The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(55)

“Yup,” she said with a nod, then ran her finger over the treasure chest necklace she wore. “We’re really close. I basically adore her. She’s incredibly supportive of me and my business. She made this for me. That’s what she does—makes jewelry.”

Gently, he brushed his thumb across the miniature treasure chest, grazing the soft skin of her chest. “It’s lovely,” he said. He wasn’t just talking about the necklace.

She swallowed and breathed a quiet thank you. “And look, it’s not like she’s destitute from the divorce. She’s not living on bread and water. But he took everything, and it just seems so wrong. My God, she helped him start his business with money she earned from selling jewelry at craft fairs.”

“It’s completely wrong. Completely unfair. Especially when she made his business and livelihood possible,” he said, agreeing.

“She’s very giving and very generous, and that’s one of the things I love about her. That’s why I came here early to try to figure out what happened with the money. Like I’m Robin Hood or something. And that’s why I want to help—” Then she stopped talking. Like she’d simply sliced off the end of the sentence.

“Are you OK?” he asked gently, as his heels dug into the sand. He placed a hand on her elbow. He was unable to stop touching her.

“Why am I telling you this?” she asked, but the small smile forming on her lips gave her away. She wanted to trust him.

“Because I’m easy to talk to,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. He turned serious. “You haven’t mentioned your dad. Is he gone?”

She nodded. “He died of a heart attack when I was three. Never really knew him.”

He squeezed her hand. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, then sighed deeply, as if the air were refueling her. “What about you? Why do you do this?”

“This is just a job for me,” he said, trying to keep his tone even.

She turned to him and knocked on his forehead.

“Knock. Knock.”

He laughed. “Fine. I’ll take the bait. Who’s there?”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying, that’s who.”

“Just a job,” he repeated, toeing his own party line. He didn’t like to give up pieces of himself. He’d been burned the last time he let someone in.

But this woman wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

She stopped in her tracks and parked her hands on his shoulders. “Nothing is just a job,” she said, tipping her forehead to the inky black of the sea at night, starlight dancing across the water. “Take what I do. I do adventure tours because I love it. But also because the water is where I’ve always felt most at home, especially after my dad died. It’s this very special place to me. The ocean made me feel peaceful again, and it felt like a part of me. The part that made me whole. So what’s your story, Jake Harlowe? It’s only fair. We partnered up, and you know my motivation. I want to know what your story is. All I really know about you is that you have two sisters and you’re kind of a recovery specialist.”

He heaved a sigh and pointed to the sand. Walk and talk. Here it went. Serve up a piece of yourself. This wasn’t something he did terribly often. He didn’t like to revisit the shittiest days of his life. But she’d been honest, and he owed it to her to do the same.

“I have a little brother, too. There are four of us. And I do what I do because I’m good at it. Because it pays the bills. Because my older sister and I are responsible for my younger sister and younger brother.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod, an understanding one as she quickly processed what this meant. “When did your parents die?”

“They were killed by a drunk driver when I was in high school.”

She cringed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.” She reached for his arm again, wrapping her hand around it as they walked through the sand.

“And the f*cker got away with it,” Jake added through gritted teeth. A bout of long-simmering tension curled through him, winding in his veins, twisting through his blood as memories flashed before him.

The cops at the door.

The knock.

The solemn look on their faces as they took off their blue caps, came inside, and told them the news. Died on impact. The car had skidded off the road and wrapped itself around a tree.

“I was seventeen, Kate was eighteen, and the younger ones were only seven and eight.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine. That’s so sad. Did they find the guy?”

He breathed in sharply. “Yes, but nothing happened.”

Those words—nothing happened—contained all his anger, all his frustration, and all his reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“He was some twenty-three-year-old trust-fund baby, smashed out of his mind, and he lawyered up and got away with it. I think, if memory serves,” Jake said, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “he did have to put in fifty hours of community service. Reshelving books at the library. I’m sure that taught him a big lesson.”

Steph huffed. “Amazing how just hiring a lawyer and fighting like an * can enable you to get away with stuff.” She squeezed his arm. “And that’s why you do what you do? Because you don’t like it when the bad guys get away with it,” she said, and she got it. Not like it was hard to connect the dots, but it was a relief not to have to.