“Frustrating doesn’t cover it.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “I’ve spent the past two days knocking on sex offenders’ doors, scouring surveillance footage, and squeezing information from every source I’ve got on the streets. All amounting to precisely fuck-all in the way of a credible lead. In between, I’m swallowing down condescending remarks from FBI agents who don’t know their asses from their elbows when it comes to small town mentality, as far as I can tell. The way they’re stomping around, marking territory like this is some bureaucratic beauty contest… Fuck, it’s no wonder the locals won’t talk to them.”
I’d seen the agents in their suits and dark shades, standing apart at the search party. Watching, not interacting. I’d also seen how differently the SPD officers and detectives moved through the crowd, greeting people by name, offering hands to shake and words of thanks to the volunteers.
This was their city. They cared about the citizens — and would continue to care long after the Feds piled into their government-issue vehicles and rolled out of town again.
The agents were likely remaining objective on purpose. It was protocol — evaluating the situation with detached eyes so they could catch any blind spots the police might miss. I had no doubt they were highly intelligent and well trained. But the way they were going about it wasn’t going to get anyone around here to approach them with information. It came off as aloof. Arrogant, even.
In my experience, New Englanders had very little patience for arrogance. They were, on the whole, salt of the earth people. No bullshit, no bravado.
Cade’s thoughts were in line with mine. “What the Feds don’t seem to get is, folks choose to live in a quirky place like Salembecauseit’s a little offbeat, not in spite of that fact,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe the city got famous for pinning scarlet letters, but things are different now. Everyone is welcome here. Gay, straight, black, white. Christian, Muslim, Wiccan, Atheist. Young, old, every age in between. That’s not to say there’s no racism or sexism or crime. But generally, people around here are accepting of each other. They look out for one another. The SPD understands that.”
“And the FBI doesn’t?”
“They breezed in and took over day one. All ego, zero action. They treat Chief Coulter like he’s a country bumpkin fresh off the farm, and Aguilar like she’s working her first case. She used to be a homicide detective in Miami, for Christ’s sake.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You wouldn’t. Zero ego, all action — that’s Aguilar. She doesn’t brag, she just gets the job done. Can’t help wondering if we’d have better results without all the federal red tape.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he might quell a headache. “It would be one thing if they were getting results. But they’re not. We’re moving on day three and haven’t found a single clue. And Rory…”
“Is running out to time,” I finished when he trailed off into silence.
His hand dropped to press against the counter. His frame was rigid with tension. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check. Watching him, it was difficult to keep my seat. I wanted to fly across the kitchen to him. To wrap him in my arms and assure him everything was going to turn out okay. But I couldn’t do that. There were no assurances here. Nothing I said could take this weight off his shoulders.
“I wish there was something I could say to make this better for you,” I said, feeling utterly useless. “I wish there was something I could do?—”
Cade’s whole frame jolted, an involuntary response he quickly hid behind a blank mask.
My brows went up. “Cade?”
“Can’t.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Can’t do it.” He shook his head, fighting some inward battle I didn’t really understand. “Can’t ask you.”
My confusion mounted. “You can’t ask me what?”
His eyes hit mine — and I knew. Iknew.I saw in their conflicted blue deaths what he was struggling to say.
Ornotsay.
“I just stood here in this kitchen, not ten minutes ago, watching your face crumble as you talked to a man who tried to use you for what you can do,” he murmured, eyes never shifting from mine. “I don’t want to be that kind of man. Don’t want any common ground with that scumbag. And, Christ, here I am, about to do it anyway. Even though I know it’ll cut you. Even though I know I have no right to ask you. Even though I know getting involved in this is the last thing you’d ever want to do, after the last time.”
Last time.
Baltimore.
Joey.
My voice was choked with emotion. “You… You know?”
He nodded shortly.
“You know about Baltimore,” I whispered, the words barely audible.
He nodded again. His jaw was clenched so tight, I thought his teeth might crack.
Tears glossed my eyes. I started breathing too hard, too fast. Hyperventilating. I couldn’t contain my panic. My shame. My guilt. It was too much. I wanted to disappear. To blink out of existence, never to be heard from again.