Читать книгу Support Your Local Sheriff - Melinda Curtis - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAFTER LEAVING THE BED-AND-BREAKFAST, Nate drove around town, ostensibly to make his nightly rounds.
But it was more than worry for the town that kept him from bed. His mind was as jumbled as a box of well-used Scrabble tiles. As if being blindsided by Doris wasn’t bad enough...
I’m a father.
And April was dead. He’d need to visit her grave and pay his respects, maybe make a donation to a cancer-related charity.
I’m a father.
And Julie looked like she’d been run over by a bus. He’d need to contact a few of their mutual friends on the force and find out how bad her cancer was. He didn’t want to repeat the mistake he’d made with April. But that mistake hadn’t been one-sided. April had had a lot to say on their wedding day and she’d known...
I’m a father.
As were many of his friends in Harmony Valley. But unlike them, he didn’t know his son’s middle name. He didn’t know what he’d looked like as a baby. He didn’t even know his son’s birth date. Birthdays meant a lot to kids. They tended to remember birthdays as they got older.
Nate had been given a gun for his eighth birthday. It was a wreck of a weapon. The stock was duct-taped. The barrel scraped and the sight bent forward as if someone had used it for a cane. But it was a real rifle, not a BB gun like Matthew Freitas had gotten for his eighth birthday.
“Time you start acting like a man,” his father had said in a voice that boomed in their small kitchen. He’d stared at his wife making pancakes for Nate’s birthday breakfast with an arrogant grin. “Duck-hunting season is coming up.”
Nate longed to go duck hunting. They lived in Willows, California, where everyone hunted. It was practically a law.
“Bring your gun. Let’s go shoot.” There was a sly note to Dad’s voice that Nate didn’t understand.
Not that he cared. He’d played shooting video games at Tony Arno’s house down the block. Nate was a good shot. Wait until he showed Dad!
“No.” Mom sounded a little panicked, like she did when she didn’t have dinner ready and Dad pulled into the driveway. She came to stand behind Nate, drawing him to her with fingers that dug through to bone.
His little sister’s eyes were big. She tugged at the skirt of her Sunday school dress.
Nate bet Molly was jealous. She never got to do anything with Dad.
But Nate was eight. He was a man now. That meant Dad would take him hunting. There’d be no more cleaning toilets for Nate. No more dishes. No more dusting. No more butt-stinging whuppings.
Dad glowered at the women in the household. “The boy’s coming with me.”
Nate had naively stepped forward.
Someone stepped into the beam of Nate’s headlights and then leaped back.
A slender African American man stood on the sidewalk in a bathrobe, shuffling his bunny-slippered feet.
Nate slammed on his brakes. The truck shuddered to a halt, but Nate’s limbs continued to quake. He rammed the truck in Park and jumped out, bellowing, “Terrance! What are you doing out here?”
“Evening, Nate.” The tall, elderly man shoved his hands into his burgundy terry-cloth pockets. “You didn’t have to stop so...so quickly.”
“Of course, I had to stop.” Nate was yelling. He never yelled. Blame it on the night he’d had. “You’re walking around in your bathrobe and slippers.”
Policing Harmony Valley wasn’t about controlling crime. It was about keeping the peace. And peace required patience. The patience Nate usually had in deep reserve was at drought levels.
“I can’t do it, Sheriff.” Terrance’s breath hitched and his shoulders shook. His elongated facial features were accented by sad salt-and-pepper brows and sparse chin stubble. “I can’t go to sleep without Robin in bed with me.”
Nate heaved a sigh. Terrance had recently lost his wife of fifty years.
But this was the third time in a month he’d found Terrance walking around in his pajamas. The old man had been watching the sun rise from the top of Parish Hill when Nate drove by to check on reports of gunshots. He’d been watching the river pass by from the Harmony Valley bridge during Nate’s morning jog. And now...
A porch light came on at the house on the corner.
If anyone saw Terrance in his pj’s, Nate would have to do more than chastise him and make sure he got home safe. Doris would want him to issue a citation for indecent exposure. Agnes would want him to take Terrance to the hospital for observation, which might result in pills being prescribed. Pills Terrance wouldn’t take, because the antidepressants and sleeping pills his doctor had given him after Robin’s death sat unused in his medicine cabinet.
“Get in the truck and I’ll drive you home.” He’d get the older man something to eat and stay at his place until Terrance dozed off.
