“This is routine,” Tessa said. “A photo and a personal note were found in Deputy Parker’s apartment referencing you without naming you. I need context.”
Scout’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Ask.”
She slid the photocopy across the desk. “This?”
“Cookout last summer,” he said. “She brought granola bars nobody wanted.”
“Were you involved with her?”
“No.”
“She ever indicate she wanted more than a professional relationship?”
“She respected me,” Scout said. “Might’ve had feelings. I didn’t encourage them.”
“Any calls or meetings that could be read as personal?”
“Work only. Training. Schedules.”
Tessa nodded. “Your last contact.”
“She was running radar off Seventy-Three. Same spot she always parked. I was headed home—blinked my lights. She keyed her mic, asked if I was done for the night.” His mouth tightened, something like warmth flickering for half a second. “Told me not to speed.”
The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face—then vanished.
“And after that?” Tessa asked.
“She called later. Two forty-seven. I missed it. Found it when dispatch woke me.”
His voice roughened, not with anger—with fatigue.
“Haven’t slept since.”
Burke said nothing.
Tessa kept her tone even. “Anyone who might’ve known she admired you—used that to draw her out?”
Scout’s eyes went distant for a beat, like he was replaying every moment he’d ever stood too close to her, every second he’d ever failed to notice something.
“Somebody patient,” he said finally. “Somebody who watches people.”
Tessa wrote it down.
When she looked up, Scout was already buttoning his jacket.
“If there’s nothing else,” he said, “I’ll be back on the mountain.”
“That’s all,” she replied. “Thank you, Deputy.”
Scout didn’t look at either of them as he left.
The door shut softly behind him.
She should’ve said something yesterday—something human.
Instead, she’d let him drive two hours in silence and called it professionalism.
Burke stared at the closed door for a long moment.
