Elyse, you have me tied up in knots. One day, I’ll repay the favor.
My brow furrows as I read it again. The handwriting is unfamiliar, neat but rushed, like the writer was in a hurry. A chill creeps up my spine.
What the fuck?
It’s probably the interns. It has to be.
They’ve been ramping up their pranks lately, and this has their fingerprints all over it. They’re probably trying to freak me out after their upside-down monitor stunt earlier today.
I glance around the parking lot, half-expecting to catch one of them crouched behind a bush, snickering. But there’s no one, just a mostly empty parking lot, looking slightly eerie as the last lights of day start to disappear beyond the horizon.
Sliding in behind the wheel, I toss the note onto the passenger seat. It lands face up, the words glaring at me. The phrase is strange, like maybe it’s a joke or a pun but I’m missing the punchline.
I take a steadying breath. It’s just a prank. They’re kids with too much free time and not enough supervision. My stomach feels uneasy, the way it does when the house creaks in the middle of the night, but I shove the feeling down.
Once I get on the main road, I crank up the music, letting the familiar beat drown out my thoughts.
But as I continue driving, the note lingers in the back of my mind, unsettling in a way I can’t fully explain. And for the first time in a long while, I double-check that my car doors are locked after I pull into my driveway.
It’s probably nothing. Still, as I step into the house and bolt the door behind me, a pit in my stomach grows.
CHAPTER 14
Dominic
POSSIBLE 10-54
PRESENT
The morning air is cool, the sky just starting to brighten as I drive to work. I go through the usual routine—coffee in the cupholder, radio turned low, mind cycling through renovation tasks. It’s a welcome distraction, a way to keep from thinking about today. It’s my first day with the detective’s unit. I’m so nervous, I’m pretty sure I’ve already sweat through my uniform.
I’m more nervous about this than I ever was at my last job. It’s the pressure. It’s the fear of failure.
A jolt shoots up my shoulder, as if my body is reminding me that maybe I’m not ready yet. Maybe I’ll never be ready.
My thoughts are interrupted when dispatch cuts in with instructions to switch to a private channel.
“All units, report to Canyon Ridge, coordinates sent. Possible 10-54.”
I nearly slam on the breaks.What?
That can’t be right, it’s the radio code for a possible dead body, foul play suspected.
My heart starts to race with a rush of adrenaline as I flip on the lights and sirens, making a sharp U-turn toward the location. Canyon Ridge isn’t far, but the isolation of the area has alarm bells going off in my head. It’s too early for most hikers, too late for late-night wanderers. Whatever is waiting for us there, it won’t be good.
By the time I arrive, the scene is already swarming. Patrol cars, both city and county, line the dirt road, their lights casting an eerie glow against the trees. Ryker stands near the perimeter, talking to Corporal Keene.
For a moment, I stay frozen, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’s been a while since I’ve rolled up on a scene like this. And even though it’s not the same—not the same location, not the same circumstances—it still feels the same.
This is my first time responding to a big incident since the shooting, and I’m struggling to separate the two.
The swarm of officers moving with practiced efficiency. The low murmur of radios crackling over the chatter. Forensic tech’s cameras click as they document everything.
It’s only a matter of time before the press shows up, and starts crowding behind the barricades.
It all blurs together, the sights and sounds folding over me like a tide, pulling me under. My throat is dry. My pulse pounds. My shoulder burns.
