“Let me see that ID again. And your driver’s license.” Her voice was calmer but still held the punch of someone expecting to be obeyed. She must be a great principal.

He handed her the newspaper ID and dug in his pocket for his wallet. She snorted at the jam-packed piece of leather. He dug through the mess for thirty seconds.

Where the fuck was his license?

She reached out and deftly plucked the license from the stack of receipts and dog-eared business cards. Balancing both IDs in her left hand, she studied them carefully and then studied his face again. She handed them back, and he noticed her right hand slowly move from her pocket.

“Mind if I ask what you’ve got in your pocket?” He jerked his head at her hand as he fumbled to put his wallet in some semblance of order. She smiled and his heart skipped two beats. Christ! The woman was a knockout.

“Pepper spray,” she said coolly.

His hands froze. “Would you have used that on me?”

“Yes.” Another calm, regal smile. “If I’d needed to.”

“Am I safe now?” He eyed her wide lips. Now she was a movie queen packing a weapon. His stomach tightened. In a good way. In a fucking awesome way.

“Maybe.” Her fantastic eyes narrowed at him. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Twenty-four hours in my bed. No. Forty-eight hours.

Where the hell did that come from? He shook the thought out of his head.

“Just to talk.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve heard that before.” More suspicion darkened those green gems.

“No, seriously. I just want to—”

“I’m teasing.” Her lips quirked, and she stepped back to allow him into her home.

Michael blew out a breath. He was seriously off-kilter. “Don’t make me dance, princess,” he muttered and stepped into the royal lair.

Jamie took a deep breath as the reporter moved past into her air-conditioned home. The scent of slightly sun-toasted male touched her nose, and her senses lit up. She gestured toward her kitchen, and he nodded, stepped into the cheery room, and then positioned himself against her counter in front of her microwave, arms crossing his chest, his dark green gaze on her.

She frowned. He was in her spot.

Her kitchen immediately felt smaller. Michael Brody wasn’t a big, bulky guy. He was lean but tall with wide shoulders that seemed to take up too much space. Waves of cool composure rolled off him, and frustration tightened her spine. She was being intimidated in her own kitchen. Her chin jerked up.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He shook his head, and she reached for her Diet Coke can, condensation running down its sides. She took a nervous sip and felt an icy drop land on her chest and start to roll beneath her tank. His gaze locked on the drop, tracing its path.

Jamie brushed at her chest, and Michael’s gaze returned to hers. She glared and he blinked innocently.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

His chest expanded and his face closed off as he spoke. She listened in horror at the events of the morning, her drink forgotten.

“One child’s body is missing?” she whispered. All those bones. Buried all these years. Her eyes smarted.

Michael nodded grimly. “They didn’t find my brother…well, there isn’t a preliminary age match to my brother, and there should be one more…child’s remains.”

Jamie closed her eyes. What was he going through? No closure for his family.

“It’s been so long—”

“Where is Chris?” Michael stopped her apology.

Jamie bit her lip. The last thing Chris would want was the media hounding him again. “I don’t think he’ll want to talk to the media.”

Michael unfolded his arms and leaned toward her. “I’m not here as the media. I’m here as a brother who’s got a lot of questions.”

Jamie shook her head. “Chris doesn’t remember much from back then. He had a pretty bad brain injury, and the doctors believe he blocked everything. He’s never had any memory return.”

“So he says.”

Jamie slammed her can on the counter. “Get out.”

Michael rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just need to hear it from him.”

Seeing red, Jamie pointed at the door. “That way.”

He locked gazes with her, and Jamie’s stomach did a slow warm turn. Michael Brody exuded a hell of a lot of testosterone that was hammering away at her hormones. She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry about your brother. I’m certain it’s just a matter of time before they find his body.”

Michael’s face blanked, and her heart contracted. She hadn’t meant to speak like a bitch. The words had sounded better in her head.

He pushed away from the counter and brushed past her, avoiding her eyes and leaving that sunshine scent in his wake again. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Jacobs. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”

Jamie caught her breath and turned to follow, but he was already out her door and halfway down the walk. She stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and watched Michael climb into a black Range Rover at the curb. His tires came just short of squealing as he pulled away.

Jamie exhaled and leaned against the frame.

Well. That went real smooth.

Michael pulled to a stop at the end of Jamie’s street, out of sight of her home, and hit a button on his cell to call his invaluable source at the phone company.