Sofie cocks an eyebrow. “More like stubborn.”
“Truth. He deserves to be loved, though. And happy.”
She covers my hand again and squeezes. “We all do.”
For one instant, I have the urge to share some of my night at the Sweetwater with her. Because dancing and letting loose with a stranger is a sign that my heart is in a good place now, right? But my uncertainty keeps the words locked in my throat.
Chapter Seven
By 5:00amThursday morning, I give up on trying to go back to sleep, and toss back the covers. I’m sure some of my restlessness is coming from the intel I plan to share at our first task force meeting today—but it’s also because I can’t get Colton and Keo out of my mind. I should let her know that I dropped off Micah’s clothes, but every time I think about calling her, my stomach does a loop around my liver.
Linnea stayed at home last night, so I tiptoe around the kitchen making myself breakfast and packing my lunch, then make sure to refresh the coffeemaker and get a fire going in the hearth before leaving for town. We’ve had a steady series of storms all week, but this morning, the clouds are whipping around the spires of the Bitterroots, with the hint of winter blue sky peeking out between them.
During the drive, I should be mentally preparing myself for the meeting, but my thoughts drift to Keo instead. By the time I pull up to the sheriff’s department, that unwelcome flutter is rolling through my insides.
Enough.I exhale hard, puffing my cheeks, then after digging apair of spare readers from my console, I search my wallet for the film festival ticket stub with Keo’s number scrawled across the back.
My kids would tell me to text, but as I like to remind them, I am a dinosaur, so I type in her number, coax in a series of breaths, and press CALL. When Keo’s voicemail answers, her sultry voice coaxing me to leave a message is like a sip of good whiskey on a cold night.
I hang up so fast, I drop my phone.
Resting the back of my head against the seat, I blink at the ceiling. Maybe I’m not so brave after all.
A gust of wind rocks my truck, snapping me back to my purpose and the brand-new task force meeting I’m going to be late for.
I’ll call Keo another time. Or never.
After gathering my things, I step down to the parking lot and head for the entrance. The thin layer of plowed snow crunches beneath my boots while the icy wind works under my collar, making me shiver.
I’ve barely finished signing in when Zach appears to take me back. He nods at the folder under my arm. “You come bearing gifts?”
“Something like that,” I reply because no one outside of law enforcement would consider what’s inside this folder a gift.
He leads me past the bullpen, then says in a low tone, “Quick update for you regarding our runaway. Sofie met with him yesterday, and he got the clothes Ms. Stratton sent.”
Sofie sometimes volunteers with protective services. My chest warms at the thought of her taking on this particular case. “When can he have visitors?”
“I’ll find out.” He leads me past a small break area to the back hallway, then opens the conference room door for me.
Inside the windowless room is an oval table with an AV setup in the center, surrounded by chairs. Built into the right wall is a coffee station. A giant whiteboard covers most of the entire left wall, with a retractable screen hanging above it.
Special Agent Luke Ballard turns from the coffee station where he’s talking with a woman dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue sweater, her short blonde hair in a low ponytail.
The two of them meet me halfway. “Great to see you again, Rowdy,” Luke says, his intelligent brown eyes shifting from me to the woman with him. “This is Special Agent Annette Mills, from the Crimes Against Children Unit.”
That he’s not introducing her as his girlfriend catches me off-guard, but maybe that kind of thing breaches professional lines.
When she switches her mug of tea to shake my hand, I catch the glint from the diamond on her left ring finger.
Luke’s engaged?
“Great to meet you,” I say with a smile that hopefully covers my surprise.
Annette’s on the petite side, but her grip is firm. “You as well. I’m thrilled we’ve made this happen.”
“Lucky for us, Everett’s persistent,” I reply as three more people enter the conference room. The first is a tall, slender woman with her dark hair in a tight bun and dressed in the navy-blue Idaho State Patrol uniform. The second is Rex Rolland, our overworked county prosecutor, dressed down today in chinos and a button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, and finally, in walks Sheriff Rumsey—Everett. He’s carrying a ceramic mug of coffee with the wordsHANG IN THEREprinted next to an image of a cat clinging to the mug’s rim.
Fitting, given the mess we’re in.