails kitchen staff. She was feeding them too well. Or was it Brad? He’d have to meet this guy on the other side of this chaos. Brad was always making Jo’s favorite food. She’d never mentioned him, but did Brad have an interest in Jo? A sliver of jealousy carved through him. Jealousy that maybe Jo had found someone else? And why shouldn’t she? He hadn’t exactly left her with good feelings about him. And he couldn’t deny that he was jealous of his brother, who had found the perfect woman. Cole couldn’t be happier for Hawk. It was about time.
Jo emerged from the hall, her face flushed as she rushed toward him.
He shut the fridge door. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Her eyes were wide and bright. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” He moved to the counter.
“I need to look at it.” Her words came out breathless, as if she was in full panic mode.
“Whoa, just calm down and tell me what you’re talking about.” He gently gripped her shoulders.
She drew in a long breath and visibly calmed. “The picture. The photograph of my parents together. The one that included Mason Hyde and two others. I gave it to you, didn’t I?”
“It’s in my laptop briefcase. I’ll get it.”
“Thank you.”
