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Rachel's heels clacked against the pavement like a metronome set to the beat of urgency. The chilly morning air bit at her cheeks as she dodged through throngs of pedestrians. The city was waking up, its pulse quickening alongside her own. She had to get to the precinct before the chaos of the day swallowed any chance of a lead.
Her phone buzzed in the depths of her trench coat pocket. Rachel fished it out while maintaining her pace, swiping the screen with a thumb that bore the indent of a pen from too many notes taken and leads jotted down.
It was a voice memo sent as a text message.
She frowned.
From Aunt Rachel.
She held the phone to her ear, standing in the shadow of Ranger HQ under the morning sun. She listened as her aunt's curt, gruff voice simply said, "Dawes is here. Helping."
The voice message ended abruptly, leaving a weighty silence that mingled with the honking of taxis and the murmur of the crowd. Dawes? The name sent a ripple through the waters of her mind, stirring up possibilities like sediment from the bottom of a riverbed. If Sheriff Dawes was on board in a more proximate capacity, Rachel knew doors previously rusted shut might creak open. Up-close support from him could mean a breakthrough, something she desperately needed.
Things were done differently on the reservation.
She hesitated, raised her phone and tried to place a call.
No answer.
She tried again.
Still no answer.
She'd left her aunt with strict instructions not to speak to Nelson. The man in her basement was to be fed, watered... And he had a bucket.
Rahcel wrinkled her nose, disatastefully. But a few hours combing through everything Larry had done over the years evaporated some of her pity. Larry Nelson was not a very kind man.
As Rachel approached the entrance of Ranger HQ, her mind was consumed by the possibilities that Dawes' involvement could bring. If he was willing to lend a hand, then perhaps she finally had a chance to unravel the web that surrounded Larry Nelson.
She tucked away her phone and pushed forward.
Her breaths came out in visible puffs, mingling with the exhaust fumes of the city. Rachel's thoughts churned tirelessly—strategies, contingencies, angles—all weaving into the fabric of anticipation that shrouded the day ahead. Walking through the heavy doors of the precinct, Rachel's eyes scanned the bustling room, searching for a familiar face among her colleagues. Not out of a desire to interact... but to avoid.
She didn't like keeping secrets from her colleagues, and especially didn't like keeping them from the colleagues she cared most about.
"Morning, Blackwood," the desk officer greeted as she strode into the precinct, badge glinting under fluorescent lights.
"Morning," she replied curtly, her tone sharpened by focus.
As she made her way to her desk, her colleagues buzzed around her, oblivious to the storm brewing within her mind.
She paused at her desk, frowning.
Dawes was helping.
Part of her felt as if she needed to make the multi-hour drive back to her aunt's home. To oversee things herself. Another part of her wanted to leave it all... to let things settle.
She found herself caught... Rachel didn't often venture too far outside the rules of engagement.
But now, she was quite literally off the reservation.
Her phone’s shrill ring cut through the ambient hum of the precinct, jarring Rachel from her reverie. It was an unwelcome interruption, a fissure in the wall she had built around her thoughts. With a practiced motion, she snatched up the device, pressing it against her ear.
"Blackwood," she answered, steel in her voice.
"Rachel, it's Greywolf." Thomas' gravelly tone held an urgency that set her nerves on edge. "Where are you?"
"Office," she clipped out, straightening in her chair. Her eyes flicked to the clock; time seemed both an enemy and ally today.
