He sat back, glancing around the quiet squad room. It felt weird to be here alone. Well, not quite alone. Major, the station cat, slept sprawled across the top of a filing cabinet like he owned the place.
Kevin didn’t mind the quiet. It let him think.
Sam had gone to see Beryl Thorne alone tonight. Kevin didn’t know why, and he didn’t need to. There was history there—anyone with eyes could see that much. Sam kept his past locked up tight, but heck, didn’t they all? Kevin had his own history too. Things he didn’t talk about. Things he wasn’t proud of.
Sam didn’t ask about any of it. And Kevin didn’t ask about Beryl. That was how trust worked. You earned it, piece by piece, until it didn’t matter where you’d come from—only where you stood now.
And for the first time in years, Kevin felt like he stood in the right place.
Sam hadn’t even been angry about the thumb drive. He’d stared at Kevin long enough to make him sweat, sure. But when Kevin explained why he hadn’t mentioned it sooner—his memory issues and that hehadn’t been sure what he was looking at—Sam had just nodded. Said something about good instincts. Told him to trust his gut next time.
Kevin hadn’t been able to shake that moment. Samtrustedhim. Not a lot of people had. Not back then.
Now? Kevin felt like part of the team. Like he belonged here, in this rundown station with its creaky floors, stale coffee, and a cat with an attitude problem.
The phone on his desk buzzed, jolting him upright. He grabbed it. Sam.
“Yeah?”
“I’m done here,” Sam said, his voice steady but clipped. “Heading to Marnie’s. Meet me out front in ten.”
The line clicked dead.
Kevin stared at the phone then at the clock. He was already moving, shoving his chair back and grabbing his jacket in one fluid motion. He was out on the sidewalk waiting when Sam pulled up.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The warm glow of Marnie Wilson’s living room spilled faintly onto the cul-de-sac as Sam parked the cruiser at the curb. The modest colonial looked almost too picture-perfect—tidy flower beds, a pristine porch, and curtains drawn tight. Kevin adjusted his seat belt as Lucy shifted restlessly in the back.
“You ready?” Sam asked, his tone low.
Kevin nodded. “Let’s see what she’s hiding.”
Sam stepped out. Lucy hopped out, too, her ears pricked as if sensing the tension. Sam glanced back at her. “Stay sharp, girl.”
The doorbell chimed, its cheerful sound at odds with the gravity of their visit. Inside, the sound ofhurried footsteps approached then hesitated. The door creaked open, revealing Marnie’s cautious face.
“Chief Mason?” Her brows furrowed as she spotted Kevin and Lucy. “What’s going on? It’s late.”
“Evening, Marnie,” Sam said, his tone firm but polite. “We need to talk. It’s important.”
Marnie frowned, gripping the doorframe. “Can’t this wait until morning? I have early meetings?—”
“No, it can’t,” Sam interrupted, stepping forward enough to signal this wasn’t a request. “This is serious.”
Marnie hesitated then sighed, opening the door wider. “Fine. Come in.”
The inside of the house was tidy, almost sterile, as if Marnie lived more for appearances than comfort. She motioned them toward the living room but remained standing herself, arms crossed defensively.
“What’s this about?” she asked, her voice sharp.
Sam kept his tone measured. “We’ve been looking into Garvin McDaniels’s murder, and your name keeps coming up.”
Marnie laughed. “My name? That’s ridiculous. Why would I have anything to do with that?”
“No idea. Beryl Thorne thinks you did,” Sam said.
Marnie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”