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As he stops by his desk to snag a fresh ticket pad I lean over and stop him, lightly thumping my fingers against his arm.
“Hey. You got a minute?”
Lucas flutters his lashes. “Well, Cap, if you’re about to ask me to the Pumpkin Formal? I can make time for you.”
I eyeball him hard.
“I liked you better when you didn’t talk so much, funny man.”
“What can I say? New wife, new baby coming means I’m a changed man.” He grins and sits on the edge of his desk, running a hand through his thick crop of black hair. “Seriously, though, what’s up?”
I clear my throat, struggling to get the words out.
Lucas looks so damn happy now. I don’t begrudge him for it.
I know there are plenty of old pains that still hurt him, even if he doesn’t show it much these days. Closure or not, he’ll always carry a little guilt over not being able to save Celeste.
Too familiar.
Our demons are too much alike.
We both lost someone dear to us the same night. I’m happy as hell he got a few answers.
And it’s like he knows even before I say, “I can’t stop thinking about the Santos case and everything it turned up about—you know.”
“Celeste.” He sobers. His sister’s name comes out like an old prayer he hasn’t uttered in months. “Yeah. It’s bringing up memories with Ethan, ain’t it?”
I nod slowly. “I’m wondering if we’ve got grounds to legally rip the seal off that case, instead of just asking questions?”
“You mean you want to pursue an active investigation?”
“Don’t know yet.” I sigh. “Hell, it’ll probably take years for Raleigh forensics and the Feds to finish sifting through the recovered remains and writing their reports. They might get a DNA match on Ethan eventually, or they might not... Guess I just feel like maybe we should be looking around on our end. We’ve still got a lot of unanswered questions, but what we learned after the Arrendell bust could shed some new light on it.”
Lucas cocks his head from side to side thoughtfully. “You’re the captain, Captain. It’s your call and I’ve got your back. But I think you need to ask yourself something, Grant.”
“Yeah?”
“Who are you really doing this for? Yourself—or her?”
I narrow my eyes.
Fuck,he’s got me there.
* * *
That question’sstill on my mind as Lucas and I part ways and I drop into my patrol car to start my route.
We tend to split the town three ways with one of us taking the inner shops and streets and another one taking the residential areas. Another officer—usually Micah—plays park ranger out in the wilderness, keeping an eye on the tourists and the hillfolk alike.
Micah likes the woods more than any New York City boy should. I think because it’s a good chance to bring his old German Shepherd out with him.
The man’s also got an uncanny knack for just disappearing and catching people off guard, which is always a little weird when he’s as pale as a ghost and you’d think he’d stand out like a sore thumb against the dark trees.
We’ve all got our talents, I guess.
Mine’s brooding until it hurts, and that’s what I do while I park my car on the edge of the central town plaza with a good view of the shops.
Figure I’ll watch the patterns going on tonight, see if I can pick up on anything hinting at trouble. Probably dumb kids doing all the shoplifting, and kids are never as good as they think at hiding when they’re up to some shit.
