And yogurt, lots of yogurt.

She eyed the yellow, creamy substance. She needed a change. Work, eat, exercise, clean house, mow lawn. A solid and comforting schedule but rather boring. She glanced at the calendar. Next week she was off. She’d planned to paint two of her bedrooms, but maybe she should get out of town. Do something different, unplanned. Like…go to the beach and just read. Heather had been pestering her to visit her in Bend. Jamie could drive over the Cascades and sunbathe with Heather in the dry, baking heat of Central Oregon.

She rinsed out the empty yogurt container and placed it in the recycling. Her spoon went directly into the dishwasher. Who was she kidding? The numbers on the calendar taunted her. She would be painting next week. It needed to be done.

The doorbell jangled. Jamie strolled to the door and looked through the peephole. Male. Big. Don’t know him. Her stomach stopped digesting her yogurt.

“May I help you?” She spoke through the door.

His left eyebrow rose, and he gave a half smile. Instantly charming. And hunky. Jamie felt a different sensation in her stomach.

“Michael Brody. I’m with the Oregonian.” A laminated ID suddenly blocked her view.

Jamie wasn’t impressed. Anyone could make an official-looking ID, and this guy looked anything but official in his cargo shorts and snug T-shirt. But the name on the ID was familiar…

“What do you want?” She wasn’t about to open the door.

“I’m looking for your brother Chris.” He lowered the ID and looked directly at the peephole.

Jamie froze. Not again. Every few years, reporters and cold case cops came out of the woodwork to harass her brother. Temper swirled in her chest.

“He doesn’t live here.”

The man’s eyebrow rose further. “I know. Where can I find him?”

Jamie choked out a laugh. Did he think she was stupid?

His mouth twitched at her laugh. “Are you Jamie Jacobs?”

Did he just bat his eyelashes? She swallowed another laugh. “No.”

“Do I need to call the police because you’re in her house?”

Jamie snorted.

The reporter’s face turned serious. “They found the bus,” he stated quietly.

Jamie pulled back from the door, heart in her throat. Oh shit. “What about the kids?” she whispered.

He heard her. “I’ll tell you if you open the door. Do you know who I am now?”

His name echoed through her brain and hit its target. Brody. One of the other kids. She pressed her eye against the hole again. Michael Brody’s face had lost all expression, and she instantly saw the resemblance to Oregon’s Senator Brody.

This was the brother to the senator’s missing son.

Jamie forced her lungs to pump air. She’d never really met Michael Brody. He’d been much older than her at the academy. She mainly knew his name as a byline in the newspaper. Her parents had pulled her out of school and then isolated her and Chris from all media coverage after her brother had returned.

With shaking fingers, she worked the two deadbolts and opened the door.

Michael exhaled as he heard the bolts start to slide. He’d wondered if she would talk to him. He’d dug up what he could on the woman. Her parents were dead, and all leads to her brother seemed to end at brick walls. She was Chris’s only living relative. Jamie Jacobs had been nine when her brother vanished. Eleven when he returned. Now she was a principal at one of Portland’s poorest elementary schools. Fair and sensible was the description he’d heard. Her students loved her and the teachers raved about her. Her yard was perfect. The hedges perfectly trimmed and the trees properly pruned. The grass was cut short and the flowers in a neat border. He eyed the border. Purple flower, yellow flower, purple, yellow. All the way around. Why hadn’t she mixed it up a little? It looked…too perfect.

The door opened, and he turned back to face the woman.

Too perfect.

Eyes the color of pale green jade stared at him, fear and anxiety hovering behind them. Long black hair was caught back in a ponytail, with wavy sections escaping to frame her face. What a face. She reminded him of the old-time movie sirens. The ones who seized the screen with their noble aura the second they stepped on camera. The ones who played the roles of queens or empresses. Regal women. Like Sophia Loren…but with bright eyes. She was tall. Nearly as tall as he. He barely had to look down to meet her gaze, and he’d barely need to dip his head if he wanted…fuck. He blinked and watched wary shields abruptly cover the anxiety in her eyes. Her black tank showed off toned arms that either spent a lot of time in the gym or working in her yard. She was buff, an interesting mix of athlete and contessa.

Every well-rehearsed question in his brain evaporated.

Why hadn’t his elementary school principal looked like this?

Her chin lifted the slightest bit, and he recognized a familiar stubbornness. Lacey looked just like that when she was about to chew him out.

“What about the kids?” she snapped. “What did they find? Where was it? Did you—”

“Hang on.” He lifted his hands, unable to process the questions pouring from freaking gorgeous lips. “Can I come in?”

She clamped her mouth shut and blatantly assessed him from head to toe, like she was sizing him up for a round or two in a boxing ring. Her right hand slipped to her pocket, wrapping around something, and he watched the muscles flex in her forearm. What’d she have in there?

He took a half step back.