The Truth About Comfort Cove

Mental telepathy wouldn’t be so cruel…?.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” The deep tenor of Ramsey Miller’s voice shook her insides and she welcomed the darkness that had been closing in on her just seconds before.

It was almost midnight. Her shift started at eight in the morning. So did his. “No, I was awake.”

He couldn’t know she’d been thinking about his fingers on her naked skin…?.

“I have a favor to ask.”

About his thighs pressed against hers…

“What do you need?” Her words came out too soft, too intimate, like he was there, lying in bed with her. Lucy cleared her throat. If Ramsey had a favor, it was strictly business. “What’s up?” she said loudly while her toes curled and her naked thighs felt exposed, in spite of the sheet covering them.

What in the hell was the matter with her? She was a professional. Always.

“Jack Colton.”

“The delivery truck driver?” Lucy sat up, the sheet pooling over the bottom of her T-shirt, pretty much forgotten. Ramsey had said he was going to do some more checking up on the guy. This was bigger than sex. Bigger than any personal life she’d ever have.

“It bugs me, you know? I can’t let this Sanderson case go.”

“Then you must be on to something. There’ve been other cases you’ve looked at in relation to Walters, found that the DNA didn’t match and been able to move on from.”

“I have them all in a stack on a corner of my desk.”

The news didn’t surprise her. She had a stack of cases, too. Ones she’d pulled while looking for connections to Allie. Ones she’d found during the Gladys Buckley investigation. Ones she’d get back to.

“Maybe it’s because we worked with Emma Sanderson. Because she was willing to risk her life to find her sister. Or because I think Cal Whittier is an honest man who deserves to have his father exonerated once and for all, or be tried for his crimes. Or maybe I’m just turning into an old coot who can’t let go of a bone.”

“You aren’t old.” Lucy chuckled. “And Claire Sanderson’s case is different,” Lucy said, feeling more like herself. “You go looking for DNA to either tie her to Walters or free her from him, and instead, you find that the box of evidence pertaining to her case is missing. You couldn’t just let that go. You had to find out who took it and why. Any good cop would.”

“And I did.”

“Yes, but in the meantime, you met Cal Whittier, the only suspect’s son, and you found a piece of new evidence in the case, evidence the detectives who had the case twenty-five years ago didn’t have. You have to follow up, Ramsey. Just like I’m doing with Wakerby.”

Maybe she and Ramsey were meant to be married to their work.

“How’s that case going?”

She’d let Sloan Wakerby take away her ability to be peacefully alone in the dark. She’d rather think about Ramsey’s arms, holding her close on the dance floor.

Or any other floor.

“We can talk about my stuff in a minute. You called about Jack.”

“Yeah. He went to UC for a semester.” He gave her dates. “Maybe there’s still someone there who’d have been around then, someone who knows something.”

Something Jack Colton wouldn’t want them to know. “Are you getting a warrant?” They’d need access to records. “I should have it on my desk in the morning.”

“Are you there now?”

“At work? No. I’m home.”

Which, based on the work habits he’d confessed to during one of their late-night conversations, probably meant he was in bed with his computer propped up on his chest.

Lucky computer.