Page 19 of In His Sights

Relief swamped him. “Thank you—”

Travers held up one hand. “Wait. Hear me out. I’m letting you stay only because I need you on this. And if anyone finds out about this, it’ll be my ass in the can. So here’s the deal. You don’t interviewanyoneconnected with this death, okay? You can look at the evidence, but that’s all. Work with what you have on the previous victims.”

“Then youwillcontact this Porter guy?”

Travers nodded. “And now you’re going home. I don’t want to see you till Monday.”

“But—”

“No buts. Go home. Don’t call Stevens, Watson, Del Maddox…. In fact, don’t call anyone. Do whatever you need to so that when you walk in here Monday morning for roll call, you’re ready to work. Because I need you at the top of your game. You got that?”

Gary expelled a breath. “Thank you. And yes, I’ve got it.”Whatever it takes. For Cory.He finished his bourbon.

“How did you get here this morning?”

“Riley gave me a ride.”

“I’ll have someone run you home.”

Gary thanked him again, and Travers walked him to the door. Before he opened it, Travers squeezed Gary’s shoulder. “My condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you.” And then he was out of there, walking on autopilot, not sure where he was heading, lost in a sea of voices and activity.

His stomach muscles still ached, and his throat was tight. All he could think about was Cory’s face.

I became a cop with the idea that one day I’d find Brad’s killer.

He’d always known that was a long shot—Brad had been gone twenty-three years now—but it had fueled Gary’s resolve through college, the academy, his detective training…. After eight years of being a detective, he knew the chances of finding Brad’s killer were pretty fucking slim.

But I’ll find the guy who killed Cory if it’s the last thing I do.

That could wait until Monday. What he’d like to do was go home, destroy a bottle of bourbon, and mourn a friend’s untimely death.

Yeah, right. There was a ton of stuff he’d do before he reached for the bottle. He had people to call, and Cory’s parents were at the top of the list, followed by his and Cory’s mutual friends. Travers could tell him to stay away till he ran out of breath. That wouldn’t stop Gary from trying to get into Cory’s apps.Cory wouldn’t mind. Why else would he have given me the passwords?

More importantly, he was going to replay every second of that last conversation with Cory because it had to contain clues.

His tears could wait. They’d come when the killer was behind bars.

Chapter 9

Sunday, May 27

DESPITE BRUSHINGhis teeth, Gary’s tongue still felt as if it were made of suede, and he knew a couple of Tylenol would be needed sometime soon. The alcohol of the previous night might have dulled his senses for a while, but even before he’d opened his eyes at whatever godforsaken hour he’d awoken, grief slammed into him.

He’s really gone.

That one thought had been enough to have Gary tugging the comforter over his head as if the act would shut out the memories that washed over him, but instead it had brought on a fresh tide of tears that soaked into his pillow, and he’d fallen into a fitful sleep. Three hours later, he figured it was time to rejoin the land of the living. He’d done enough wallowing.

Once he’d hauled himself to the bathroom, he realized Cory had been full of shit about one thing: There was no such thing as a no-hangover tequila. His body ached, his head ached, and he was nauseous. The shower promised relief, and God, he needed some of that.

Gary stood under the stream of hot water, letting it sluice away some of the muscle aches.No more booze.This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a big drinker. Christ, his bottle of bourbon had to be a couple of years old. He’d avoided alcohol Friday night, but on Saturday, a search through his cabinets had revealed the bottle of tequila Cory had given him for his birthday. Gary had been saving it for the next time Cory stayed over. They were overdue for a boys’ night—

Except there won’t be any more of those, will there?

Grief buckled his knees, and he let out a loud sob, bracing his arms, his hands flat to the white-tiled wall as a wave of anger and despair threatened to crush him, pulverize him. He slammed his fist against the tiles, wincing at the impact. “Fuck this!” He was not going to let it get the better of him.

A muffled ringing came from the other side of the door.

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