1. Trace
1
TRACE
“Daaaaaaddy.” Keely’s voice cut through our house like a heat-seeking missile. “My toothpaste exploded.”
I didn’t move for a second, just stared at the wall before I pinched the bridge of my nose in that spot just below my brow bone where headaches loved to form. Everything hurt. Whether from sparring with my foster brother, Kyler, or tackling a perp behind The Soda Pop after he tried to snatch cash out of an open register, I wasn’t sure. Both options made me feel old.
“It’s really everywhere.”
The amused wonder in Keely’s voice had me pushing to my feet. As cute as my kid was, she could leave destruction in her wake. I strode down the hallway, adjusting my empty gun belt as I moved. But I froze as I stepped into the doorway.
It looked like a murder scene, not a kid’s bathroom. Red goo was everywhere. The sink, the mirror, and all over said kid’s face.
I stared at her for a long moment. Her long, brown locks were in haphazard pigtails she’d attempted to tackle herself. Her green eyes, a couple of shades lighter than my own, looked up at me with a hint of wariness.
That flicker of uncertainty spurred me into action. “You just had to have the strawberry flavor, didn’t you.”
Keely broke into a fit of giggles, just as I’d hoped. “I dunno what happened. I just squeezed, and BOOM !” She threw her hands wide, making more red goo hit the walls.
I tried not to wince at the mess. “Gentle squeezes, remember?”
She sent me a sheepish grin. “I forgot.”
I chuckled, grabbing her pink washcloth dotted with strawberries. “Bet you won’t next time.”
“Prolly not,” she mumbled as I ran the cloth under the water.
I dabbed at my daughter’s face, trying to get her clean while glancing at my watch. Five past eight. Damn. I scrubbed faster.
The thought of being late ground at me. Logically, I knew it wasn’t the end of the world, but it reminded me too much of growing up. Of the time before I went to live with the Colsons. When I’d gotten to school hours past starting time, hungry and in stained clothes a size too small.
That would never be the case for my kid.
“Daaaad, too scratchy,” she complained.
“Sorry, Keels.” I instantly softened my movements, trying to get every sticky ounce of red gel off her. Laying the washcloth on the sink, I lifted and deposited her in the hall so she wouldn’t step in the mess. “Arms up.”
Keely instantly shot her hands in the air. I fought a laugh as I pulled her T-shirt covered in tiny rainbows over her head and handed her the toothbrush from the counter. “Go brush your teeth in my bathroom, then pick out a new shirt.”
“Aw, man. That one’s my favorite,” she complained.
My lips twitched. “You want your friends to think you miss your mouth when you’re eating jelly and toast?”
Her little nose wrinkled adorably. “Noooo. Do I have to use your gross mint toothpaste?”
“Mint isn’t gross.”
“It burns, and it tastes like a plant from Grams’s garden.”
I shook my head. “Lucky for you, I stocked extra strawberry in the hall closet. Just be careful.”
“Yes!” She shot both hands in the air again and did a little dance down the hallway.
I laughed, but as I turned back to the bathroom, a groan replaced the sound. I glanced at my watch again. Five minutes. I could handle that. I’d become an expert in mess cleanup at record-breaking speed.
Pulling open the cabinet, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaning spray and got to work. As I cleaned, I realized the red toothpaste was leaving pink stains behind everywhere. It really did look like a crime scene.
My back teeth ground together as I scrubbed harder. My kid wouldn’t have a bathroom with stained tile. I’d have to tackle it with bleach tonight.
I did the best I could with the time I had, wiping up the worst of the mess. I straightened as that heat-seeking missile cut through the air again.
“Daaaaaddy! It exploded again.”
I dropped my head, pinching the bridge of my nose and rubbing the spots where pressure was building. I didn’t make a habit of cursing, not in front of others, and especially not in my daughter’s presence, but there was only one word that would do right now.
“Fuck.”
Downtown Sparrow Falls still bustled with foot traffic as I turned toward the sheriff’s station, but it wasn’t quite as busy now that we’d hit early October, and tourist traffic was waning. The rock climbers, mountain bikers, and whitewater rafters seeking out Central Oregon’s beauty would be replaced by skiers and snowboarders once the snow hit. But there was usually a lull in the fall that let all of us locals enjoy the peace of our town.
Turning into an open parking spot, I turned off the engine just as my phone dinged. I grabbed the device from my cupholder and took in the alert on the screen.
Kye has changed the name of the group to Trace’s Bloodbath.
I scowled at the screen, and my fingers typed out a message.
Me
I was just asking if anyone knew how to get stains out of tile, that’s all.
I should’ve known better than to ask my siblings for help. They loved to roast me on a good day. Most of us might not be related by blood, but that didn’t mean the seven of us weren’t like any other siblings. Kye was the ultimate shit-stirrer, though.
Kye
I always knew you had murdery tendencies under that rule-following facade.
Rhodes
I’m framing this photo. Or seeing if Lolli can make it into diamond art.
