Dangerous Passage (Southern Crimes Book #1): A Novel
of wildflowers she’d started painting a couple weeks ago.
    “You’re good.” He turned back to her. “And I’ve just uncovered yet another layer of a fascinating woman.”
    Avery felt her cheeks flush as she looked around the sparsely decorated room, trying to see it through Jackson’s eyes. But while refurbishing the house had become an ongoing task—like the still-needed visit from the plumber—remodeling the basement had dropped to the bottom of her to-do list. For now, the bare room didn’t hold much more than a chair, desk, some filing cabinets, and the old leather couch from her college years she’d patched using duct tape.
    “I suppose this room could use some fixing up, but for now its purpose is more functional. I don’t exactly have the kind of job I can leave behind when I head home, so this gives me a place to work away from the precinct.”
    “I don’t know. I always pictured you relaxing at the end of a hard day with a glass of iced tea and a good book.”
    “A glass of iced tea, yes, but a good book?” She let out a low laugh. “I don’t even remember the last time I read somethingother than a police report. Besides, if I’m really going to unwind, I prefer a fast-paced workout at the gym, or even better, rock climbing with Tess.”
    Of course, who was she kidding about unwinding? Lately, between leading murder investigations, looking into Michael’s death, and trying to balance her personal life, her nerves were—more often than not—strung tighter than the piano wires on Mama’s polished Steinway.
    Jackson stopped in front of her crime board. “You’ve told me you’re investigating his death, but you’ve never spoken much about your brother.”
    “Losing Michael was—and still is—very personal.”
    She crossed the room and ran her fingers across the last photo she’d taken of Michael at her parents’ home, feeling the familiar sting of sadness the memory brought with it. She’d meticulously arranged the photos beside the timeline and key points of the case. Five more boxes of paperwork sat filed away in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the threads of information surrounding her brother’s death seemed too on display. She didn’t even let Tess hang out down here. She started to flip the board, but Jackson caught her hand.
    “Wait.” He squeezed her fingers gently, sending shivers up her arm. “I know this is personal, but I also don’t want you to feel as if you have to hide who you are for me. I’ve learned over the past few weeks what’s important to you. Your faith, your daughter, family, your job—these are the things that make you who you are. And I like that. I like the fact that you go rock climbing with your daughter, paint in your free time, and loved your brother enough to find out the truth about what happened to him.”
    A fresh flood of tears burned her eyes. They’d buried Michael just a few months ago in the spring, and as much as she longed to go back and erase that moment, she knew she was going tohave to accept what had happened. And it wasn’t just the loss of Michael. Her mother’s slow spiral into depression after a difficult year of loss had triggered Avery’s need to make things right again. Finding Michael’s killer might not bring him back to life, but finding answers would help bring the closure they all needed.
    Because while Michael Hunt might have been one of their own, sometimes she was convinced that the department had given up on finding his killer. Not that they would ever admit that. Even her father’s influence hadn’t been enough to bring the killer to justice. Which meant that unless she could discover the truth, her brother’s death would go unsolved. A murderer would go free. And her brother’s name would be marred forever.

7
    J ackson watched Avery’s expression flicker from grief to determination. Leading a murder investigation was one thing. Needing to find answers for the death of a family member had to have

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