Christmas Confessions. Kathleen Long

that said real men didn’t show their feelings.

      But as her gaze dropped again to Emma’s face, and Abby considered the magnitude of the loss Jack had suffered, she didn’t see how he could feel nothing, yet nothing was all he projected.

      A man would have to be a robot to keep that sort of heartache locked inside forever. Sooner or later, he’d snap. Either that, or he’d shut down completely. How else could a person survive?

      Jack stood behind her as she worked, the heat of his body warming the back of her sweater.

      Well, the man definitely was not a robot.

      Abby had never written one of her blogs with someone breathing down her neck, but she understood why the detective watched her every move, studied her every word. He’d made a commitment to clear a case, to catch a killer, to ease the suffering of the families left behind.

      He was here because he thought Abby could help him. Plain and simple. He was here to make sure she didn’t misstep in their efforts to flush out the postcard’s sender.

      She might be used to working alone, but Jack’s goal had become her goal, and she’d do whatever it took to help him in his cause.

      “Am I distracting you?” Jack asked, as if reading Abby’s thoughts.

      He leaned so close his breath brushed the strands of the hair she’d twisted up into a clip so that she could concentrate. In fact, she’d thought about the detective’s proximity long enough that she’d begun to imagine the feel of his breath against the bare expanse of her throat.