Chapter 17 #2
“Good. Better. The time away helped.”
“And Ms. Bell?”
“Nora’s good too. She’s starting her own consulting business. Moving on with her life.”
“Good. That’s good.” Holloway set down his pen. “I wanted to talk to you about your next assignment. You’ve been on leave for two weeks. Before that, you were on protective detail. Before that, you were running yourself ragged on the Eugene case. You need to ease back in.”
“I’m fine to take a full caseload.”
“I’m sure you are. But I’m giving you light duty for the first week. Desk work. Cold cases. Nothing active. Nothing dangerous.”
Carson wanted to argue. But he understood. Holloway was protecting him. Making sure he didn’t jump back in too fast and burn out.
“Okay,” Carson agreed. “Light duty. For a week.”
“Good.” Holloway pulled out a file box. “These are cold cases from the past decade. Missing persons, unsolved burglaries, a few assault cases that went nowhere. Pick a few. See if fresh eyes find anything.”
Carson took the box. “Anything specific you want me to focus on?”
“Whatever interests you. Just...take your time. Don’t rush.” Holloway’s expression softened. “You’ve been through a lot these past few weeks, Carson. It’s okay to acknowledge that. To give yourself time to process.”
“I’ve processed.”
“Have you? Because from where I’m sitting, you went from hunting a dangerous stalker to nearly dying in a standoff to falling in love, all in the span of a month. That’s a lot of change.”
“I’m handling it.”
“I know you are. But handling it doesn’t mean you’re okay. It just means you’re functional.” Holloway leaned forward. “I’m not saying you’re broken. I’m saying you’re human. And humans need time to adjust after trauma.”
The words hit harder than Carson expected. Because Holloway was right. He’d been so focused on making sure Nora was okay, he hadn’t thought about his own processing.
“I’ll take it easy this week,” Carson said finally. “Review cold cases. Ease back in.”
“Thank you.” Holloway stood. “And, Carson? I’m glad you found someone. Glad you’re letting yourself be happy. You deserve that.”
Carson left the office feeling oddly emotional. He settled at his desk with the cold case box and started pulling files.
Missing teenager from 2018. Unsolved burglary from 2019. Assault case from 2020 that went cold when the victim refused to cooperate.
Routine work. The kind he could do on autopilot.
Except one case caught his attention.
A home invasion from three years ago. Victim reported someone breaking in, moving things around, but taking nothing. Evidence was collected but the case went cold when the suspect couldn’t be identified.
The victim’s name: Avery Shone.
The same Avery Shone who’d lived in Nora’s building. Who’d reported feeling watched by Eugene.
Carson pulled up the full file. The break-in had happened before Avery moved to Nora’s building. Different location. But the pattern was similar—things moved, feeling watched, no physical evidence.
He checked the evidence log. Items collected from the scene had been sent to the lab, but results were never entered into the system.
That was odd. Even negative results should be logged.
Carson called down to the evidence room. “Hey, it’s Detective Black. I need to check on evidence from case number 2021-4756. Home invasion, victim Avery Shone.”
“Hold on.” Keys clicking. “Um, Detective? That evidence is listed as destroyed.”
His brows lowered. “Destroyed? Why?”
“Says here it was water damaged in a leak three years ago. No usable evidence recovered.”
That didn’t make sense. The evidence room was climate controlled. Leaks were rare and well-documented.
“Can you check when it was destroyed? And who authorized it?”
More typing. “Destroyed on...May 15, 2022. Authorized by Captain Ray Shaw.”
Carson froze. “Say that name again.”
“Captain Ray Shaw. He was head of the department before Captain Holloway. Retired about five years ago.”
Shaw. Carson remembered him vaguely—older cop, close to retirement when Carson was just starting out. Competent. Professional. Nothing remarkable.
So why had he destroyed evidence in a case that was still open?
Carson made a note to follow up on it. Probably nothing—administrative error, miscommunication, legitimate reasons. But something about it nagged at him.
He set the file aside and moved on to others.
But throughout the day, his mind kept circling back to that destroyed evidence. To Captain Shaw’s name on the authorization form.
To the pattern of things not quite adding up.
Carson called Nora at lunch like he’d promised.
“Hey. How’s your first day back?” she asked.
“Good. Boring desk work, but good. How’s the business planning going?”
“I’ve made three spreadsheets and started a business plan. Very productive.”
“That’s my girl. Queen of spreadsheets.” He smiled, feeling genuinely happy despite the stress of the day.
“How’s the station? Everyone treating you okay?”
“Yeah. Lots of questions about you, but I shut those down pretty quick.” He glanced around the break room, making sure he was alone. “I miss you.”
“You saw me four hours ago.”
“I know. Still miss you.”
“I miss you too.” Her voice softened. “Hurry home tonight. I’m making dinner.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. It’s our first real dinner in our place. I’m making it special.”
“Okay. I’ll be home by six.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up feeling lighter. This was what normal felt like. What having someone to come home to felt like.
He could get used to this.
***
Carson walked through the door at six-fifteen, apologizing for being late.
“It’s fine,” Nora said, emerging from the kitchen in jeans and one of his button-downs, sleeves rolled up. She looked beautiful and domestic and his. It was all he could do to behave. “Dinner’s almost ready. How was your day?”
“Long. Uneventful. I reviewed cold cases all day.” He kissed her hello, lingering longer than necessary, promising himself he’d wait until after dinner to take more, and then all bets were off. “This is nice. Coming home to you.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” She led him to the table, already set with plates and candles. “I made chicken parmesan. From scratch.”
“Impressive.”
“I’m a woman of many talents.”
They ate dinner together, talking about their days.
Nora told him about the business consultant she’d video-called with, about the plans she was making.
Carson told her about the cold cases, carefully editing out the parts about Avery Shone and destroyed evidence. No need to worry her with work stuff.
After dinner, they cleaned up together, moving around the kitchen with easy familiarity.
“This is what I imagined,” Nora said as Carson dried dishes while she washed. “When I thought about what a real relationship would look like. This. Boring domestic stuff that feels perfect because we’re doing it together.”
“Yeah.” Carson set down the towel and pulled her close, ignoring the soapy water on her hands. “This is perfect.”
They stayed like that for a moment, just holding each other in the kitchen, both marveling at how far they’d come.
From victim and detective.
To partners.
To lovers.
To home.
“Thank you,” Nora said quietly.
“For what?”
She looked up at him. “For giving me this. A life I never thought I could have.”
“Thank you for trusting me. For letting me in. For showing me that it’s okay to love someone again.” He kissed her forehead. “For giving me a reason to come home.”
They made love that night slowly, sweetly, taking their time learning each other all over again. And afterward, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of them felt the same truth.
This was real.
This was theirs.
This was forever.
And for the first time in both their lives, forever didn’t feel scary.
It felt like home.