Altering digital records was wrong. He knew that. But he'd justified it to himself—protecting his mother, buying time, keeping the people he cared about safe. It was surgery performed in shadows, invisible wounds that might never be discovered.
But stealing physical evidence?
That was different.
That meant walking into the evidence room at the station where he worked. Signing the log. Looking Reese in the eye while he checked out a box. And then making that box—or something inside it—disappear.
That meant becoming exactly what his father wanted him to be.
A criminal. A thief. A traitor to everything the badge was supposed to mean.
His phone buzzed one final time.
One week. Both tasks. Don't disappoint us.
Wyatt shoved the phone in his pocket and grabbed his jacket.
He didn't have an answer yet.
But he had six days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-eight minutes to find one.
Wyatt forcedhimself to walk into White Rock Police Station at exactly seven-forty-five am, just like always. His steps felt mechanical, practiced, each one a conscious effort to appear normal.
Reese glanced up from her desk, already sorting through what a box of donuts. “Morning! I brought donuts. Sam and the others are in his office. They’ve been there for a while.”
“Thanks.” His voice came out steady. Good. He was getting better at this.
Lucy bounded over from her spot near the door, tail wagging. But instead of her usual enthusiastic greeting, she pressed against his leg and looked up at him with worried eyes.
“I’m fine, girl,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears. The lie felt bitter on his tongue.
He headed for the k-cup machine, desperate for something normal to do with his hands. Major sat atop the filing cabinet beside it, green eyes following his every move. The cat’s tail moved in slow, deliberate sweeps as Wyatt selected a pod and started the machine.
“You know something, don’t you?” he muttered to Major, the quiet whir of the coffee maker masking his words. The cat just blinked, looking entirely too knowing for Wyatt’s comfort.
The coffee machine hummed. Three sugars, no cream. Normal routine. Normal morning. Just act normal.
Sam’s office door was open, voices drifting out. Wyatt grabbed his coffee and headed that way, Lucy padding beside him. He could do this. Just another day at work.
Then he stepped into Sam’s office and his world tilted sideways.
Sam stood at his desk, spreading crime scene photos across the cork board behind it. Kevin leaned against the wall, flipping through a file. Jo sat perched on the edge of Sam’s desk, studying a report.
“Morning,” Sam said without looking up. “Grab a seat. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Wyatt’s eyes caught on the first photo Sam had pinned up. Just a corner of fabric at first. Dark denim. Then more photos. A button-down shirt, wrinkled and dirty.
His coffee cup suddenly felt too hot in his hands.
“Victim was found by a hiker,” Jo said, consulting her notes. “M.E. puts time of death between midnight and two AM.”
Just hours before Wyatt had found...
No. Don’t think about that.
Sam pinned up another photo. This one showed more of the scene. The body lay face-down, partially covered by leaves.
“Cause of death was blunt force trauma,” Kevin added. “M.E. found tree bark embedded in the wounds. Whoever did this used a branch or log.”