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Go ahead,I thought.I dare you.
“I know who she is,” I finally said.
“Okay,” he simply said. “Just trying to help you out. Seems a little too close to home, you know?”
“You would know.”
I was digging myself a real deep hole today.
“I just know how much that case affected you, not being able to find an answer.”
He knew he was poking at a gaping wound, and he felt no remorse.
“Thanks for your concern,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.
It didn’t matter that what was happening between Marin and me wasn’t real.
I was still the reason she was here in the first place.
Here, alone, asking me to fix up a house that had stood vacant for five years.
Because at the end of the day, I had allowed Raymond to get on that boat when every instinct was telling me not to.
And I’d never forget that.
* * *
I had told Marin I would stop by after work, but Sheriff Hayes’s words were still ringing in my ears.
“…she’s the Mendez woman, right?”
As if I needed a reminder of who she was. Those thirteen names had been permanently seared into my memory since the day that boat had gone down.
Unlocking my front door, I threw my shit on the table and went to the fridge. Grabbing a Coke, I headed for the couch and picked up the remote to put on the game.
I needed a distraction.
But after about fifteen minutes, I knew football was not going to cut it. What had I been thinking? Had I really thought fixing a few things around her house was going to make up for the fact that her husband had died because of me?
It’d been five years, and I could barely look at Dean Sutherland’s amputated arm without breaking out into a cold sweat.
So many lost lives.
All because I’d become too fucking lazy to do my damn job. If I had just taken my time with Raymond that day…
I should just text Marin the name of a local handyman and tell her I had to work the night of the gala.
I was about halfway through my Coke when my phone rang. Since I was on call, I figured it was the station’s dispatcher, but instead, I saw another number altogether.
Marin.
I stared at her name on my screen, trying to decide if I should answer or let it go to voice mail. I could just ignore it. Give her the cold shoulder and be done with this whole thing.
Now or never, Macon.
Finally, at the last possible second, I let out a frustrated groan and hit Answer. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank God!” Her voice was strained and filled with panic.
