When the door to Walker’s office snicks closed, I’m pulled from my reverie, and Jolene waves me over. I readily comply.
“Don’t mind Tessa. She doesn’t trust anybody,” she consoles as she shuffles through the papers on her desk.
Discreetly, I wipe under my eyes, hoping that it's not obvious I was about to cry. She may not know it had nothing to dowith Tessa, but I still don't want to discuss my relationship with Walker with Jolene.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Can I help with the witness? If they saw someone, I can help with a sketch.”
Jolene finally stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. “Do you have any experience?”
“Not in forensic art,” I specify, “but I am an artist.”
Jolene returns to her earlier task, her thumb pointing over her shoulder at an older woman sitting beside two desks facing each other. “Cheyenne Talbot, manager of Riverbend. She already gave her statement to Tessa. She’s just signing it.”
Did I just get Jolene’s approval?
Unsure of the meaning behind the information, I stand there glued to my spot.
Jolene looks up again. “Go on,” she says, tilting her head in Cheyenne’s direction.
“Oh, right,” I startle. Traipsing to Mrs. Talbot, I snag a blank white paper from the printer on one of the desks and a yellow number two pencil from the other.
My sketchbook and charcoal pencils are in my car, which is still at the trailer park, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that fancy supplies don’t make a masterpiece. The artist does.
A half hour later, all I have is a generic sketch of a man. Mrs. Talbot couldn’t see much, not even the color of his skin, hair, or eyes.
But the sketch proves one thing.
The person who lured me back to Evergreen Falls is a man.
And he knows what he’s doing.
CHAPTER 20
WALKER
Ambling up the sidewalk leading to Santiago’s front door, I’m plagued with the memory of how it feels to have Blake’s lips on mine—her body against mine.
I lost control for a moment, and I can’t take it back. It may have felt good, but it can never happen again.
Pushing open the large front door, the smell of coffee and bacon greets me. I head straight to the kitchen and find Levi and Santiago enjoying a late breakfast together.
Santiago's kitchen looks as if it popped right out of the magazine. The dark cabinetry. Exposed timber beams. The stone fireplace crackles in the adjoining great room.
Unfortunately, the spread of crime scene photos and homicide files disrupts the illusion.
“We need to talk,” I declare, getting their attention.
Santiago turns his head toward me. “On a scale of one to super nuclear, how urgent is it?”
“I know why Blake came back,” I inform them.
They both jump from their seats, abandoning their food as if a threat looms nearby.
If only it were that simple.
“What did she say?” Levi questions at the same time that Santiago asks, “Is she running from someone?”
“More like running to someone.” My shoulders tighten. “Or more than one someone,” I add.
