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“What is this?” He glanced up at me.
“It’s a police report, Detective.”
“I can see that. But why are you giving it to me?”
I leaned forward in my chair and turned the page so he could see the contents listing for the home of one Jeffrey Turner, formerly of Boulder, Colorado. I waited until he got to the part about finding belongings for all twelve of the deceased children.
The detective asked, “How did you get this?”
“Las Vegas P.D. Detective Ambrose. He’s available to take your call any time, but I asked that he might let me bring this to you in person. Seems like Jeff Turner had plans to make a pretty messy spectacle in Vegas during the Convention of the Gods this week.”
“A convention you just happened to be attending, naturally.”
I gave a thin smile. “You wouldn’t like me nearly as much if my life was boring.”
He chuckled softly. “Ms. Corentine, if your life was boring, I feel like the world would probably be a much safer place.”
“You have no idea.”
A few more weeks went by, the newspapers forgot about the dead girl—her name had been Brielle Marx—and life in Seattle returned to some semblance of normalcy.
November came on cold and bleak, which meant soon enough I’d have to start making my way south again. There was less cause for me to be in the Northwest when winter settled in. Rain was needed elsewhere, and I went where the rain was most in demand.
I tried not to be in the same place as the cleric for the snow goddess. That guy was a dipshit of the highest order.
Or maybe he just didn’t like that I always called him Snowen instead of Owen. There might be something to that, but it would have required me caring enough about his feelings to stop doing it.
Instead we just made every effort to avoid each other.
I stopped at a café down the block from my apartment to pick up a hot chocolate. The weather had that frigid bite to it that made you want to bundle yourself up in a million blankets and light a fire. Hot chocolate and a Netflix marathon of Narcos seemed like a decent alternative.
I was crossing the street and filling out an online order from my favorite pho place when I walked headlong into Cade, who was standing inside the door of my lobby.
Having narrowly avoided spilling my hot chocolate over both of us, my “Fucking shit” exclamation might have been a bit over the top.
“You should wear a fucking bell,” I said, checking to see that the lid was still secured on my drink.
Cade smirked. “I wasn’t moving. You’re the one who should look where you’re going.”
“Pho isn’t just going to order itself, buddy.” It had been weeks since I’d been so close to him, and I was wielding my sarcasm like a shield because I was afraid the second I stopped talking he was going to see the truth written all over my face.
I glanced around and noticed he was waiting here alone. “Where’s Bernard?” It wasn’t like my doorman to bail on his post.
“Wardrobe malfunction with his pants.” Cade inched towards me. “Very unlucky.”
I laughed in spite of all my attempts to seem unmoved. I’d missed him. I’d missed him so desperately that I caught myself doodling his name on stationery while I was in temple meetings, and more than once I’d driven myself to the Washington state line before turning back around again.
Where did I think I was going, exactly?
“I hope he’s back in time to let my food up,” I said.
“Did you order enough for two?” He smile was warm, his fingers touching the cuff of my jacket.
“Who do you think you’re talking to here?”
His hair had gotten a bit longer since October, and his curls had become much more apparent. I brushed one back with my hand, letting the impossibly soft hairs wrap around my finger.
“Did you order enough to share, then?”
