Chapter 19
“ D o you want to grab an early dinner?”
The question caught Callie by surprise—something that rarely happened these days—and she jerked to a halt mid-climb into her car and stared at Gabriel.
“Never mind,” he said. “You can drop me back at the club.”
She took her seat and shut the door. Did she want to have dinner with Gabriel?
Yes. Should she have dinner with Gabriel?
She didn’t know. The conversation from the night before still buzzed fresh and awkward between them.
And while they might trust each other professionally, personally, well, that was another matter.
He didn’t trust her—with reason—and that made her wary.
But did she truly have a reason to be wary? A real reason? One other than fear and her own lingering guilt? Gabriel had never been a vindictive kid. Not even when she sometimes wished he had been. What about the man?
Images of him with the Falcons flashed through her mind. Of the times she’d caught him laughing, a genuine smile on his face and in his eyes. Of him playing with Sherman, burying his face in the dog’s thick mane of hair. Of the way he stepped up to help first Juliana, then Lina.
She might regret it. Dinner might be his way of lulling her into believing he’d forgiven their past, only to hit her with it when she least expected.
But dammit, she wanted to eat with him. And he’d taken the vicious blows she’d delivered all those years ago and still made a life for himself.
If he wanted to mete out whatever justice he needed, however he needed—even if it involved the pretense of a casual dinner—she’d take the hits.
She’d learn her lesson and not be fooled again, but she’d take the hits.
“Dinner sounds good,” she said, knowing better than to mention that the offer had caught her by surprise.
She didn’t need to bring emotions of any sort into the conversation.
“The Boom?” she asked. The Dirty Boom, a casual burger and bar joint not far from HICC, seemed the safest non-date-like place to grab some great food and a local beer.
He hesitated, then nodded. “The Boom sounds good.”
They rode the short distance in silence, and it wasn’t until they’d placed their orders and the waitress delivered their drinks—hazy IPAs for both—that they spoke again.
“Do you mind if I ask a question?” she said.
Gabriel’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, and she didn’t miss the wary shadows in the corners. A beat passed. “Sure. I reserve the right not to answer, though.”
She nodded. “What happened to Matthew? My grandmother never told me. I’m not sure why. It seems like his death is something she would have told me.”
His gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers gently stroking the sides of the pint glass, drawing thick lines in the condensation.
She thought about withdrawing the question, but instead let it sit between them.
He’d reserved the right not to answer, and she’d respect that if he chose that path, but she didn’t need to make the choice for him.
He took a sip of the IPA, then set the glass down. “Do you want the official version or what I think happened?”
She hesitated. “Both?” The death of a young person was never easy, but Gabriel’s question had her thinking Matthew’s was even more complicated, and she didn’t want to cause him more pain.
He dipped his head, his eyes back on his drink. “The official report states that he died of smoke inhalation when his house caught fire. According to the sheriff’s report, a log rolled out of the fireplace, caught a rug on fire, and the cabin, an old one, went up in less than five minutes.”
Callie’s stomach churned. She’d seen the aftermath of a fire or two, and the experience was one that still haunted her nightmares.
She took a sip of her drink, the cool hop-heavy liquid sliding down her throat. “And unofficially?”
Gabriel paused as the waitress brought their food. A burger for him and crispy chicken strips for her—a throwback to the childhood she never had.
“Do you remember Burt Woodley?”
She frowned. “The sheriff?” He nodded. “Knew of him.”
“He wasn’t a friend of your dad’s?”
She shook her head and picked at a fry. “He’s a bigot.
Didn’t much like having the district attorney be a Black man.
” She paused, then added, “If it weren’t for my dad’s skin color, I think they would have been good friends.
You know, two men from the same school regarding ‘family values.’” Only not really.
Rumor was Burt bullied his wife as well as his children, whereas her mother had been an active instigator of the misery inflicted on her and Daphne.
“Trevor wasn’t much better,” Gabriel said, referring to Burt’s older son.
She made a face. “He was in your class, wasn’t he?”
He let out a disgusted huff. “Tiny-dick-Trevor was in the class above me.”
She snorted. “How did you know?”
Gabriel’s gaze held hers, then he laughed. “He really had a tiny dick? And how would you know that?”
She chuckled, not fighting a smile. “Remember Marian Howard? She went to your school but was in my class?” He nodded. “She hooked up with him at some party our senior year. He was still hanging around town.”
