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“Then, we’re done here,” she said, turning away and picking up her duffel. “Your brother might die, but hey, at least you kept your head and held strong to obscure laws concerning an arrest without a warrant.”
She swung the duffel over her shoulder. “This is the last thing I’m going to say, and then you won’t hear from me again. It sure would’ve been nice if someone would’ve thumbed their noses at laws, rules, and protocol and tried to save me before Hillsboro put me under.”
Well, hell.
“Tati,” Grant called out, knowing without a doubt he was going to regret this.
She hesitated with her head down and her hand on the door handle.
He ran his calloused hand over his face with a heavy sigh. The night Rachel died, instead of looking for her when Bernadette called, he sent one of his officers. Sent someone else to tend to her because he needed to finish working through the stack of paperwork on his desk and it was the third time that week she had been out past curfew.
The officer had found her and her motley crew downtown, loitering outside of the movie theater and told them it was late and to go home.
And then he left.
Hours later, her body was found by that same officer lying dead on the side of the road.
Rachel was his sister. His responsibility. Your typical minor lacking a fully developed frontal cortex and who made poor decisions for the thrill of it. Who thought she and her derelict friends were invincible and that life was all about having a good time.
He should have been the one to go after her and haul her ass home. Threatened her within an inch of her life and personally assigned her some character-building community service hours. Instead, he helped carry her casket to its grave with his brother on the other side.
Rachel, the little girl who held his hand as a child and looked up at him with that wild hair and trusting eyes.
Grant grabbed his bag and exhaled. “I’m with you.”
