The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(6)
Author: J.C. Reed

I looked from the detective to the picture, and my heart froze.

Holy mother of grace.

That couldn’t possibly be. I blinked several times as an array of emotions washed over me.

Staring back at me was Jett’s face.

But how?

I was so shocked, I couldn’t utter a word. Under the desk, I balled my hands into fists to stop myself from reacting. From screaming. From showing the waves of panic shooting through me.

Why was he showing me a picture of Jett?

It didn’t make any sense. I scanned the picture once more in the hope that it might be someone else. But it was really Jett. His handsome face. Sitting in a chair, with a whiskey glass in his hand, his mind lost in thought and a million miles away, just like I had found him the previous night at the bar. The image seemed to have been taken from a security camera inside the club.

“This photo was taken yesterday,” the detective explained. “It’s the second time a woman was killed after leaving the club. The first murder took place two weeks ago. Both women had the same two moles painted on their faces. The first victim had one, the second two.” He tapped his finger against Jett’s blurry shape. “I’m aware this is a bad photograph, and I apologize for that. Maybe this one might help jog your memory.”

From the folder he retrieved a third picture and slid it across the table. “Have a look. This was taken on the same day, two hours before the first victim was killed. Someone sent it to us, and while we don’t have concrete evidence yet, it still connects our suspect to the first victim.”

I swallowed hard, unable to breathe. What was he saying? What did he mean by “suspect” and “connects to the victim”?

Blood began to rush in my ears as I regarded the photograph on the table. Compared to the previous ones, it looked like a professional shot—large in size and with excellent pixilation—the kind a private detective would make. I wrought my hands together, ignoring the pang of pain as my nails pierced the thin barrier of my skin, and forced myself to take in all the details. Jett was wearing his usual expensive suit and carrying two cups of what I assumed was coffee. A young woman was standing next to him and, judging from her slightly open mouth and the fact that she was turned to him, it looked as though she was talking to him. I had no idea who she was, but there were other people around them and from the ambience I recognized one of the coffee shops not far from our office building. There was no time stamp on the photo; nothing to give away what was going on, except that Jett had been buying coffee for two. He didn’t seem particularly engrossed in whatever the woman was saying, but the way her body was turned to him—a little too close—while she looked up straight at him made me wonder why he seemed so lost in thought, almost as if he was considering what to say in reply to her.

“So, do you recognize him?” the detective asked, disrupting my trail of thought. “He’s our primary suspect.”

As slowly as I could, I forced myself to shake my head. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t talk. I was too shocked. Too afraid that any word I might utter would betray the truth. Too afraid that the truth would shatter me. Too afraid of everything—and in particular of not knowing what the hell was going on.

“Who did you say this was again?” I asked in a hushed tone, faking innocence as best as I could, but beneath the layers of nonchalance, my voice was shaking. I prayed silently that if the detective sensed it, he’d assume it was because I was afraid of the killer. Just to be sure, I added nervously, “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“The victim’s name is Sarah Smith. The man in the picture is Jett Mayfield.”

Upon hearing Jett’s name, I bit my tongue hard to suppress a sharp intake of air.

The detective regarded me for a moment before he continued, “We’ve been watching him for some time, ever since we received this picture. Earlier today we found his car abandoned two miles from the club. The tires had traces of Gina’s DNA on them, which links him to the murder scene.”

I didn’t know much about evidence, but even to me that sounded incriminating enough. Alarm bells began to ring somewhere in my head.

Jett wasn’t a killer. I opened my mouth and closed it an instant later because I couldn’t tell the detective the truth. I couldn’t reveal that I knew Jett, that we had once dated, that he was the father of my unborn child.

I knew Jett. Maybe not as well as I once thought, but good enough to be convinced that he wasn’t a killer. His brother was.

But the truth was I didn’t know for sure.

Jett had never been an open book. He liked to keep secrets. He had sides to him I didn’t know about; sides I was afraid to learn of. He had accompanied me home, but I couldn’t say for sure he had stayed with me throughout the entire night.

“You said you found traces on the car,” I began warily. “But I thought Gina was stabbed in the street.” I kept my voice deliberately low, so he wouldn’t hear the turmoil in my tone. As I stared at Jett’s face in utter dismay, my heart continued to hammer in my chest. For a few moments, I was afraid to look up out of fear the detective would see right through me.

“She was. Someone ran her over with a car after her throat was cut open. This is all we know for now until we get the autopsy report next week,” the detective said.

I felt sick to the core, I feared I might just vomit. My legs were shaking so bad, I knew if I if I weren’t sitting down, my legs would have given way under me.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” the detective said, misinterpreting my silence. “We’re doing the best we can to find out what happened.”

“Did you arrest this man?” I asked quietly. Every fiber of my being screamed.

“No. We had to let him go.” The detective sounded pissed off. “Unless we have undeniable, concrete proof we have to treat him as not guilty. People with money always get preferential treatment.” He grimaced and spat out the word “money” as though it was pure evil, then handed me his card. “If you see him or remember anything, no matter how trivial, call me. We need all the evidence we can get. It’s in everyone’s best interest to keep the city safe from people like him.”

I nodded. He smiled gently, and as I stood, I forced myself to return his smile. On shaky feet, I gathered all the courage I could muster and left Grayson’s office, heading straight for the bathroom.

As I splashed my face with cold water, the numbness resulting from shock began to wear off and complete realization kicked in.