The Brittney Travis murder had captured the public’s heart. Even Nathan, who’d lost everything—his career, his reputation—had the public’s sympathy. After all, he’d given up everything for love.
CeeCee proved to be a piece of work. She’d been dealing to kids to support her own habit and line her pockets. She’d confessed to the three murders, as well as to stealing Derek’s book out of the campus safe, and to doctoring Amanda’s art book and planting it at Patricia’s.
“Yes, I donated blood,” Rafe was saying. “Why...”
He paused, uncertainty crossing his face.
“I didn’t realize I had donated blood for Nathan Williamson. But it makes no difference to me.”
Janie picked up her pencil and looked at her drawing of Tabitha Jane Rittenhouse. Already she could see the similarities between Tabitha and Katie: the curve of the cheeks, a certain smile.
“I have the same rare blood type as Nathan? You’re kidding,” Rafe was saying. “I... How old is Williamson? Thirty-six. Really?”
His voice slowed. “Four years older than me. No, no, I don’t need to come in and see you. I’m fine. Shocked. Is this solid enough that I can tell my mother?”
For a minute longer, Rafe remained on the phone. He nodded, grunted, and occasionally said yes. Finally, he hung up and Janie stepped into his arms.
“Nathan is Ramon?”
Slowly, he answered, “Appears so.”
“Are you okay with this?”
“It will take some getting used to,” Rafe admitted.
“Yes,” Janie agreed. Already in his arms, it took no time for her to nestle close, look into his eyes and move her lips close to his.
Almost kissing, not quite, she whispered huskily, “Imagine, you’ve gotten a brother and me on the same day.”
He didn’t wait for her to kiss him. He brought her forward, strong, ambitious, questing, needing.
“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he said. “I’m in love, with you.”
She kissed him a “Me, too.”
Possibly the longest kiss in history.
* * * * *