behind him. Her fingers clenched the back of his shirt as he unholstered the Glock at his side. The man hunting Jane most likely wouldn’t knock, but maybe there were polite stalkers out there in the world.
“And here I thought I’d get to shoot someone when I got here.” Elliot Dunham’s wide grin shifted the dark stubble across his jawline. The lines at the edges of his stormy gray eyes deepened. The private investigator holstered his own weapon underneath a thick cargo jacket and kicked the door closed behind him. “Good news for everyone. The perimeter is clear, and I won’t get blood on my new shirt.”
“We wouldn’t want that. I’d have to hear about it all night.” Sullivan couldn’t help but smile as he clapped Elliot on the back. “Did you bring the files?”
“Got them in the truck along with extra munitions and snacks. But I have to be honest, I ate all the nuts on the way here. This place is in the middle of nowhere.” Swiveling his head around Sullivan, Elliot caught sight of their new client. Jane. The con-man-turned-investigator sidestepped his boss, something close to intrigue smoothing out his features. “And you must be Jane. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jane asked. “That’s your opening line?”
“Oh, I like her.” Elliot’s smile made another appearance.
Sullivan clamped a hand on his investigator’s shoulder. Elliot had absolutely no interest in their new client, but something inside had tightened at the thought of another man coming anywhere near her with that look on his face. What did he care? He’d taken her on as a client, however forced. He didn’t have any kind of claim on her. “How about you do your job and get me those files from the truck?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Elliot half saluted Jane, then spun back toward the front door and disappeared.
A tri-chimed message tone brought the burner phone back into his hand. Sullivan read Elizabeth’s message, then dropped the phone onto the hardwood and stomped on it. The screen cracked under his boots, pieces of plastic skating across the floor. “My team couldn’t trace the number. We weren’t on the line long enough to get a location.”
“And you felt the need to take it out on your phone?” she asked.
“Can’t be too careful.” In reality, he’d been thinking ahead. If this case went south and the man hunting Jane expanded his crosshairs, Sullivan wouldn’t leave any evidence behind that could lead to his team.
“So that’s your private investigator.” Not a question. Jane’s arm brushed his as she passed him heading into the living room. A shot of awareness trailed up Sullivan’s arm. He slapped a hand over the oversensitized skin, but she didn’t notice. Head in the game. Standing in front of the fire, her bruises and cuts illuminated by the brilliant orange flames, Jane still held her head high. There was a target on her back, but she hadn’t fallen apart. She didn’t trust him with her emotions. Didn’t seem to trust anyone.
“Elliot is the best private investigator in the country.” He closed in on her one step at a time, giving in to the urge to have her nearby in case her stalker took a shot through the front windows. He’d already tried to kill her once. No telling what he’d do next. At least for now. “Used to be a con man. Elliot can read people. He has the resources to dig into their lives and a genius-level IQ to see three steps ahead. He’ll find whoever’s targeting you.”
“What if he can’t?” Turning toward him, Jane gave him an exhausted smile. Her shoulders sagged as though she’d collapse into a puddle on the floor. “I’ve been through those files a dozen times. I know them better than anyone, and I couldn’t pick out any potential suspects.” She massaged her temples with her fingers. “I just want my life back.”
“Look at me.” Sullivan closed the small space between them. He pushed every ounce of sincerity into his expression, his gaze, his voice, but didn’t move to touch her this time. “I don’t give my word lightly. You might’ve blackmailed me into it, but I promised to protect you, and I will.” The small muscles in his jaw tightened. “We will figure this out.”
She nodded. “I believe you.”
“Good.” Four hours ago, he’d tried kicking her out of his office. But now... They were in this together. He’d saved her life. She’d saved his. And he wouldn’t let some nutjob with a sick obsession get close to her again. No matter how much he blamed her for Marrok’s death. “You’re dead on your feet. Why don’t you go lie down in the bedroom? I’ll wake you if we find a lead.”
Jane nodded, her eyes brighter than a few moments ago. “I’ll also expect that meal you promised when I come out.”
A laugh rumbled through his chest as Sullivan watched her disappear into the bedroom. Flashes of those long legs peeking out from under his blanket skittered across his mind, and his gut warmed. He stared after her a few seconds longer, but the weight of being watched pressed between his shoulder blades. His neck heated. Damn. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you’re going to break your own rule if you’re not careful.” Elliot dropped the box of Jane’s case files and laptop onto the built-in desk and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, now you look like you want to kill me.”
No way was he going to talk about this with his private investigator. Or anybody. Ever. “What did you find when you went through the files?”
“I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities within the army after you said the guy erased his tracks after taking off with your supplies. That takes a lot of skill, and not many of the people she has regular contact with have any kind of training like that.” Elliot shoved the lid off the box and extracted three manila file folders. “Your girl took some damn fine notes on the cases she worked. Made my job easier.”
His girl? Not even close. But Sullivan didn’t correct his investigator. He took the files from Elliot and scanned over the extensive notes inside. Must’ve been Jane’s handwriting. Precise, to the point. Nothing fancy. But the purple and pink Post-its stuck through the files surprised him. Just as her red toenail polish had. He scanned over the first file. “Staff Sergeant Marrok Warren.”
Something sour swept across his tongue.
“Now, that guy is a piece of work. There’s only one problem.” Elliot leveraged his weight against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Jane prosecuted him for sexual assault of three female enlisted soldiers, but—”
“He’s dead.” There it was. Stamped across Jane’s case file in big red letters. Deceased. Sullivan’s ears rang. He discarded the file back into the box, his body strung as tight as a tension spring. His brother might’ve had the skills to pull off blindsiding them in the SUV and taking their supplies without leaving behind a trace, but it wasn’t possible. Marrok Warren was dead. Sullivan had buried him ten months ago almost to the day.
“That would be the problem. I tied him to Jane’s case because of the guy’s father.” Elliot pulled a bag of peanuts from his jacket pocket. “Ever heard of the Anchorage Lumberjack? Killed twelve victims, all with an ax. With Staff Sergeant Warren dead, could be a close family member coming after Jane now, maybe one of those psychopathic groupies I’m always hearing about. Wonder what they’re like...”
Sullivan crumpled the files in his hand, the tendons in his neck straining. He locked his attention on Elliot, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “Who else do you have?”
“We’ve got her commanding officer.” His private investigator nodded toward the second file in Sullivan’s hand, ignoring the obvious tension that’d filled the room. “Major Patrick Barnes is Jane’s CO. He’d know her daily schedule, her routine, and have access to all of her files. He would know her whereabouts while on tour, and he’s the one who grants permission for her to go on leave.”
“It’s not Major Barnes,” a familiar voice said.
Twisting around, Sullivan locked