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“That’s not true. You have a big heart, Detective, and you want to fix everyone’s problems. But you can’t. You work too much. Plain and simple. You’re going to burn yourself out before you’re forty, and that will be a damn shame. SDPD needs more detectives like you. But you’ll be gone. Whether dead or retired early, I don’t know. But you will not last. Not at this pace.”
She clenched her jaw and deliberately checked her watch.
“We’re not even close to time,” he said.
He was right, damn him. “This is a big case. And it’s urgent.”
“But it’s not urgent, Kit. It’s a cold case. Those victims and their families have been waiting for years. Some of them a lot more years than others. A few more days—or even weeks—won’t make a difference in the long run. They’ll still grieve. Their lives will still be traumatized. But slowing down could make a big difference to you.”
“But it is urgent. It stopped being a cold case when Skyler Carville was killed over the weekend.”
He frowned. “What? But...” He shook his head. “Wait. You arrested the killer. Colton Driscoll. I saw the press conference.”
“Driscoll had a partner,” she said, taking satisfaction from seeing his mouth fall open.
“How? Who?”
“We don’t know. Still working on that.”
He puffed out his cheeks as he struggled to regain his composure. “Well, I suppose that is urgent, but you still have to sleep. When was the last time you actually slept?”
“Last night. I fell asleep at my parents’ house. I got five hours.” Almost.
“That’s a lot for you,” Scott said dryly. “Did your mother drug you?”
Surprised, Kit laughed. “No. I was tired and...” She sighed. “The new foster at my parents’ house lost her mother to a killer. The man was arrested yesterday, and it was all over the news. I wanted to be the one to tell her before a stranger on TV did, so I stopped by the house.”
Dr.Scott’s brow furrowed. “The city councilman?”
She nodded, remembering the way Rita had launched herself at her. How Rita had sobbed in her arms. And how good it had felt to know she’d given the girl closure.
“That,” Scott said abruptly, and she blinked at him. “What was that?” he asked. “You went all soft for a moment. Relaxed. Not a bad look on you, if I’m being honest.”
“Rita,” she admitted. “When I told her about her mother, she jumped on my lap and cried herself to sleep.”
Scott’s smile was gentle. “You let her?”
Kit bristled. “I wasn’t gonna dump her on her ass. She was crying.”
He still smiled. “You let her.”
Kit exhaled. “Yeah, I let her. And it felt... good. Like I’d fixed something.”
He lifted his brows in a classic told-you-so expression.
She shook her head, smiling ruefully. “So I’m a fixer. Not a crime.”
“No, it’s not. What would be a crime is burning yourself out too soon and making the Ritas of the world miss out. Who’s going to fix their lives if you’re not here?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, disgruntled. “You may have a point,” she conceded.
He threw up his hands. “Hallelujah! Can I record you saying that?”
“No,” she said grumpily.
He chuckled. “Fine, fine. So what’s next, Detective?”
“What do you mean?”
