Carrying a thick, manila-clad file Jamie assumed must be Burke Carpenter’s, Detective Kilgore came back into the stale office, his coffee-colored skin dripping with sweat despite the frigid air outside.
Flipping his waist length braids over his shoulder, Kilgore slapped the file down and took a seat on his side of the rickety, wooden desk, putting him directly across from Jamie.
Kilgore had the dark, exotic looks of a tropical swimsuit model, but the expression he wore made Jamie want to run and hide. His amber eyes probed first Jamie, then Megan, who was seated just to Jamie’s right.
Finally, Kilgore said. “Damn, it’s hot in here. Stupid furnace malfunctioned again. You sure I can’t get you kids anything to drink? A soda, maybe?”
Jamie shook his head just as Megan did the same. Jam