Terrance shook his head in a trembly fashion. The robe was worn and did little to keep out the cold. He was shivering all over.
Nate stood between Terrance and the porch, hopefully blocking the view of anyone peering out the front window. He swept Terrance toward the truck with both hands. “If you’re going to walk, you need to walk with all your clothes on.”
Except to shiver, Terrance didn’t budge. “I’m dressed for bed because I try to sleep and I can’t.” The mournful sound in his voice echoed on the empty street. “I always thought I’d go first. I should have spoiled her more. I should have told her I loved her more. I should have—”
“Get in the truck.” Nate closed in. “Turn those bunny slippers around and get in.”
“Are you arresting me?” Even the bunny ears seemed to be shivering now. “More important, are you making fun of Robin’s slippers?”
He was. Some levity was called for, otherwise he’d never get Terrance off the street. Nate put his hands on the older man’s shoulders and gently turned him around. “You’re telling me your feet are the same size as Robin’s?”
“Robin had long, elegant feet.” Salt-and-pepper brows dive-bombed blue eyes as he stared at Nate over his shoulder. “I feel closer to her when I wear her slippers.”
Locks turned in the door behind them. Out of time, Nate hustled Terrance into the truck.
“Sheriff? Is that you?” Lilac Miller wore a pink silk bathrobe, heels and what looked like a shower cap.
“Yes, ma’am.” Nate walked in front of the headlights so she could see him. “Sorry about the noise. A cat ran out in front of me.” He got in the truck, hoping Lilac hadn’t seen his passenger.
“I saw Lilac driving Doris to the market this morning out by the highway.” Terrance’s knobby knees bumped against the old metal dash.
Nate bit back a curse, adding Lilac to his to-do list tomorrow. She was dangerous on the road, and had promised him she wouldn’t drive unless it was an emergency. “Thanks for telling me.”
Terrance squirmed in his seat. “Should I mention I was walking in my bathrobe and bunny slippers?”
“Only if you want to spend a night in jail under my supervision.”
* * *
JULIE’S BREATH SOUNDED HOLLOW. Her throat felt dry.
Someone had thrown a smoke grenade. Despite the mask, Julie couldn’t breathe. Visibility in the house was like a midnight-thick fog in San Francisco.
A woman appeared before her, holding a baby and a weapon. The assault rifle was trained on Julie.
Julie tried to shout a warning to the officers behind her.
Too late. The woman’s finger squeezed the trigger.
Julie fired.
She couldn’t see. She didn’t know...
Her breath rasped. Her throat burned.
The woman closed the distance between them, pressing the muzzle of her gun into Julie’s shoulder. Julie wanted to run, but her legs were sinking into the floor.
Crying out, Julie fired again. Suddenly, it was April who held her. April, who crumpled to the linoleum, her mouth moving as she tried to speak one word: forgive.
Julie sat up, shaking and sweating. She’d fallen asleep on the floor of the bed-and-breakfast. The lights were still on, but the chill of the evening had seeped into the room. Into her.
Helpless. She felt so helpless. And sleep deprived. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since she’d been released from the hospital. Not since she’d stopped taking the pain pills. But if she took them she couldn’t drive or care for Duke.
It took several minutes for the shakes to subside. Several more for her to trust her legs to hold her.
But peace of mind? That remained elusive.
* * *
“JUJU.” A WHISPER. A tug on the quilt.
Julie cracked her eyes open. She felt like sun-dried roadkill. Her eyes were gritty. Her mouth dry. And her head...it felt as if her skull had been stuffed with heavy mountain clay. She wanted to roll over and stay beneath the covers.
But there was her nephew. His black hair in a rumpled half Mohawk and his mouth set in his welcome-to-morning grumpy line.
Cheerful. She had to channel April and be cheerful. “Want to snuggle, little man?”
“No. Want milk.” He tugged harder on the quilt. “Juju.”
Julie squinted at her watch. It was seven thirty, late for Duke. “Okay. Okay.” She ran through the list. Shower. Clean teeth. Clean diaper. Clean dressing. Clean clothes. Could she distract a two-year-old for an hour until Leona’s official breakfast time?
“Juju!”
