Next of Kin. C.J. Carmichael

guys, with thick dark hair like their sister. He was surprised when he recognized the older one from the police station. Robert Kellison—Kell—rode mounted patrol. Jackie’s other brother looked familiar, too, but Casey couldn’t place where he’d seen him before.

      The photograph had been taken in the country, probably at a ranch, since the three were posed on and around a wooden fence. There was a horse in the background, a real beauty.

      They looked like a close-knit bunch, he thought, noticing the easy way Jackie’s hand rested on Kell’s shoulder and the protective way both men leaned in toward their sister. He set the photo down, then was about to turn on the television to pass the time when he caught a glimpse of something silver behind a crystal vase filled with colored glass disks. Was that another picture frame? He was reaching to move the vase when Jackie came out dressed in gray sweatpants that hugged her hips and a short white T-shirt that didn’t quite meet her navel. With her damp hair brushed back behind her ears, her thickly lashed eyes appeared huge.

      “Something smells good.”

      He’d forgotten about the pizza. He dashed back to the kitchen and pulled it from the oven, thankful that only the edges of the crust had begun to darken. She took plates from a cupboard and put cutlery on the counter, but neither of them bothered with anything but a napkin. She inhaled her first slice standing next to him. By the second, they were on the floor in the living room. She couldn’t finish the third, but he did. And a fourth, too.

      “You were hungry,” she teased.

      “Apparently so.”

      Her long legs were spread out on the carpet as she leaned her back against the sofa. He noticed she was still careful about how she moved her head. After cleaning his hands on an extra napkin, he went to sit on the sofa behind her.

      “Tell me how this feels.” Slipping his fingers under the neckline of her T-shirt, he massaged the muscles of her shoulders. He could feel the clenched knot to the right of her neck. Gently he worked his thumbs in opposing circles. It took several minutes before she finally relaxed.

      “That feels great.”

      “Good.” He kept his touch gentle, enjoying the soft feel of her skin, the minty scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body between his legs.

      “What a crazy day.”

      She sounded drowsy. Really, he should leave and let her get some sleep. But he lingered for ten more minutes…fifteen. Finally she leaned forward, out of his grasp.

      “That was so nice, Casey. But we should probably…”

      She got to her feet awkwardly, leaving him no choice but to stand, as well.

      “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve stayed too long.”

      “No. It’s been nice.”

      Her smile was tentative, but the moment they made eye contact, he felt again the novel certainty that this woman was somehow different from every other woman he’d met.

      “Do you feel it, too?” he asked.

      “What?”

      He should have dropped it then, but something inside him wouldn’t let him. “That it wasn’t just a coincidence we were both on the scene of that collision today.”

      “You think we were meant to help those people?”

      “Yes.” And also that they were meant to meet each other. But he could tell from the way she’d begun to back away from him again that it was too soon for him to say something nearly that serious.

      “Well, I’m not sure that it was fate or anything. But I’m glad we were able to be of some use.” She folded the pizza box and stuffed it into the garbage.

      “Are you going to visit the baby again?” he asked.

      “Yes. Definitely. I wonder if they’ve found her family yet. Do you know why it’s taking so long?”

      “Her mother didn’t have any ID on her,” he explained. “Not a purse, not a wallet, not even a driver’s license in her pocket.”

      She frowned. “That’s strange.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      “Were there any registration papers in the glove compartment?”

      “Yeah. According to them, the car belongs to a Myra Bedford in Los Angeles.”

      “But you don’t think the woman driving the car was Myra?”

      “We know she wasn’t. About an hour after the accident, Myra Bedford reported her vehicle stolen.”

      Now Jackie was really looking confused. He didn’t blame her. The situation was bizarre to say the least.

      “Myra Bedford was visiting her daughter in Courage Bay. She went shopping in the Super Value Mall with her three-month-old grandson yesterday afternoon, and when she came out of the mall, she found her Taurus wagon missing.”