The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

“Good luck, Jack.” I strode to my door and pulled it open.

Bracing myself, I held my breath as he walked toward it. He didn’t look at me.

Just when I thought he’d leave without saying goodbye, he stopped beside me.

Our eyes held, like two magnets clicking together.

A shiver skated down my spine.

“I’m sorry I broke what was between us,” he said, voice gruff with feeling.

Pain lashed across my chest. “It was just attraction, Jack,” I lied.

He gave me a mocking, anguished smirk. “Sunrise, we both know it was something far deeper than that.”

Then he left, striding quickly out of the house and down the porch steps.

I closed the door, locking it.

As I listened to his car pull out of my drive, I let the tears fall and promised myself it would be the last time I shed them over Jack Devlin.

17

Jack

They found the body and the dumbbell. His father and Stu hadn’t buried them in Hartwell at all. They were buried in the woods somewhere between Jimtown and Arabian Acres.

By some miracle, the sheriff kept the news of the find quiet.

A few days later, the forensics came back. Stu’s prints were all over the weapon. They charged Rebecca for aiding and abetting, and Jack paid her bail.

That was the extent of the privacy of the investigation. Word was that the local paper caught wind of the story—it would be all over the front pages by morning.

Jack had spent the last few days ignoring Ian’s phone calls and consoling his mother and Jamie. He felt bad not giving them a heads-up about what he was about to do. But he couldn’t chance Ian finding out.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Detective Sullivan asked. He sat on the edge of his desk, like he was preparing to move at any second.

They were in the detective’s office. Jack hadn’

t stated this was official business when he’d asked to speak to the cop.

“A hypothetical,” Jack replied casually, as though his heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute.

Sullivan tensed ever so slightly. “Okay.”

“For instance, if someone were to come to you with years of evidence that proved one of your citizens was guilty of multiple counts of racketeering, blackmail, fraud, and assault, but was perhaps complicit in those activities … would you grant them immunity for their cooperation?”

The detective’s eyes sharpened. Then he took a deep breath before he crossed his arms over his chest. “How it’s supposed to work is that we’d need the district attorney to grant that person immunity. But we’d have to start proceedings first. That person would have to hand over what evidence they have without knowing whether we have granted the immunity.”

Fuck.

“But … if a police officer were to offer the promise of immunity to the witness, then the prosecutor would be forced to uphold that promise.” He smirked ever so slightly.

“Are you saying that’s a promise you would make?”

Sullivan’s expression turned hard with solemnity. “That’s a promise I would definitely make.”

Taking a deep breath—and one of the biggest leaps of faith in his life—Jack reached down to his feet where he’d put the leather folder with three USBs and some paperwork in it. He picked it up and held it out to Sullivan. “There’s enough shit in there to put my father, Ian Devlin, and my brother, Kerr, away for a long time. And you’ll have my testimony in court.”