“Okay, I’m moving.” Julie folded her right arm to her chest and rolled slowly to an upright position. Duke didn’t look any better when she was upright. He was still rumpled and grumpy. She caught her reflection in the mirror hanging above the desk. She didn’t look much better. She looked ready to audition for a role as a zombie—dark circles under her eyes, hollow cheeks, hair in loopy tangles. “I hope we see Leona on the way to the bathroom. She could use a good scare.”
Thirty minutes later, Julie and Duke were dressed in jeans, sneakers and thick black hoodies. She carried a backpack with toddler supplies and the custody contract she wanted Nate to sign. He’d thrown her a curveball last night by not rejecting Duke outright. In all the years she’d known him, he’d always said he didn’t want kids. He couldn’t change his mind now. She wouldn’t let him. If he didn’t sign today, she’d put the Daddy Test into play.
“Me walk. Me walk.” Duke ran to the staircase.
“Wait.” Julie dashed after him, juggling the backpack and the umbrella stroller. “Hold my hand.”
Together, they took the stairs one at a time. When they reached the foyer, they peeked into the empty living room. Sunlight streamed across the antique wood-trimmed couch, a delicate coffee table, a Boston fern and the antique rocking horse. The wood floors gleamed. There wasn’t a dust mote in sight.
“Breakfast is at eight thirty,” Reggie said cheerfully from the dining room. “There’s coffee, milk and juice on the sideboard.”
“Milk would be fantastic.” Julie tugged Duke’s blue sippy cup from her backpack.
“Why do you say breakfast is at eight thirty, Regina, when you don’t mean it?” Leona stood at the end of the foyer beneath the stairs. Dark green sheath, low black heels, pearls at her neck, hands clasped at her waist and looking as if she didn’t want to let on she smelled something unpleasant.
Julie gave a tentative sniff to make sure Duke wasn’t fragrant—he wasn’t—before slipping into the dining room to fill Duke’s cup.
“It’s hard to believe Grandmother’s first review of the bed-and-breakfast was positive,” Reggie deadpanned, wiping the dining room table as if she only had a few seconds left to clean. “Customer service isn’t her forte.”
“Chad Healy appreciates good repartee.” Leona entered the dining room, stiff as starch. “The art of conversation is dying, being replaced by the Twitter and those hashtags you always mumble about.”
Reggie stopped cleaning and grinned, a real, live, genuine smile directed at her grandmother. “Did you joke with your father when the telegraph became obsolete?”
Leona didn’t answer, but the corner of her lip twitched. Those two may go at it, but they clearly enjoyed their banter.
“How about Great-Grandpa’s horse and buggy?” Reggie leaned on the table, coming in for the proverbial kill, her tone gleeful. “His gas lamps? His...” She faltered and glanced at Julie for help.
“Uh...” Julie drew a blank, having been tag-teamed before she knew she was part of Reggie’s team.
“You petty.” Duke grinned up at Leona. He wrapped his arms around her spindly leg and gave her a hug.
Leona stared down at Duke. Almost of its own volition, her hand drifted to the top of his head and gave him a pat.
Duke released her, still grinning. “Petty you.” He reached out and patted her bottom. And then he caught sight of his sippy cup and ran to Julie. “Milk!”
Leona’s cheeks were redder than a ripe strawberry. She walked woodenly out of the room.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.” Reggie stared at Duke in awe. “The Ice Queen melted. Honestly, I don’t think she touched me when I was growing up.”
Julie felt compelled to come to Leona’s defense. “I’m sure she must have—”
“Nope.” Reggie shook her head. “She was... Well, that’s not important. It’s been a challenge being here and your son gave me hope.” Reggie turned mahogany eyes filled with tears Julie’s way. “Thank you.”
A man appeared in the dining room doorway. “Am I too early for breakfast?”
“No.” Reggie clutched her cleaning rag. “Not at all. I just need to put it in the oven and...” She composed herself. “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee while you wait? Get to know our other guests and...make yourself at home.”
Julie sighed. A cup of coffee sounded like heaven.
Duke stopped sucking down milk and tugged on the umbrella stroller. “Out, Juju. Go out.”
“Can’t I have my coffee first?” Julie’s gaze drifted to the stack of mugs by the coffee carafe.
“Peeeeeze.” Duke hugged Julie’s leg and gazed up at her with April’s gray eyes. “Go peeze.”
Julie was a sucker for that sweet face. A cup of coffee would have to wait. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She’d take Nate up on his offer of breakfast. She’d start him on the Daddy Test. That’d make him squirm. The idea perked her up.
