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Kara hadn’t meant that, but now that Catherine said it out loud, she couldn’t get it out of her head. “Low on the list, and not something we can put on the whiteboard—or even talk about here at headquarters. I was specifically thinking of the potential stalking charge, which is why in my report I said I’d get Marcy’s side of the story tomorrow morning, when we go running.”
“We need to do this officially, formally, keep it in the record.”
“If she’s innocent you will ruin her life. I’m not going to have that on my conscience.”
“Again, not your call, Detective Quinn.”
“I thought we were a fucking team, but I guess that’s just bullshit.” Kara stomped out of the room and slammed the door closed. In the hall, she almost walked into Matt.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Difference of investigative opinion.” She looked him in the eye. “You either trust my judgment or you don’t. I’m either a part of this team, or I’m not.”
“Let’s go back and talk this out.”
“You figure it out—you’re the boss.” She walked away and left the building.
22
After a frustrating afternoon of getting no answers and only having more questions about everything—Marcy and Cal, Neil and his investigation, the plethora of emails the Seattle office sent back to Ryder late—Kara walked to the Fish & Brew at seven thirty to clear her head. It had been a long day and Matt told everyone to take the night off. Clear heads in the morning and all that.
The bombings had Kara and the rest of the team on edge because they made no sense, and everyone handled the frustration in a different way.
But she had some good news. Matt sent her a text that she could follow up with Marcy Anderson as she saw fit; that part of the investigation would be kept in-house only, to be brought to the sheriff’s attention when and if it was appropriate.
She didn’t feel like gloating. Kara didn’t want every investigation to be a battle between her and Catherine. She didn’t want to go to Matt like a child, asking a parent to pick sides. She hated being in this position, not knowing where she stood with anyone.
She was angry with Catherine, but also with Matt for reasons she didn’t completely understand. Except for one: she didn’t feel like part of the team. She wasn’t an FBI agent, she wasn’t LAPD anymore—regardless of where her paycheck came from. Kara didn’t belong anywhere.
She was angrier with herself than anyone else.
She hated this feeling. She’d almost always worked either alone or with one partner. Someone she trusted implicitly to have her back. Someone who literally had her life in their hands, and their life was in hers. Like Colton. The perfect, symbiotic partnership they had was irreplaceable.
And he was dead. Because she’d been on administrative leave and couldn’t protect him like she was supposed to.
Everything had changed in her life. She was an outsider.
She wanted everything to go back to the way it was, but that was impossible. She’d had a job she loved. It had excited her, being both dangerous and thrilling. Sure, she’d had no close friends, but Colton had been a rock. He had been her mirror. She missed him—hated that he was dead. Hated that she couldn’t say goodbye to him. That he was justgone.
She sat on a stool at the bar, still irritated, but the smell of fish and chips made her feel a little better. The pub was nearly full; by the look of it, mostly tourists. The bartender—Damon, the flirty weight lifter Marcy had introduced her to yesterday—was filling an order for one of the servers. Kara waited for him.
Only two minutes later, he came over. “Agent Quinn, right?”
“Good memory. Detective, not Agent. Call me Kara.”
“Got it. I have to have a good memory—I’m a teacher. Between 180 and 190 kids in six classes every year.”
“Math, right?”
“You have a good memory as well.”
“Have to—I’m a cop,” she said.
He laughed. “What can I get you?”
“The stout.”
“Good choice.”
