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“She hasn’t even been buried yet,” Alexandria protested weakly.
Alana put on a pair of white, heeled sandals. “Well, how long is enough to wait to have a party after someone dies? And who gets to decide that?” She placed a rushed kiss on her mother’s cheek and grabbed the door handle. “She’d be okay with it, anyway. I’ll make sure we observe a moment of silence and all that.” She was flustered, avoiding her gaze again.
Alexandria would bet her last dime there wasn’t going to be any party, just sex with Nick somewhere, at his house most likely. She must’ve thought of that lie a while ago, before Jenna’s death, and simply hadn’t realized the lie she’d rehearsed in her mind was no longer fitting. “Don’t be too late,” she called, but the door had already closed behind her.
Watching through the window, she saw Alana climbing into Nick’s red Beemer. Holding her breath and fighting back unwanted tears of frustration, she watched him wrap his arms around Alana’s slender body and give her a long kiss.
They’d been gone for a while, but Alexandria still stared at the now empty driveway, a sense of unbearable dread nestled in her stomach. She wished her daughter had never met Nick Papadopoulos, had never fallen for him.
If only she could turn back time.
TWENTY-TWO
ASSIGNMENTS
Elliot could tell Kay wasn’t happy about the dispatcher omitting to copy her on the new missing person case. Right after Elliot mentioned it, she checked her phone and found nothing. No email, no text message, no missed calls.
“Maybe because they knew you were out sick,” he offered, promptly earning himself a disapproving gaze filled with disbelief. “I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it, Kay.”
She just nodded and unlocked her vehicle while Elliot climbed into his. They drove separately to the precinct, which was a rare occurrence. Without any formal agreement between them, he’d started driving her home and picking her up the next morning while her unmarked Ford Interceptor spent the nights in the almost empty parking lot behind the sheriff’s office building.
He tried not to think about that, his mind troubled by Jenna’s death and now, the disappearance of another teenager. He saw a connection between the two cases, but, really, was there one?
Following Kay’s Ford at a small distance, he had to notice his partner hadn’t called him on the phone to get the details of the missing girl. Rewinding the film of yesterday’s events in his mind, he was sure he hadn’t done or said anything to upset her. Instead of fretting about it like a buzzard without roadkill, he’d better gather a can of beans’ worth of courage and ask her directly.
Unbelievable how complicated things could get if he had a female partner, especially one he was falling for. Not his first rodeo, and the last one ended with broken hearts and an out-of-state move. There was no point in wondering how this one would end because it hadn’t started yet. Would it, ever?
Frustrated, he pressed his lips together, holding an oath captive in his chest. He didn’t want to behave as if they were a couple; they weren’t one. He didn’t even want to think about that, about Kay and him together, because it was all so very wrong, yet he wanted nothing else more. Hot would cool if greedy would let it, they say; all in good time if he could hold his horses, and that meant, in most cases, his mouth. Shut. As in refrain from asking stupid questions. Stop being overprotective; his partner could very well hold her own. Didn’t they say, in some magazine or TV show, that overprotecting an independent woman was insulting to her abilities and her intellect? Then why the hell was he wired to do that at all costs?
He pulled into the parking lot right next to her, and met her at the precinct’s door. She barely acknowledged him, veering her eyes away from him immediately. She didn’t seem upset, nor did she say anything; she just seemed tired, running with one wheel down and the axle dragging.
Damn.
If she’d only tell him what was wrong, he could help.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Kay said coldly, her voice sounding a little bit nasal as if she’d been crying.
In the middle of the hallway, Logan was waiting for them with his hands propped on his hips. His gaze wasn’t promising anything good; for some reason, his beef seemed to be with Kay.
“Ah, if it isn’t Detective Kay Sharp.” He clapped his hands together then rubbed them in mock enthusiasm. “The one and only who promised to keep the press off my back. Then did exactly nothing.”
Kay lowered her head for a brief moment. “You’re right, boss, and I’m sorry. I left Barb Foster a voicemail, but I should’ve followed up and I didn’t.”
“Well, she was on TV Wednesday night with news of Jenna’s death that was not coordinated with this office. I’m surprised she bothered to wait for next-of-kin notification.”
“Sheriff, I—” Kay started to say, but was immediately cut off.
“She was also on TV last night, prime time no less, stating that our office refused to return her calls. Is that true, Detective?”
Kay frowned. Retrieving her phone from her pocket, she started scrolling through messages quickly, then she pressed her lips into a thin line and looked at the sheriff briefly. “I have nothing. She might’ve tried my office line, but I wasn’t—”
“Yes, I know,” Logan interrupted her again. “Hope you’re feeling better,” he added, giving her a long, insistent look as if to figure out if she was up for whatever he had in mind. “Your first order of business for the day is to find Barb Foster and dance for her until she makes us look like superstars on tonight’s news. And I haven’t got the foggiest idea how you’ll be doing that, because, um, do we have any suspects?” He paused for a moment, rubbing his chin, but Kay hesitated to answer. “Any leads? Anything? Reporting a collar for Jenna Jerrell’s murder would be one straightforward way to go about this.”
He waited another second, then turned on his heel and headed toward his office. “With me,” he said, not looking at them.
They complied. Kay, not her usual talkative and confident self, took a seat on one of the black leather chairs reserved for Sheriff Logan’s visitors and seemed relieved to be off her feet. Elliot remained standing behind Kay, his arms crossed.
Logan opened a blue folder that was waiting for him on his desk, topping a three-inch pile. It bore a white case number label in the upper right corner; it was probably Jenna’s. “I’m not seeing a whole lot in here. What’s going on?”
