He grinned. “Fine by me. That’s a better view anyway.”
She laughed, followed by a telltale sniff. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like I can tell you anything.” She shifted, and he could hear rustling that made him think of her getting comfortable in bed. “I don’t usually talk about my dad.”
“I’m a good listener. It’s a necessary skill when you depend on leads and tips to get an investigation going.” He sank down a bit in his own bed, liking the idea of being in the same place at their respective houses while they talked. “Also, I like learning interesting things about other people. When my mom got sick, it changed my whole world. I dropped everything to come home—my career, my life, all of it. And I’ve never regretted that choice. But sometimes it’s nice to feel like my old self again.”
“Why didn’t you ever pick it back up again?” she asked in the pause.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I write articles occasionally, mostly for SAR publications.”
“I recognized your byline,” she informed him dryly. “In the stuff you sent. It was riveting. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You need to get back into the game. It’s important. You’re going to solve the Jane Doe mystery and write about it, and I’m going to help you.”
“You already agreed to help,” he reminded her, amused that she’d latched onto his quest with such ferocity. “Are you all out of noble causes?”
“Yeah, actually,” she shot back. “You clearly need someone to support you as you ease back into your journalism self. I’m happy to be that for you.”
Well, first of all, he didn’t ease into anything. And second of all,dang. His heart squished out between his ribs and melted into a puddle on the floor.
“Why?” he murmured, a little blown away with what was happening between them.
“Because you need someone in your corner.” Her voice held an edge that he wanted to know more about. “I hear you when you talk about your stories. It’s your passion. You miss it, but you don’t do it, and I suspect you never went back to that life because it feels selfish.”
He started to protest and then closed his mouth, letting her point ping around inside him. “I didn’t realize I was getting free psychoanalysis with this phone call.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t. But it’s not the whole truth. SAR is important. I can’t just give that up, stop doing the work Dancer and I are extremely well suited for. It would be a waste.”
And he did feel selfish for wanting his old life back when it meant not being here for his family. His dad was single and alone for the first time in decades. Mark had something going on that didn’t seem good. He couldn’t just walk away.
Plus, it made him sad to think about passing Dancer off to someone else. He couldn’t in good conscience drag a trained SAR dog along as he traveled—by plane mostly—to far flung locales. There was probably some guilt in there too about something he didn’t feel like examining at the moment, now that Sabrina had ripped open this wound.
“So, we’ll work on the Jane Doe story for now,” she told him soothingly as if she really did get it, “and then see what’s what.”
“Do you bulldoze everyone like this?” he asked with a laugh meant to cover the quaver in his voice.
“Please. Like you can’t take it.”
He could. Gladly. Because it meant they were building something. “I’m not threatened by a strong woman. Bring it.”
“The fact that you aren’t is the only reason we’re having this conversation,” she said, the teasing note from a moment ago gone. “It’s not that common, you know. For a man like you to be okay with a woman like me.”
“A smart, sexy woman in uniform who can beat me in a foot race? Oh, no. Not that,” he said lightly. “I like who you are. It’s not that common here either to find someone who isn’t exhausted by me.”
“Same. I’m used to being out front alone. It’s nice that you haven’t thrown in the towel yet.”
This was not the conversation he’d been expecting, but it was absolutely the one he wanted to be having. They were a matched pair. She felt it too and it was making him giddy.
Which could also be a function of the late hour.
“I’m sorry you’ve been exposed to the toxic side of my gender.”
“Not just at work.” She paused. “I…don’t date that often either. Or for that long. I mean, second dates are not so much a thing in my world.”
Good. That left the door wide open for him to walk right through, and he did like the sound of that.
