Page 82 of Too Close To Home

A minute later, footsteps echoed from the hallway, and he peered up to Harrison at the kitchen entrance. The light above the sink caught the angles of his face that, yeah, looked tired and weary and really needed more sleep that hadn’t been taken at an odd angle on a sofa in his clothes with only a blanket draped over him for comfort.

But also…really fucking handsome.

Which was unfortunate.

“PC Murray’s running through the current investigation with your parents.” Harrison angled his head back to the front room. “Explaining what’s happening with the missing girl.”

Jake chewed on his lip. “Okay.”

“She’ll also act as the Family Liaison Officer for them from now on. If your parents need updates, support, or have questions, she’ll be their contact.”

“Right.” Jake was suddenly aware of the mud drying on his boots, the cold still clinging to his skin, the faint grease from the pastry on his fingers. It all felt a world away from the man in front of him. Clean, composed, put together as if he belonged somewhere better. He tipped his chin, trying to shake it off. “So… who’s mine?”

“Who’s your what?”

“Liaison. Police contact.”

Harrison blinked. “She’s the liaison officer for the Whitton family. That includes you.”

Jake held his gaze.

Didn’t look away.

He didn’t know why, nor really understand the impulse fully himself. Maybe it was the last twenty-four hours. Maybe it was the way Harrison looked at him as if he could see straight through the layers Jake had spent years building. Or maybe it was simpler. Two men who’d both lost something and were now maybe reaching for something else.

Either way, the words slipped out before he could stop them. “What if I want you?”

Jake watched the rise of Harrison’s chest under his coat with his deep inhale. And for a fleeting second, there was colour in his cheeks, too. But the detective looked away, as if the contact had suddenly become too much. And Jake’s stomach twisted at having been so forward. Whatever this strange pull was between them, Jake had the faint, nagging suspicion it wasn’t entirely one-sided. But that meant nothing. They were just two men standing on the same road of grief, recognising the shape of it in each other.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Harrison looked back at him, the professional mask sliding neatly back into place. “If you have information for the investigation, you can ask for me if that makes you more comfortable.”

Jake almost laughed. “Comfortable?”

“I realise nothing about the last twenty-four hours has been comfortable for you or your family.” His voice softened enough to sound human. “For that, I can only sympathise.”

Jake scrubbed a hand over his face.

God.

He was tired.

A tired living somewhere deeper than sleep could fix.

“Have you found summat?” Jake asked. “That why you’re here?”

Harrison moved a little further into the kitchen, stopping near the table but not sitting down. Not settling. Still every inch the detective conducting an interview.

“As you’re aware, there are similarities between this current disappearance and your sister’s case, and I’m new to Hartswick CID, so I needed time to review the original investigation file and understand what happened thirteen years ago.”

Jake tutted. “Bet that made for cheerful reading.”

Harrison didn’t react to the edge in Jake’s voice. “I’ve reviewed the original file. And spoken to several of the officers who worked the case. I’m following up on certain lines of inquiry. But paperwork and statements only tell part of the story.” He held Jake’s gaze. “So what I’d like is to hear directly from you what happened.”

Jake gave himself a moment. Not that he needed to think about it. He didn’t. That night lived in his head on a constant loop. He replayed it daily. Sometimes hourly. Thirteen years later, he still hadn’t escaped it. But saying it aloud again, laying it out for another detective, another report, another file that would eventually gather dust somewhere, felt like ripping open a wound that had never closed properly.