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She looked up at him then, hating the tears that she couldn’t stop. But he was crying, too, and that shook some more words loose. “What are we gonna do, Mr.McK?” she whispered. “She’s gone. And she’s never coming back.”
He took a step forward, giving her a chance to step away.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her feet were frozen.
Her heart was frozen.
Finally, he brushed his fingers over her hair. “We go on, Kit. We’ll remember her always, but we go on. It’s what we have to do.” He hesitated for a long moment, then cupped her cheek in his big hand. “We’ll cry for her, but we’ll also live for her. You’ll live for her. You’ll make yourself a good life, Kit Matthews. We’ll make sure of it, me and Mrs.McK. You will live.”
Katherine closed her eyes then and leaned into Mr.McK’s warm palm. Just for a second. He was... safety. Security. Strength. And affection she didn’t need to repay. She’d take just a little. Just for a second. “I want to make whoever hurt her pay. I want them to die.”
“Me too, Kit. Me too. But we’ll do it right. We won’t be stupid. We won’t take any chances. We won’t be reckless and get killed and leave Mrs.McK all alone.”
She chanced a look up at him. He was serious. “You’ll help me?”
“I’ll help you. I’d search for her killer even if you didn’t want to.” One of his wide shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “I’d already planned on it. But I’m a farmer, not a cop. It’s not going to be easy.”
She met his eyes directly. “And if I want to be a cop?”
“You’ll be a damn good one. You’ll never make any family feel like their loved one didn’t matter.”
She scoffed. “You sound pretty sure of yourself, Mr.McK.”
He withdrew his hand, stooping down to pick up the carving knife that he’d dropped at some point. He slid it into its sheath and dropped it into his pocket. “I’m pretty sure of you, Kit.”
She took a step back, her chest too full of feelings.
She hated feelings.
“Thank you, Mr.McK. For the bird. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned and ran for the house, tiptoeing up the stairs and slipping into her room. With the twin bed with messed-up sheets because she’d tossed and turned. And with the other twin bed, neatly made with the quilt with bright yellow sunbursts. The empty bed.
Because Wren was gone.
Carefully she put the little wooden bird on her nightstand where she’d see it at first light. Then she climbed into bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling.
I’m pretty sure of you, Kit.
She sighed.
Well, that makes one of us.
CHAPTER ONE
San Diego Police Department, San Diego, California
Monday, April 4, 11:30 a.m.
Present day
Hey, McKittrick.”
Kit swiveled in her desk chair, raising an eyebrow at Basil “Baz” Constantine, her partner of four years. “You rang?”
Baz pointed to the double doors leading into the San Diego Police Department’s homicide division. “You got company.”
Kit turned in time to see the doors close behind familiar wide shoulders. Harlan McKittrick ambled toward her, his gait as smooth and his smile as wide as it had been for the nineteen years that she’d been privileged to know him.
