O'Halloran's Lady. Fiona Brand

      “Mathews.”

      Another string of questions about the security set-up at the mall and she found herself haemorrhaging more information, including her phone number and email address and eventually handing over Mathews’s business card.

      She drew a deep breath, feeling suddenly too aware and a whole lot confused. Giving her details to O’Halloran shouldn’t have felt like part and parcel of a dating ritual, but suddenly it did. “You don’t have to check up on it.”

      He tucked the card in the pocket of his jeans. “I drive past there on my way to work. It won’t hurt to see if Mathews managed to record the licence plate.”

      O’Halloran held her door as she climbed into her car. The clean, masculine scent of his skin and the faint whiff of some resinous cologne made her stomach clench. Not good!

      Stepping back, he lifted a hand as she pulled out of her parking space.

      Heart still beating way too rapidly, Jenna couldn’t help checking out her rearview mirror. O’Halloran was still studying the mourners gathered in knots and strolling toward cars and she suddenly knew what he was doing at the cemetery.

      The dark casual clothes that made him fade into the shadows, the reason there were no flowers.

      He wasn’t there to mourn; he was surveilling Natalie’s grave.

      Frowning, Marc watched as Jenna’s car merged with traffic.

      He had come, as he did every year, to watch the gravesite from a distance and see who visited apart from Natalie’s family. Although this year, with a big funeral in progress, the exercise had been a little pointless.

      Grimly, he noted that, as with other years, the only bright spot of his vigil had been when Jenna came to place flowers. Now that she had gone, the vigil felt empty.

      In point of fact, after blowing his cover so thoroughly, the whole exercise of watching the gravesite was now a waste of time. If the perp had been anywhere near, he would be miles away by now.

      Sliding dark glasses onto the bridge of his nose, he turned back to study the cemetery, which was now emptying rapidly. After a few minutes Marc gave up searching for the lean guy wearing the ball cap who had stopped by Natalie’s grave.

      The man hadn’t left anything at the gravesite, or taken anything away; Marc had established that much while he had talked to Jenna. It was possible the man had been seeking out another gravesite and had simply stopped to read the name on Natalie’s headstone, but something about him had caught Marc’s attention.

      Marc was certain he had seen the man before somewhere. He didn’t know where or when, but it would come to him.

      The moment when Jenna had told him that she had received a threatening email replayed itself, shoving every instinct on high alert.

      He didn’t like coincidences, and he didn’t believe in this one.

      There was a connection. He didn’t know how, or why, he just knew that in some serpentine way, and after six years, that Jenna held the key to the breakthrough he needed.

      Frustration and disbelief held him immobile for long seconds. For years he had meticulously researched every piece of information and evidence connected to both the house fire and the police investigation he had been involved with at the time. He had assumed the motivation for the crime against his family was a revenge attack based on his police work. Now he had to revise that approach.

      The thought that the killer had had another motivation entirely was a quantum shift. In his research and briefs to private detectives, he had kept the focus on the criminal family, who were, ironically, because of his personal investigation, now mostly behind bars for a series of other crimes.

      He had made the basic error of discounting Natalie’s life, and he hadn’t factored Jenna in at all. Two mistakes he would now address. He should have examined every aspect of Natalie’s life. Jenna, as her cousin and best friend, should have been at the top of his list.

      One thing was certain, if Jenna was the key to unlocking the identity of the killer then from now on every part of her life was of interest to him.

      The decision to refocus settled in, filling him with a tension that had nothing to do with the investigation and everything to do with Jenna and a past that still tugged at him.

      Nine years ago Jenna had attracted, tantalised and frustrated him. When he had found out that she had been an army brat and that she had grown up on military bases here and overseas, she had fallen into context. The ease with which she’d walked away from him when he’d been certain she had wanted him had suddenly made sense. She was used to moving from base to base and never putting roots down. She was used to saying goodbye, and flat out “no.” After she had lost a father then a fiancé, she was used to losing, period.

      Digging his keys out of his pocket, he strolled toward his truck, which was parked at one end of the lot, out of sight from the main part of the cemetery.

      Broodingly he went back over the few minutes he had spent with Jenna. She had been wearing leggings that clung to her slender legs, a hoodie and sneakers, as if she were on her way to the gym.

      The clothing was sleek and mouth-wateringly sexy. Like the car she drove, it underlined the changes that had taken place in Jenna’s life. Always intriguingly quiet and self-contained, she was now confident and successful, with a sophistication that packed a double punch.

      Marc stopped dead as the extent of the attraction humming through him registered.

      Damn, he thought mildly. That was something he was going to have to keep a lid on. He couldn’t work effectively if he couldn’t keep his mind on the job.

      Maybe it had been the book he had read last night, and the steamy sex scene, which had shunted him back to the past. Maybe it was just that he was tired of being solitary and alone and his libido was doing the talking.

      Whatever was to blame, like it or not, he wanted Jenna Whitmore and, to complicate matters, he was pretty certain she wanted him. He had to consider the likelihood that they would end up in bed, sooner or later.

      But first, he had a killer to catch.