A few minutes later, having made her apologies to the other guest, Julie pushed Duke through the foggy streets toward the town square in a blue umbrella stroller. For being two, Duke was a solid kid. Pushing him wasn’t easy. Back in the day, as an older sister, she’d pushed April in her stroller. She’d whined, of course.
“People like you and me have to take care of others,” Dad had said in response to her complaints. As a highway patrolman, he’d been adamant about duty and responsibility.
He’d been her strongest supporter when she’d wanted to try out for Little League baseball instead of softball. He’d argued her case with the school board when she wanted to pitch for her high school baseball team. But in return, he’d made her volunteer for every charity that needed an extra pair of hands. He’d insisted she babysit April and help her with her homework. He’d nourished her competitive streak and her sense of responsibility. A burden and a curse, she’d once told Nate.
Thinking about how close she and Nate had been made her cringe inside. The inward cringe made her wound ache. Aching wounds reignited her need for justice.
“Tree.” Duke interrupted her thoughts and his milk consumption, pointing to a large fir tree.
A yellow tow truck drove past. The driver waved at Duke.
“Truck.” Duke turned in his seat to grin up at Julie, eyes so like April’s that her breath caught.
She forgot about vendettas, twinging gunshot wounds and the past. She let her chest fill with the blissful sight of the gift April had left the world. “Do you know how much your mama loved you?”
Duke’s grin deepened and he spread his little arms wide. “This much!” He sat back in the stroller and pointed to the town square, which was all grass except for one large oak. “Tree.” And then he pointed to the left, to a blue pickup with a gold star on the door. “Truck.”
Nate’s truck. Nate was at El Rosal. Julie’s steps slowed.
El Rosal was a colorful Mexican restaurant with outdoor dining fenced in by a low wrought iron fence. On the same side of the street a few doors down was Martin’s Bakery. Both seemed to be doing a brisk morning business.
Nate sat at an outdoor table with a thin, elderly black man. The sheriff wore a blue checkered shirt beneath a navy sleeveless jacket. He gave his dining companion that half smile she knew so well. Only it wasn’t the same half smile of old. Not the one he used to send Julie’s way, the one that said he couldn’t trust himself to release his feelings. This one said he liked the man across from him and he was comfortable letting his companion know it.
Julie’s throat ached with the feeling of loss. It shouldn’t. She’d lost Nate as a friend the day he’d left April. But looking at him now, at that open-book smile, she wondered if their friendship had been one-sided.
“You’re early.” Nate pushed back his chair and hurried to meet them on the sidewalk, the contained half smile giving nothing away. He bent down near Duke’s level. “How’re you today, buddy?”
“Great!” Duke thrust his cup in the air.
Julie’s gaze stumbled over Nate. No uniform. No gun belt. She had no idea who he was anymore.
Nate’s scruffy dining companion appeared at his side. He wore a wrinkled orange T-shirt and a dirty green zippered sweatshirt. He had bachelor written all over him. “I’m Terrance.” He slanted a frown Nate’s way. “Next time you put me in jail for the night, I’d like breakfast in bed.” He walked slowly away, as if he had nowhere to go.
“What did you arrest him for?” Julie asked.
Nate’s gaze followed the old man. “Annoying me.” There was the dry humor she remembered.
“And that’s against the law?”
“In my town, yes.”
It was Julie’s turn to frown at the sheriff. Maybe Doris did have a legitimate claim against him. That cheered Julie, even if she didn’t quite believe it.
Meanwhile, Nate’s gaze focused on Julie and the lines around his dark eyes deepened. “You should reconsider your accommodations and stay with me.”
“No, thanks. Terrance didn’t look all that rested.”
“Neither do you.”
She glanced past Nate to the bakery sign, a little of her confidence returning. She knew how to deal with this Nate—be firm.
“I see you’re tempted by the bakery,” Nate said, moving closer to Julie. “On the one hand, Martin’s will have those pastries you’re craving.” Nate took her left arm, leaving her no choice but to push the stroller to his table. “On the other, El Rosal has bacon.”
From his seat in the stroller, Duke gasped. “Ba-con?”
“Yep, bacon,” Nate confirmed.
“Are you trying to tell me what’s best for Duke and me?” Julie felt overheated in her thick black hoodie. She was sure it was because she resented Nate’s touch, his calm, his command.
