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“My future is my business.” He’d kept any plans and dreams to himself for so long that sharing those with her or anyone else felt impossible.
“I get that now, but I thought…I thought I might be part of some version of your future,” she said. “I should have known better. You don’t think in those terms.”
“I think about my future,” he defended himself, reacting to her last sentence because he didn’t know what to make of her thinking of them having a future. That blindsided him. He recognized that she was important to him, but he couldn’t take it a step beyond that. He cared about her, but where that could lead was nebulous. Not only that, it was dangerous territory. He didn’t let people get close. He didn’t share his aspirations because if he did, others, like his family, could criticize them, belittle them. Best to keep everything to himself.
She gave a dry laugh. “Not sure I believe that. What’s your grand plan, Owen? Where do you see yourself in one year, three years, ten? Do you know? Am I there with you in any of those? Or haven’t you thought past catching Wilson?”
“You’re one to talk. You’ve been so focused on this story that I can’t believe you’ve thought about down the road either. Do you really expect me to believe you think about what your future holds outside of more headlines?” He knew he wasn’t being fair to her, but part of him couldn’t imagine her planning for anything but her career and certainly not with him. Never with him.
“Did you see my vision board?” she shot back. “I think…thoughtwe could have fun together. More than that, we could be there for each other. Was I completely wrong about that?” She waited for him to respond with her lips pursed together as though holding something in.
He was trying to sort out what she meant. Was she saying that she wanted a genuine relationship? That she loved him? Or was she just saying they could be buddies? He thought about the images on her vision board—the happy couple holding hands on a beach stood out to him. It was romantic, the kind of thing established partners did. If she was seeking that with him, she’d made a mistake. He didn’t have that to give to her or anyone.
“What doesourfuture look like to you?” she asked finally when he just stood there.
Her question snapped him out of his thoughts, and he scrambled to form words. “What? You want me to put a name on it, label it? Are we friends, friends with benefits, lovers? Is that what you want me to say?”
“Yes. That’s it exactly,” she said. “What are we to each other, Owen? I need to know.”
His mind stuttered to a stop since he had no idea how to answer that. It all felt like a trap was being set, waiting to spring shut. He wasn’t afraid of commitment in the usual sense. That wasn’t the issue. He was scared to death to let anyone be that close to him, to know him well enough to use that knowledge against him. His family had done that all his life, and now he was terrified at the thought of letting anyone in.
He had come closer to doing that with Sophie than he ever had in his life. But he couldn’t take that last step. It was too much of a risk. He watched the light in her eyes slowly die as the silence stretched. He found he couldn’t look away from her lovely face and the pain etched there. But she’d wanted something from him that he just couldn’t give. Finally, she gave a small nod as if understanding.
“Maybe we should wait until we catch Wilson to finish this discussion.” She was giving him a temporary out, leaving that door open—but it was pointless, so he slammed it shut.
“I’m not sure we need to. There’s not much more to say,” he answered. There was no point in prolonging this, of coming back to it later just to confirm that he truly couldn’t give her more.
“Oh.” She took a step back. “All right. I get it. I hear you. You’re saying we’re done.” She turned away, mumbling to herself in short sentences. No tears, minimal drama, but he knew that he’d hurt her. Again. He told himself that was better than hurting her more later, when he failed to live up to what she expected.
He needed some air, some space that they weren’t sharing. He was heading for the door when her phone rang.
“Hey, Micky,” she answered, making him pause. The call would be about the case, and he planned to see that through before they parted ways. “Yes, he’s here. Just a second. I’ll put you on speaker.” She placed her phone on the desk. “Micky wants to talk to both of us.”
“Hope everything’s going well there,” Micky said.
Just freakin’ dandy. “What do you need to tell us?” Owen asked, wanting desperately to get the call over with, so he could leave the cabin.
“It’s about Jude. Something’s up with him. I saw him earlier today, carrying the briefcase that was supposedly stolen.”
“What? Does he have two?” Owen asked.
“No,” Micky responded. “Sophie will tell you—he always carries the same one. Black leather with gold hinges. It’s even got his initials embossed on it.”
“That’s right. It was a gift from his wife,” Sophie confirmed. “Did the police find it dumped somewhere and return it to him?”
“Nope, I called my contact on the department. There’s no report that Jude was mugged,” Micky said, making Sophie gasp. “So I decided to pull up the internal security footage at the newspaper offices to see what Jude has been up to. I saw him take the briefcase down to the archive room in the basement. He must have left it there, because he came back empty-handed.”
“He hid it,” Owen said.
“That’s what it looks like to me,” the reporter confirmed.
“Micky, I can’t believe Jude would…” She grabbed the band from her wrist and twisted her hair into a ponytail. “You think he’s working with Wilson?”
“That’s my conclusion. There’s some reason that Jude didn’t want to turn over the murder weapon to the police, so he lied about the mugging. We can’t trust him, Soph.Youcan’t trust him.”
“Who has access to the archives?” Owen asked.
“Anyone who works for the paper, but there are locking cabinets inside the archives. My guess is that he’s stored the briefcase—with the knife—in one of those. I’m going to go down and snoop around.”
