Love by Association

Part of the problem had been that Colin hadn’t been able to put a name to what he’d been feeling.

Or been old enough to discern it.

Colin had put it down to teenage energy the night of his first big party. He’d let his sister go and had felt uncomfortable the rest of the night.

He was feeling the same kind of discomfort as he sat at a board table in Japan, trying his damnedest to get the work done so he could be on a plane back home.

Only the possibility that he was letting his emotions get to him, get in the way—that his unrest was derived from the fact that he wanted to be in Chantel’s bed because he had no idea how long he’d have to convince her to stay—had him finally backing off and agreeing to a traditional Japanese breakfast with their hosts before heading to his hotel for some rest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SHE’D MEANT TO handle Julie with kid gloves. Because Colin did. Because he’d want her to. Because she now knew far more about the nature of the horror the other woman had suffered and couldn’t imagine living with those kinds of memories.

But somehow, sitting with Julie over a glass of wine on the huge, soft leather sofa with reclining everything in a place she called the rec room, facing the largest television she’d ever seen in real life, Chantel allowed herself to follow the course of action Harris placed upon her.

They’d never gotten around to turning on the television to figure out what girlie movie they were going to stream in the soundproof room. Julie talked about her work, about the possibility of starting to send out query letters. She’d shown Chantel a few pages of finished art with calligraphy lettering.

They talked about literary agents. And in the end, Chantel promised to contact her family the next day, to see what they could do.

She’d already called her mother—had been on the phone with her the second night Colin had shown up at her hotel room—to ask her to get in touch with the sister she hadn’t had much to do with for years. To let her know that if anyone called for a Chantel Johnson, it was her. And not to say she was a cop, just that she worked at the very small publishing operation—as she had for a brief stint when she was a teenager.

And then had to assure her mother that she’d only changed her name and hadn’t gotten married. She’d said she’d explain later.

Her mother, who spent her life with the guilt for what had happened to Chantel growing up, had agreed to do as she asked. She’d texted Chantel the next day to tell her that she’d spoken with her sister, no one had called and Aunt Pam was happy to do whatever Chantel needed.

She also asked that Chantel give her a call.

So now she would.

But first...

“I need to speak with you, Julie,” she said. An idea had been forming since the second she’d gotten off the phone with Max. She knew what she had to do.

She just wasn’t sure about all of the details yet. She had ideas. Good ones. A solid plan. One that would work.

But she needed help. At the very least, she’d need someone to control the lights at the library the night of the gala. Someone who would blend in as a member of the elite crowd without raising any suspicions.

Ideally, she wanted someone who could have her back enough to get help if something went wrong. Someone who was in on the plan.

Someone who might have to testify in court...

But she was getting way ahead of herself. How much did she say? Where did the subterfuge and reality collide? Or coexist?

Could she trust Julie with the truth?

She had to be the absolute worst undercover officer of all time....

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Julie’s frightened tone brought her back to the moment—and the realization that her silent introspection was scaring the younger woman. “You heard something about Colin...”

“No!” She covered Julie’s hand with her own and then sat back. “No. I mean, yes, I’ve heard from him. About half an hour ago actually. And he’s fine. Having breakfast and wishing he was on a plane home.”

Because he wanted to be in his bed with her that night. She opted not to share that part.

“He misses you already, huh?” Julie asked, an impish smile replacing the fear of seconds before.

“He misses you, too,” she said to cover her embarrassment. She wished things were different, that she could just be open with Julie, tell her everything, like she’d always done with Jill.

“He might, but not enough to want to rush home,” she said drily. And then, with a less teasing grin, she said, “What was it you needed to speak with me about?”

“I want you to help me with something. What I’m going to ask isn’t going to be easy. But I believe all the way down to my soul that it’s vitally important.”