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“Oh, God…” Revulsion contorted her expression. “Seriously? Already?”
“The city goes on, right?”
“But so soon? How can Dad be thinking about that?”
“Switching into work mode is good cover,” he said. “He doesn’t have to grieve if he stays busy.”
“That what you’re doing?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re doing a good job of it yourself.”
Okay, so none of them were the best at confronting and dealing with their feelings.
“A memorial service is a good idea.” And there she was, ignoring her feelings again. “Let them have their circus so we can lay him to rest in private when the time is right.”
“I’ll talk to Dad about it tomorrow.”
“He won’t care,” she said. “He will, but I’ll handle it. We just have to tell him when to show up.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You can handle your investigation while I handle the service, but I have people on it too. I’m not giving up on this.”
“I wouldn’t either. Remember this is a marathon, we won’t get instant answers.”
“Instant means less than accurate. We need to get this right.”
“We will. We trained for this. We’ve got it. We won’t let Henry down.”
ELEVEN
THE NEXT FOUR DAYS were beyond busy. The ME’s report was delayed, and her father had to release a statement to the press asking them to back off. During that, for the first time ever, his façade of professionalism slipped just a fraction when the reporters bombarded him with questions. She’d almost thought she or Lachlan would have to step in, but he pulled it back. Superintendent McLeod could handle anything, even in the face of losing his father.
In the days, and into the nights, people came and went from her apartment. Blinds were opened, closed, food was delivered, coffee was drunk, and probably the same amount of liquor. One hour ran into the next, over and over, time did its thing.
What was she doing?
Activity kept her mind occupied, so she didn’t have to think too deeply about her own feelings. Memorial service details were easier to organize than accepting what they’d lost. Who they’d lost.
As usual that night, the bustle served as a distraction. When her front door opened, she expected it would be another of her father’s underlings.
Instead, Strat took one step in and stopped. Her breathing paused as everything in her zeroed in on him. While she’d been planning the memorial at her apartment, Strat was her eyes and ears on the street.
Why was he there? What had he discovered?
Before her brother or father could ask questions, she erased the space between her and her friend.
“What? What is it?”
“Come on.”
Swooping an arm around her, Strat scooped her out of that apartment and down the hallway.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Somewhere he didn’t want her father and brother to know about? They descended the stairs, her none the wiser either. Rain spattered, just a lazy shower barely staining the streets as he rushed her across the sidewalk into the passenger side of his car.
She put on her seatbelt. “Are we running away together?” she asked when he got in.