“They have good coffee here, Jules,” Nate said in a soft voice that contradicted the warning in his dark eyes. “And apple fritters.”
She hated that he knew her so well. She also hated that three words softened her resolve—coffee, apple fritters.
“Ba-con?” Duke searched several tables for his culinary prize.
“We’ll get you bacon while Juju parks the stroller and takes a rest at the table.” Nate unbuckled Duke and carried him inside. Into his life and away from hers.
Julie felt cold. Not the cold terror when she’d been shot, but the vein-freezing cold she’d felt when April had drifted off in death. The alone kind of cold. Her toes stung with it.
She parked the stroller inside the low wrought iron fence and took a seat beneath a tall heater, feeling chilled.
The patrons outside were mostly elderly. A few people looked at her curiously.
“You’re staying at the Lambridge Bed & Breakfast.” The mayor came to stand next to Julie’s table. He was wearing tie-dye again today. His sweatshirt was a wild mix of purple and green. “Welcome to Harmony Valley. Whatever brings you to town...” He paused to see if she’d explain why she’d come. When she didn’t, he continued, “We hope you enjoy your stay and perhaps stay.”
The patrons at other tables beamed at her.
“Oh, no. I’m not staying.” Julie put her hands on the table, as if to cradle the coffee cup that wasn’t there.
The mayor was nothing if not the town’s salesman. “Don’t judge so quickly. How many towns can boast affordable living, a winery and views like this.” He pointed to a fog-shrouded mountain towering over the trees.
“I’m sure it’s beautiful when the fog burns off,” Julie allowed, lacing her fingers together.
The mayor pointed at her with both index fingers and backed away. “I won’t give up on you.”
“I can respect that.” Julie fought off the sudden need to yawn.
She couldn’t see Nate inside. She couldn’t see a waitress with a carafe of coffee. She was out of her element here and in her own skin. Her head felt heavy enough from lack of sleep to fall off her shoulders and there was a knot tightening beneath her right shoulder blade, about the place where Nate had stabbed her in the back years ago.
When they were rookies on the Sacramento police force, Julie had had to prove she was tough enough to fit in. Nate fit in just by putting on the uniform. They’d been working the same shift when they’d received a domestic abuse call. Julie pulled up to the house just after Nate did. It was the first time they’d responded to a call together. The first time Julie had been on a domestic abuse call.
The call looked bad from the get-go. Rundown neighborhood. Dingy white house. Dirt where a lawn should be. The crack by the front door handle indicated it’d been kicked in at least once before. It wasn’t the kind of place you sent a patrol officer alone.
“I’ll take point.” Nate’s hand was on his holster as he knocked on the front door. “Police! Open up!”
Inside the house, a gun went off. A woman screamed.
Nate drew his gun and kicked down the door before Julie could report shots fired and request backup. And then she drew her weapon and followed.
“Landry!” Julie tried to control the slight shake to her hands.
There were sounds of a scuffle deep inside the house. At the end of the hall, a woman appeared.
Julie flinched, nearly shooting her.
The woman was unarmed, her face bruised and bloodied. She carried a toddler with a red welt on his cheek. They were both crying.
Crap. Julie’s legs had felt as if she’d run the police academy obstacle course one too many times. She’d trained for worst-case scenarios, but Julie had never been in a situation like this before. “Get out,” Julie ordered the woman, keeping her weapon and her eyes trained on the end of the hallway as the woman escaped past her. “Landry! Answer me.”
Something hit a wall, shaking the entire house. And then there was a thud.
Julie turned the corner of the hall and looked into the master bedroom.
Nate sat on top of a panting shirtless man, cuffing his hands behind his back. He stared up at Julie, breathing heavily, one eye swelling and his lip bloody. Two handguns were on the carpet near the door. “Read him his rights.”
Later, as they’d worked on the report at the station, Julie put a hand on Nate’s arm. “That was stupid, running in there like that. He had a gun. He could’ve—”
“His wife didn’t think it was stupid since he was pistol-whipping her.” There was a dangerous edge to Nate’s voice that Julie had never heard before.
“Do you know them?” He hadn’t put that in the report. “Is this personal?”
“I’ve seen abuse before.” Nate’s jaw ticked. “It’s worth taking a bullet to save someone. He hit that woman and—” his voice roughened “—that little boy.” Nate stared at her, but he didn’t seem to see Julie.
