The Marshal. Adrienne Giordano

all right. I want to help. If we solve this, it’ll give Brent and Camille peace. Maybe then he’ll sell this damned house.”

      “It must be hard living right next door.”

      He shrugged. “If someone lived here, gave the house some life, it wouldn’t be so bad. Now it’s just an empty place where my sister-in-law died. It’s a damned morgue.”

      * * *

      OUTSIDE, THE GARAGE spotlight illuminated the driveway, and Brent spotted his aunt Sylvie marching across the patch of grass separating the two homes. She made a direct line for him, her face, as usual, passive. No pinched brows, no big smile, no tight cheeks. Nothing to indicate her mood. He’d always said she’d make a great spy. Bringing up the rear was his cousin, Jamie, who wore that slightly amused grin that meant she wasn’t the only one in trouble.

      He shifted his gaze back to his aunt and—yep—all that passive behavior meant one thing, she was about to yell at him for staying away so long.

      Might as well take it like a man.

      While the sheriff unloaded the copies of evidence files, Brent walked across the driveway, the heels of his dress shoes clapping against the pavement and the lack of traffic noise reminded him that he wasn’t in Chicago anymore. Coming back here, with all the contrasts to the city, brought back all that bubbling agony he fought to control. And he didn’t want that. He wanted it buried where he didn’t have to deal with it. What he needed was to stay strong—for Camille, for his aunt and for his uncle.

      They could turn into basket cases if they chose, but not him. His day would come, though. When they found his mother’s killer, then he’d figure out how to deal with all the garbage he’d packed inside him.

      “Hey, Aunt Sylvie.” He held out his arms and his much smaller aunt stepped into them.

      “Don’t Hey-Aunt-Sylvie me, young man. You know you’re in trouble. You didn’t even call to tell us.”

      She backed away from the hug and stared up at him. Since his mother had died, his aunt had turned her fanatical focus on him and Camille. Whether it was her own grief or simply wanting to make sure they had a mother figure in their lives—maybe both—was still up for debate, but Brent never questioned it. Aunt Sylvie always made sure they were cared for and had hot food in their bellies.

      For that reason alone, he always answered when she called. No matter what.

      Even when she griped at him.

      “I know. I’m sorry. I got caught up at work and didn’t get a chance to call.”

      Jamie stepped around her mother, went on tiptoes and smacked a kiss on Brent’s cheek. “Hey, cuz. Good to see you.”

      “Hi, James.”

      He’d started calling his cousin James when they were kids and the nickname had stuck. She never seemed to mind.

      Obviously done ranting, Aunt Sylvie waved at Barnes, who’d finished digging a file box from his car and had set it on the trunk. “Sheriff, how are you?”

      “I’m good, Sylvie. You all right?”

      “Oh, we’re just fine.” She shot Brent the stink-eye. “Wouldn’t mind seeing my niece and nephew a little more.”

      Guilt, Brent had enough of. Hell, he had enough guilt to fill the Chicago River. “You know how to drive. And Chicago is only an hour.”

      As usual, her mouth dropped open and she gasped. “Look at you with that smart mouth.”

      “Merely an observation.”

      Jamie cleared her throat. “What’s in the box, Sheriff?”

      The sheriff glanced at Brent, unsure how much to reveal, so Brent took that one. “That’s for me. Copies of Mom’s files.”

      With that bright spotlight shining down on her, Aunt Sylvie whipped her gaze between Brent and the sheriff. Brent knew right where her mind had gone. “Has something happened? A lead?”

      Dang. He’d been insensitive. He knew her. Knew how her mind worked and the slow-curling panic that fired every time the sheriff pulled into one of these driveways.

      And Brent hadn’t warned her.

      Gave her zero notice about Jenna investigating. Moron.

      Brent touched her arm. “No. But there’s someone I’ll introduce you to in a minute. She’s inside talking with Uncle Herb. I think she can help us.”

      “Who is she?”

      “An investigator. Remember the lawyer I helped last spring?”

      “That adorable little blonde?”

      Adorable. Penny would hate that. She’d like Uncle Herb’s description better. “Yes. The investigator works for her law firm. They offered to help with Mom’s case.”

      Aunt Sylvie cocked her head. “She’s good, this investigator?”

      “She is.”

      And she’s got a body that drives me insane. Not that he’d say that, but he was a man, and men had needs. Needs that Brent had been sorely neglecting lately. Needs that maybe Jenna could help him with.

      When they were done finding a killer.

      Because as much as Brent fantasized about a long night with Jenna in his bed, his priority was catching his mother’s killer. If he and Jenna got involved, something told him it would get ugly when he walked away. And walk away, he would. He liked coming and going as he pleased and not having to explain himself to anyone. He didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

      The snick of the front-door latch sounded and they all turned toward the house. Jenna came down the porch steps.

      She walked toward them, her coat flying open to reveal her blouse and the slacks that fit her curvy body in all the right ways.

      “Wow,” Jamie said. “She’s pretty.”

      Aunt Sylvie gave him a bored look. “This is your investigator?”

      Brent grinned. “Yep!”

      “Which body part made this decision?” she whispered.

      “Well, look at you with that smart mouth,” he said in his best Sylvie voice.

      Without giving her an opportunity to respond, he waved Jenna over. “Come meet my aunt and cousin.”

      After doing the introductions, Brent turned to Aunt Sylvie. “Jenna will be poking around. Don’t freak when you see a car in the driveway.”

      “Yes,” Jenna said. “I’d like to chat with both of you, at your convenience, of course.”

      Aunt Sylvie pressed her lips together, and then shot a look at Uncle Herb who nodded. She didn’t like talking about her sister. Ever. Growing up, Brent had craved stories about his mom, but the memories were too painful for his aunt and she typically ran from the room sobbing. Over the years, Brent had been conditioned not to talk about his mother. Which pretty much stunk.

      “Of course,” his aunt said. “If it’ll help. I’m available anytime.”

      “Thank you. I’d like to read through the sheriff’s files first. Would it be all right if I call you in a day or two?” She looked at Jamie. “Both of you?”

      “Sure,” Jamie said. “Anytime.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Well, have you eaten?” his aunt asked Brent. “I could fix you something.”

      A meal would serve him good right now, but the night had dragged on and, as hopeful as he was about the new energy Jenna brought, talking about his mother, reliving that night, had drained him. Time to get back to Chicago, where the sounds of the city would drown the noise in his head.