He adjusted his stance, placing himself between her and the door.
“Keller says you and Lauren Pierce were close,” Burke said.
Sinclair nodded slowly. “We all were—in different ways. She kept three fragile egos from collapsing a department. Smart woman.”
Questions came. Sinclair answered easily, measured and unruffled.
Scout noticed Tessa hadn’t looked at him once since they steppedinside.
Margot moved quietly between them, collecting the empty cups before anyone had fully set them down.
“Any word on that poor deputy?” she asked gently. “It’s all anyone’s talking about. The girls on campus are nervous.”
“We’re following up on several leads,” Burke said evenly. “That’s all we can share right now.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “I hope you find her.”
“Y’all be careful driving back. Roads are slick.”
“Appreciate it,” Burke said.
She closed the door gently behind them.
Back in the Cruiser
Scout took the wheel.
Tessa pulled the door shut beside him, notebook already open. Burke climbed into the back, water dripping from his coat.
“He’s polished,” Burke said.
“It’s controlled,” Scout replied, easing the SUV onto the road.
“Polished isn’t clean,” Tessa said evenly.
Scout didn’t look at her. “Didn’t say it was.”
Rain filled the silence.
Tessa closed her notebook and rested it on her thigh. “He never answers the question you actually ask,” she said.
“You noticed that.”
“I notice everything.”
He didn’t look at her this time. “I’m aware.”
Rain filled the silence.
Burke shifted in the backseat. “What about the girlfriend?”
Tessa glanced down at her notes. “Margot Holt. Master’s in Art History from UNC. Started doctoral work. Didn’t finish. Published a small-press memoir after her mother died of ovarian cancer. Shevolunteers at the regional cancer center—runs donor events and fundraising drives.”
“Soft-spoken,” Burke said. “Devoted.”
“Ten years with him,” Tessa added. “Engaged once. Never married.”
“Sinclair was,” Burke said. “Briefly. Early thirties. Didn’t last.”