She’d wanted him to. She wanted him to confide in her.
“Do you know what it’s like to feel helpless and trapped?” He did see her then. And behind his gaze was something so bleak, Julie almost couldn’t bear it. “Your options are taken away. Your spontaneity... Your personality... You can’t show anything. And your freedom...” His gaze turned distant again. “It’s like a storm comes in with dark, heavy clouds, and you have no shelter, no choice but to weather the storm.”
“Nate... I’m so sorry.” Was this why he never talked about his family? Because he’d been abused?
“Sorry?” Nate had sat back in his chair, suddenly completely in the present and completely angry. “I was talking about the victims.” He stood and went to get a cup of coffee.
She hadn’t believed him. But what she did believe was that Nate took his work to heart. And she’d respected him for that. Heck, she’d practically worshipped the ground he walked on.
Inside El Rosal, a waiter entered the main dining room through the swinging kitchen door. He held the door for Nate, who carried Duke and a large mug of steaming coffee. Duke clutched a piece of bacon in each hand.
The waiter opened the main restaurant door for Nate, and then followed him to the table. He had a swarthy complexion, thick black hair and a killer smile that probably netted him lots of tips. If he’d brought a coffeepot, Julie might have tipped him well, too.
Instead, she sighed and held up the sippy cup. First things first.
Nate set the steaming mug in front of Julie and sat down across from her, lifting a happy Duke in his lap. Julie’s lap felt empty. It was small consolation that Nate suddenly looked as if he’d been taken over by aliens and was just now realizing he had a small boy with him.
“Truck.” Duke grinned, pointing at Nate’s Ford.
“Truck,” Nate echoed.
The waiter leaned both hands on the edge of the table and beamed at Julie. He’d pinned his name tag—Arturo—upside down. “Sheriff Nate wanted to order you the empanada, which he mistakenly calls an apple fritter. He also wants to order pancakes and eggs for his little sidekick.” Arturo’s gently rolling consonants fell out of his smiling mouth like the cheery notes of a pop song’s chorus. “But my mama won’t accept the order until you confirm it. She says we don’t know you, but we know how bossy Sheriff Nate is.” He plucked the sippy cup from her hand. “Milk or juice?”
“Milk. And just this once we’ll go with the sheriff’s order.” She gave Nate a stern look and then mainlined the coffee.
“I know the difference between an apple fritter and an empanada,” Nate grumbled.
“The key to happiness is to establish expectations.” Arturo moved to a stack of wooden high chairs. “Both in dining and in relationships.” He carried one to the table, and then left them.
“Pay no attention to the talking fortune cookie.” Nate deposited Duke in the high chair like a pro. At Julie’s questioning glance, he gave her the tight half smile. “My sister has a twenty-month-old little girl and I’m one of the few people trusted to babysit Camille.”
Deep down, something inside Julie gave a plaintive cry of foul. She wanted Nate to be all thumbs with Duke, to generate disinterest and temper tantrums. Nothing was going right in Harmony Valley.
Arturo returned with the sippy cup, placing it in front of Duke. “Milk.”
“Milk.” Duke dropped bacon bits on the table and reached for the cup, only to stop midgrab and stare at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I dirty.”
Before Julie could set her coffee down, Nate was wiping her nephew’s hands with a napkin.
“Okay, I get it,” Julie groused. “You have experience with little kids.” Drat and darn. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
Nate met her gaze squarely. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?”
She sat back, resisting the urge to touch her shoulder. He must have called someone from the force. “Why would I? We don’t work together. We’re not partners, friends or in-laws.”
He ignored her boundary setting. In fact, he steamrolled over her defenses. “You look like hell. I thought you were dying of cancer.”
Julie clung to her coffee cup and held her tongue.
“You’re not taking time off to grieve. You’re taking time off to heal and awaiting an internal investigation into the shooting.” Something passed over Nate’s face, a bleakness so fleeting, she couldn’t catch its meaning. “I heard it was your first.”
Her first kill, he meant.
Sweat traced the band of her bra. Only because the fleece of her hoodie was too thick and the heater above her too warm. Her toes were still cold.
“Don’t talk about it as if I was hunting deer.” Julie stared into her mug while Duke slurped his milk and black birds twittered and the morning fog dissipated and life went on happily for other people.
