Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“Gonna hold you to it.” Grant eyes me like he knows damned well I’ll probably try to manage everything on my own anyway.
He’s right.
But we don’t need to say it out loud.
I flash him that quick, practiced smile. “Okay. I’ll head out and have another look at the crime scene. My witness notes are in the system if you want to check them out. The girlfriend’s staying a few days in case we need her. Her sister should be coming in to be with her.”
“Got it,” Grant says and trudges back to his desk, letting Rolf sniff his hand in passing.
I take another minute to enter more notes.
I’m a little on edge, and I feel like I’m racing not just against the impending storm, but something else.
Something big and mean and unnamed, looming on the horizon.
Maybe I’m imagining things.
Making connections that aren’t there because I need to believe all these years of work, of patience, of lying in wait will actually pay off.
But I can’t shake this feeling that something big is coming.
And when it breaks, it could take Redhaven down with it.
I finish up my notes and stand, summoning Rolf with a click of my tongue.
Even though he’s languishing in all the treats and attention he pretends not to enjoy, he doesn’t hesitate to go bounding up, breaking free from Mallory, who’s abandoned her post at the 911 dispatch station for a belly rub.
As I’m attaching Rolf’s leash, though, the creak of old hinges makes me look up—only to blink as the door to Chief Bowden’s office drags open.
Damn.
I didn’t realize he was here, considering he’s been calling out for days on end.
He’s clearly been in his office since last night.
From the looks of it, he slept in there.
He’s bleary, his face dotted with stubble and his uniform shirt hanging open over a thin white undershirt that barely covers his ample belly. His hair sticks up everywhere.
Looks like he slept rough, and he’s got a hand behind him on the small of his back. It’s probably aching when the leather chair in that office isn’t too comfortable to sit in, let alone sleep on.
Yawning, scratching at his face, he hobbles toward the bathroom.
When he notices all of us are staring at him, he freezes.
“Uh,” Henri says. “Chief? Everything okay? Lookin’ a touch rough there, sir.”
For a second, tired irritation flashes over Bowden’s face before he gives us his familiar ‘aw, shucks’ smile.
“Had a bit of a tiff with the missus,” he says. “Forgot one of our anniversaries. Worst thing is, I don’t even know which one. First date, getting married, six months? I dunno.” His grin feels a little too fake. “Janelle put me out and told me I could find somewhere else to sleep until I wised up, so I did.”
Lucas grimaces. “Damn, man. I’d say you shoulda checked into a hotel, but…”
“Yeah. I wasn’t too welcome in my own establishment.” Bowden slaps his thigh and lets out a little guffaw. “No worries. She’ll forgive me by dinner, and I’ll be back in my own bed by midnight. Ain’t the first time. My lady’s one hell of a spitfire when she wants to be.”
Janelle Bowden.
Our version of Martha Stewart Lite.
She’s got a backbone, sure, but I’d never call her a spitfire.
And considering our conversation yesterday, I don’t believe the chief’s story about why he got put out for a hot minute.
Still, I hold my tongue, just watching him.
I don’t miss how Rolf tenses under my hand, and how intently he’s watching the chief, too.
Maybe he’s just picking up my own nerves. Or maybe he senses something more in that mind reader way dogs have.
Because there’s something off about the chief.
I can see it in how his gaze sweeps the room, looking flat above his goofy smile, checking to make sure we’re buying his load of crap.
How he stops as he meets my eyes—and his own harden before he moves on.
The edge of his mask is starting to peel.
The kindly old chief he pretends to be, well on his way to retirement, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
I can’t quite see what’s under that mask just yet.
But as he shrugs with another self-deprecating laugh and shuffles into the bathroom, I can’t shake it.
I need to have another heart-to-heart with Janelle Bowden.
Before I have that talk, I need to have one last look at our crime scene before the rain hits.
The once-bright morning sky has turned into a brooding wall of clouds. I walk Rolf back home so I can change. Standard-issue uniform shoes aren’t the best for hiking the hills.
Half an hour later, we’re setting out again, slipping through trees that have the cool smell of an oncoming storm. The leaves turn up, showing their silvery undersides in the wind.
Rolf throws back a curious look for about the tenth time.
“What? I’m not thinking about her that much.” His ears perk and I sigh. “Okay, dammit. Only a little—and you’re taking that secret to the grave, old man.”