Page 101 of Three Steps Behind

“Nick back in college with his frat buddies, including George.”

“Why would someone take that? We figure out that answer, we may be three steps closer to catching Nick’s killer,” Joel said.

“Maybe the killer is in the photograph,” she said.

“And he doesn’t want to be seen,” Deck added. “I can put Riley and Greyson on tracking down those other frat members while we pay George a visit.”

“He should remember who else was in the photo,” she said.

“Good thinking. Keep me posted. And safe travels.”

“Thanks.”

At the airport, Deck climbed out of the truck, went around to Harper’s side, then grabbed the door for her and her duffel from the back.

“You don’t have to carry my bag,” she said, coming to walk beside him—where she loved to be.

“I know I don’t have to and you’re perfectly capable, but I’d like the pleasure of holding it if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“If I’m going to get that kind of thanks, I’ll carry your entire closet.” He winked.

Heat rushed up her neck into her cheeks, and she shook her head. “You’re a mess.”

“Yes, but I’m your mess now.”

She laughed.

Four hours later, they were walking through O’Hare when a picture on the TV screen in the pub they were passing caught her eye. She stopped short. Tracey stared back at her. On the same screen, a shipping container loomed large on a barren hill in Syria.

“What’s wrong?” Deck asked, resting his hand on her back. Instead of flinching, she sunk into the comfort of his loving touch.

“My friend.”

“What?” He turned his attention to the TV.

“My friend who gave me the necklace.”

“That journalist was her?”

She’d just lost three friends in a matter of a few weeks. When Tracey hadn’t come back, she’d known in her heart that she was gone, but it wasn’t until right now when her body was found in an abandoned village, that it was certain.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. Please, Lord, I can’t take any more pain.

“What happened?”

“They killed her.” Tears streamed down her face.

“Let’s get our car and talk.”

She nodded and followed Deck through the airport and the car rental line, numb and broken.

They climbed into the SUV, and Deck turned to her, reaching for her hand and rubbing her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Her name was Tracey.” She swiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I met her on the humanitarian trip. Our team was kidnapped in the middle of the night, and we were held hostage in an empty shipping container for days. We became friends. In times like that, friendships can be forged deep in a short time.”

“Of course they can.”