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She balls up her fists on the bar, glares at me. “This is all your fault.”
I smile. Big. Proud. “Yes. It is.”
20
Rory
I emerge from the interviewing room with a heavy sigh. Thank goodness I had everything recorded on my bodycam or else we’d be getting the full runaround from Bea. I feel bad for her, of course I do, but a crime is a crime. And Bea has a few crimes,plural,to atone for.
In the waiting area, Constance sits nursing a cup of bad station coffee. Her eyes are fixed on a spot on the floor.
“You’re still here,” I say as I approach her.
“Yes, I’m waiting for Kate to pick me up,” she replies.
I take a seat in the vinyl-covered chair beside her. The scent of coffee wafts into my nose. “You were great out there.”
The corner of her lip perks. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. Like a professional.”
“No need to lay it on too thick, McEvoy.”
I hesitate. The case is over, isn’t it? We have our culprit. We don’t have to tow the line between personal and professional anymore.
“When do I get my bones?” Constance asks.
I half-laugh, although I can’t help but worry that’s all she’s had on her mind this whole time. “You can come by the county police department tomorrow. Or better yet, I’ll drop them off for you.”
She holds up a hand. “Won’t be necessary. I can come get them myself. You’ll probably make a mistake while transporting them anyway.”
There’s the Constance I know and adore.
Know and love, maybe.
“So what’s next on your agenda? Any big cases or just the doldrums of a small town?” Constance asks.
I lean back in my chair, putting my hands on the arms, wishing she’d move hers just enough so my finger could graze hers. “Hopefully the doldrums. That’s about all I can handle after all of that.”
“Mm…”
I swallow. “Um. Look, Constance?—”
“Let’s not.”
I feel like I’ve just lost balance. “Huh?”
“I know what you’re about to say. That now that the case is over and it’s not a conflict of interest that we could… we should…” She can’t even say the words. Although I’m not sure what words would best follow. Be together? Pursue something?
I run my hand through my hair and try to laugh. “Well, yeah, I guess that’s on my mind.”
Constance sips her coffee.
“You don’t want to do that?” I ask, my voice pitched higher than usual, my throat constricting my words.
She exhales. “It’s less about me wanting to and more about…” Her blue eyes find mine and for once, all they are is tender. No cool demeanor, no strength. Only softness. “You are good at what you do, Rory.”
“Thank you?”