“And around high schoolers,” Gabriel added.
She wrinkled her nose. “I know, gross. But she thought it would give her cachet if she hooked up with a twenty-year-old.” She paused, remembering that long-ago night.
One of the better ones of her childhood.
Daphne had been long gone, living in Paris and launching her modeling career.
Her parents had been out of town for the weekend.
She’d never felt so relaxed or free in her own home before or since.
“Needless to say, she was less than impressed,” Callie continued, waggling her forefinger in the same way Marian had that night.
Gabriel barked out another laugh, drawing one from her, too. Who knew she and Gabriel would bond over the size of another guy’s penis?
Gabriel wiped his eyes, still smiling. “I called him that because I figured his shitty personality—all bluster and ego—had to be compensating for something.”
“From what Marian said, it wasn’t just a size issue, but I’d warned her of that beforehand. A dude that caught up in himself wasn’t someone who’d give a shit about her. A truth she acknowledged by the end of the night.”
Gabriel took a bite of his burger and chuckled again. She picked up one of her crispy chicken strips and nibbled on it.
“Do you want to hear the rest?” he asked, giving her a chance to remain in this lighthearted space they’d found.
“Only if you want to tell me,” she replied. She wanted him to but wouldn’t push.
“You’re not wrong about Burt being a bigot. Turns out he doesn’t like gay people either,” Gabriel said, watching her.
She set her chicken strip down. “I don’t think Burt liked anyone who wasn’t like him. Or Trevor,” she added.
“And when it’s his own son…Trevor’s brother,” Gabriel said, ending his comment with a sad shrug.
She searched her memories. “Bryce Woodley?”
Gabriel nodded. “He and my brother were partners. They knew it wouldn’t go over well with Bryce’s family, so they kept it on the down-low.
Lived outside of town in the cabin. My brother worked out of Philadelphia on a construction crew so almost never ventured into town.
Bryce was a wildlife manager at the state park.
He didn’t have the luxury of not running into his father or brother. ”
“What happened?” she asked.
“What I think happened is I think someone set fire to the cabin and killed my brother.” He paused, then added, “And I think someone cut Bryce’s brake lines. He died the same day in a single-car accident.”
The air left her lungs, and what little food she’d eaten spun in her stomach. “And because Burt was the sheriff and all this happened in unincorporated parts of the county, his team managed the investigation.”
Not a question, but Gabriel nodded. “And because his son had died the same day, he pulled the sympathy card,” he said.
“I doubt anyone questioned anything about the investigations or dug any further. They just let the sheriff ‘mourn,’ typed up a basic report of both incidents, and closed the files.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “There are a lot of reasons I hated where we grew up; now I have one more. Have you ever thought of going back and getting the case reopened?”
He bobbed his head as he finished off his burger. “I’ve thought about asking Leo or Ava to look into it. But…”
“But it’s a lot,” she said, understanding that the emotion of reopening the case might outweigh justice. Especially when justice wasn’t a given. Not after so many years had passed.
She wished her grandmother had told her, though.
Callie had no idea why she hadn’t—surely she’d known.
She’d still been in school at the time of the murder, but she’d joined the FBI a few years later.
The evidence, if there was any, would have been much fresher then. Maybe she could have done something.
“Tell me about Daphne,” he said, surprising her and pulling her thoughts from traveling down a road no longer open to her. HICC had a lot of pull and a lot of power, but she didn’t think they’d be interested in her spending time on an almost-fifteen-year-old case.
“She still as wild as ever?” he asked.
Callie chuckled. “Actually, no. She’s still fun and smart and wicked protective of me, but she’s left those days behind her. When she didn’t have anything to rebel against, she turned that energy to her career. She’s still as fierce, but it’s directed toward other things now.”
They fell into a comfortable conversation that touched lightly on a number of topics, each testing the surface, dipping a toe in.
A part of her wanted to ask more questions, but another part of her recognized the moment for what it was—time for their systems to adjust to the change, for their nerves to stop vibrating with apprehension, for their wariness to not be so alert.
By the end of the night, after she dropped him at the club and drove to her cabin, she felt almost relaxed. And as she climbed into bed that night, she acknowledged that while neither of them had let their defenses down entirely, perhaps both were showing a few cracks.