My scowl deepened at my sister’s text. She’d come to live with the Colsons at age thirteen after losing her family in a fire and was particularly fond of our grandmother—a woman infamous for creating inappropriate gemstone paintings. This one wasn’t nearly dirty enough for her.
Me
That picture of my bathroom was shared in confidence.
Fallon
I’m pretty sure Keels got toothpaste on the ceiling.
If I’d thought Keely’s bathroom was bad, it had nothing on mine. And I’d had no chance to clean it before I left to drop her at school. Just the thought of going home to that had me twitchy.
Me
Pretty sure it’s worse than your glitter bombs.
Fallon
Nothing is worse than my glitter bombs. That’s why I hold all the power.
My sister was the kindest, gentlest human being and had the most empathetic heart. But she had a creative vengeful streak. Once you crossed her, there was no going back. The combination made her perfect for her role as a social worker with Child Protective Services. But the fact that she went into volatile situations wasn’t easy for any of us.
Kye
Stay far away from me with that devil’s breath.
Fallon
Depends, are you going to follow me on my home visits AGAIN?
Kye
If you go after dark to bad neighborhoods, I sure as shit am.
My back teeth ground together. Fallon was determined to stand on her own, sometimes to her detriment. It drove Kye and me crazy, but him especially. The two shared a bond that went beyond words. When Kye came to live with us at sixteen, raging at the world and the horrific situation he’d come from, she’d been the only one who could reach him.
Fallon
Then prepare for my can of whoop-ass.
She dropped a glitter explosion emoji in the chat, and I knew Kye would be paying for his latest protective stunt.
Me
If you jerks aren’t going to help me, I’m going to work.
Shep
Watch out, he said the J-word. Might as well be an F-bomb. We’re all in for it.
Me
I hate you all.
I switched the chat to silent, noting that I hadn’t heard from our siblings Arden and Cope this morning. Cope was up in Seattle, back to hockey training, his fiancée, Sutton, and her son, Luca, making the trip with him. And Arden was likely holed up with her fiancé, Linc, or lost in a painting or sculpture. But I still typed out quick texts to make sure all was good.
Making sure all was good with my siblings on a daily basis was a compulsion, and I knew it. But most of us had come from rough circumstances, making our way into the system through loss, neglect, or abuse. Even Nora Colson’s two birth children, Cope and Fallon, had been through their share of heartache, losing their father and brother in a car accident at a young age.
It was a reminder that none of us made it out of this life unscathed. And recent events only made that more evident. The thought had twitchiness surging back to life. The urge to call the school just to check on Keely was strong, but I fought it back and climbed out of my SUV.
Striding toward the station’s front door, I appreciated the slight chill in the air. After a summer of record temps, everyone was ready for fall. As I stepped inside, a man in his mid-twenties looked up from behind the desk with a grin. “Morning, Sheriff.”
“Morning, Fletcher,” I greeted. “Anything on fire today?”
“Just the mountain of paperwork from your arrest last night. Nice tackle, by the way.”
I cracked my neck, trying to relieve some of the leftover pain from the move. “I’m getting too old for this stuff.”
Fletcher shook his head, making his light brown hair flop over his eyes. He looked like a quintessential college quarterback without a care in the world. “Never.”
I scoffed. “I’m thirty-six, not twenty-six. Practically geriatric for law enforcement.”
“Whatever you say, Sheriff.”
I waved him off. “I’m gonna go fill out that paperwork and probably ice my back.”
I headed through the bullpen, the familiar din of various voices filling my ears. Some stopped conversing to say hello, others just gave me a chin lift. Will Wright pretended he didn’t see me at all, as if that were some sort of power play. The deputy was power-hungry, and that sort of thing made an officer dangerous. But so far, he hadn’t done anything I could fire him for.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Beth Hansen greeted as she balanced an egg sandwich in one hand and a phone in the other.
“Morning, Beth.”
“Left a sandwich on your desk.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. I’d managed Keely’s breakfast this morning but not my own.
“Kiss ass,” Will muttered.
Beth’s eyes cut to him. “If you weren’t such an ass, I’d get one for you, too. But it’s hard for a zebra to change its stripes.”
Frank Smith let out a guffaw at his desk as he patted his stomach. “Mine tastes mighty fine, Wright.”
I shook my head and moved toward my office. I didn’t have the energy to referee their antics. Besides, if I knew one thing for sure, it was that Beth could hold her own. And she wouldn’t take kindly to me stepping in on her behalf.
Entering my office, I came up short when I saw my friend and second-in-command, Gabriel Rivera, sitting in a chair opposite my desk. “If you stole my breakfast sandwich, we’re gonna have words.”
Gabriel looked up, but there was no amusement on his face like I expected.
The grin slid from my face as I shut the door. “What happened?”
He stared back at me, giving it to me straight, like always. “It’s your dad. He’s out.”
Blood roared in my ears, and my jaw clamped shut so hard it would be a miracle if I hadn’t cracked a tooth. Out. Not out of the hospital or a day spa. Out of prison.
Where I’d sent him at the age of twelve.
A sentence he’d vowed to make me pay for.
Now, he would get his chance.