“Your attack was in my jurisdiction,” he says, completely ignoring my question.
“Sure, but Paul’s accident wasn’t.”
“Paul’smurder,” Shawn corrects, “may not have been in my jurisdiction, or Seattle PD’s, but it clearly wasn’t handled properly. I had some vacation time. Now is as good a time as any to use it.”
Guilt settles heavily on top of my shoulders. “You can’t risk your job for me, Shawn. I won’t let you.”
“I’m takingvacation,” he replies. “We can call it a hobby.”
“Solving murders is your hobby?”
“No. Crocheting is.” He heads toward the kitchen. “But solving a ten-year-old murder is a close second.”
Before I can think about it, I reach out and grab his arm as he passes by me. Shawn freezes beneath my touch, then turns his head to look at me, eyes darkening.
“Sorry. I just…” Trailing off, I release his arm and cross my arms because I can’t pretend Ididn’tfeel it—that instant, electric connection the moment my hand touched him. “I don’t want you to get fired for me.”
“And I don’t want to get a call that you’re dead. We both know you won’t quit looking into this, and I don’t trust anyone else to keep you alive. So, for the time being, Counselor, we’re stuck together.”
“Would you stop if you were me?”
“No. If someone murdered the person I loved, there is no one in this world who could stop me from finding the truth.”
The heaviness between us is too much.
There’s too much tension.
Too much…everything.
So, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Crochet, huh?”
He shrugs. “My mom taught me, and it stuck.”
Shawn’s been standing in the same spot, hovering over his kitchen table for the last three hours. He’s barely moved, aside from drinking the coffee I keep refilling for him and making marks on the map spread out to his right.
Meanwhile, I’ve been making notes of everything I remember from the last few days Paul was alive.
It’s been painful to relive these moments, specifically the fighting, but if I can remember something he might have said, then maybe I can find another lead for us.
Someone knocks on the door, so Shawn straightens and rolls his shoulders before crossing the living room. I don’t miss the way his hand hovers over the weapon holstered at his lower back as he peers through the peephole in his door.
His hand drops, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as he pulls open the door to reveal an older woman with a cooler in hand. A red scarf is tied around her short silver hair, and she beams up at Shawn as if he’s her favorite person in the world.
“Hey, Ma,” he greets as he leans down to kiss her on the cheek and takes the cooler from her.
“I’m here with lunch.” She shuts the door, then smiles at me as I stand. “You must be the lawyer.”
“I suppose that’s me,” I reply with a friendly smile as she rushes over to take my hand in hers. “Beckett.”
“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Beckett. I’m Samantha. Shawn told me what happened to you and that you both were hard at work, so I figured I would bring some food over. I hope that’s okay?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, my stomach already growling. “Thank you.”
“You are so welcome, honey.” She releases me and heads into the kitchen where Shawn is standing.
Now that I can see her fully, I see the resemblance between mother and son. Their eyes are the exact same shade of hazel, their smiles similar. Happy and genuine.
Though this woman certainly seems to smile a lot more than her son.
