For a moment she rested against him. Maybe she couldn’t remember anything about her relationship with this big, strong man, but he had only beenconsiderate and tender with her since the moment she’d seen him in the hospital.
Quinn pulled away to face him. “Why is it so important that I remember being here with Demi?”
Gaze steady, he studied her. “Any memory you regain is helpful. This property is central to the bombing investigation. The Larson brothers itched to purchase this property. They wanted it for something, and it didn’thave to do with planting pansies or relaxing on porch rockers.”
If being in this cabin helped kick-start her memory, then she’d comb through every square inch. Quinn returned inside to the bedroom.
The king-size bed was neatly made, the room spotless, though the musty air of disuse lingered. West pulled open the closet door.
He went very still and very quiet.
“What’s wrong?” sheasked.
Quinn peered into the closet. A sleeping bag, stashed in the corner, along with a packet of disposable diapers, a box of energy bars and a battery-operated lantern.
But that was not what caught West’s attention. He took a leather jacket off a hanger and turned, the jacket dangling from two fingers.
His expression turned grim.
“Quinn, you want to tell me about this?” West’svoice deepened. “You told me this jacket was hanging in your closet. Then why is Demi’s motorcycle jacket here?”