19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter nineteen
Nash
I pull up to my dark house, shut the truck off, and head inside. It’s cold tonight, so I turn up the heat a few degrees. I change into something more comfortable, a sweatshirt and sweatpants, then make myself a cup of coffee and head into my office where my files are waiting for me to go over.
I don’t look through those though. I pull out Ryan Kinsley’s from my bag, drop it on the desk, and open it. I read every word of every paper all over again, even though I know there’s nothing in here that’s going to help me. Nothing I don’t already know. What’s the point of re-reading?
Maybe I did miss something. Maybe there is just one single word that could change everything.
There isn’t, though. There never is. Never a secret word that I missed ten times, only to find it when I need it most. This isn’t the movies. Everything works differently. More slowly. Less dramatic. More sad.
I could recite this file by memory at this point. The lab reports. Autopsy report. Even the crime scene photos. They’re burned into my brain.
I lean back in my chair, sip my coffee.
What is Carter doing right now?
I glance at the clock. Nearly ten. I doubt he’s sleeping yet. Or maybe he is. Maybe he had a good night and it helped him sleep. It’s not always strenuous things that make you tired. Sometimes it’s letting go. Lightening your load.
But why am I thinking about him? I shouldn’t be. I have work to focus on.
I dig through files, taking notes on different cases.
Things I need to look into and things I need my team to look into.
No matter how hard I try to focus, something reminds me of Carter.
I read the word retrieve and I think of Teddy…
which brings me to Carter and how happy he would be if he could take that dog home.
I randomly hear his laugh echoing in my ears as if he’s in the other room.
This case is getting to me. Cases don’t get to me like this, yet for some reason, this one is.
I blame it on that first night, when I met him and didn’t know who he was.
I saw the sadness there. I saw him raw and vulnerable in a way he never would have shown me had he known who I was and how we would be brought together.
Sure, I still see glimpses, but not like that night. He’s strong and holding himself together when he’s with me, trying his damn best. I won’t lie—it hurts thinking about how much pain he is in. All the pain he doesn’t want the world to see. It’s seeping through the cracks, though. I see it often.
Others have friends and family to rely on. Ryan and Carter only had each other. I know what that’s like, and this is bringing up too many of my own feelings.
I won’t give up though. I won’t stop. Not until the case is solved and they have peace.
It’s nearing lunch when Detective Denise Mason knocks on my door with a stack of folders in her arms. I raise a brow wondering what they could be bringing me now. I already have an uncountable number of cases to look through; plenty I haven’t even set eyes on yet.
“I was told to drop these off to you.”
“What the hell are they?” I ask, taking in the foot tall pile.
“Your cases, apparently.”
“My cases? I have a shit ton already.” I gesture to my table.
She puts them down on a barely empty corner of my desk and shrugs.
“I don’t know. It’s just what I was told to do.” She heads out of the office and turns into the hallway.
I pull the top one off. It’s dated from the 90s.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath. “What the hell is wrong with this city!” I call out loud enough that hopefully she can hear me out there.
Not that it’s her fault, but fuck. How are there so many cases that need my attention? I’m only one fucking person.
Of course, logistically, I know how. But fucking hell, this is ridiculous. We need more people on this. Way more than the measly two people they gave me. Pretty sure the only reason more cases are being slapped on my desk are because of them. I should have fucking known better.
I pick up my phone and send a text to Carter.
Me: Hope your day is going better than mine.
I put my phone down and get to my feet. I reach for the pile of folders and freeze, looking back at my phone. I narrow my eyes as I stare at the text I sent.
Why did I send that?
I sent it to him like we’re friends. Like we’re… more than what we are.
Fuck.
I move the files next to the copier. I’ll have to put in an order for another desk to give all these files space until I can get through them. I close my door and call my brother.
“Are your ears burning?” he answers.
I chuckle. “Not right now.”
I always told my brother that I call him when my ears burn, like it’s a sign to check on him since he’s a firefighter. It doesn’t actually happen, but having a reason to call makes it seem like I’m not worrying about him as much as I do.
“Why’d you call then?”
“Can’t I check in on my little brother?”
“I guess.”
“How are things? Did you win Miles back yet? I haven’t talked to you since you let me know you got home.”
“We’re both busy, Nash.”
I hate the way he sounds put off by my calling. But I’m the one who did this, who set the bar for our relationship and what it’ll look like. Protecting them from afar is the only way I know how to do it. If I get too close, I could hurt them. The same way our father did.
“Me too. But I’m calling.”
Pausing for a moment, he finally says, “Yes, Miles and I are together. We’re working things out.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. How are you doing? Any shit from the senator?”
He groans. “No, nothing from him either.”
That’s the nickname I gave to his piece of shit husband because he acts like a damn politician. Always has promises but never delivers, the prick.
“Even better,” I say, forcing a smile.
“How are you out there? Miss Chicago yet?”
“Not yet, but maybe I will. Just got a stack of files tossed onto my desk. These cold cases are worse than I thought.”
“You solve any yet?”
“No, but I’ve got one re-opened and a handful that probably will be.”
“That’s good. You’ll get there.”
“That’s the goal.”
I move to the window to look out at the city. It’s overcast today, dark and grey. Doesn’t stop anyone from doing what they need to do though, not even in the freezing cold and chance of snow. Thousands and thousands of people bustle up and down the streets. This city truly never sleeps.
“Why’d you really call, Nash?” Jericho asks.
I never let him know that he is accurate in his assumptions when he knows something is going on. His intuition is on point, but I always make it seem like I’m fine. Because I have to be.
“This case is fucking with me a little,” I admit, because you only need one person to break the cycle.
“How come?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
And I don’t. Though, to be fair, it’s not the case that’s getting to me. It’s Carter.
Half truths. It’s more than I’ve ever given him before.
“You do know you can talk to me, right, Nash?”
“I know,” I say, even though I won’t. He doesn’t need to carry my burdens along with his own, but if I tell him that, he’ll only argue and worry. I have to just play it off like I’m fine. “But I’m good. Not the worst case I’ve dealt with. I think I’m just rusty.”
“Whatever is fucking with you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You got the job for a reason, Nash. You’re a good cop.”
“It’s just—” A knock on my door interrupts my sentence, and I turn to face it, wondering who could be on the other side this time. “I have to go. Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
I end the call and call out, “Come in!”
It’s Gendreau and Weber. I glance at the clock.
“Lost track of time?” Gendreau asks.
“Don’t I always?” I say, sitting in my chair. “What do you have for me?”
“Well, we finally have a lead,” he says.
“Oh?” I say, sitting forward.
“Monique St. Doran,” she adds. “Worked at a private care facility just three blocks from the crime scene. Her description matches what we have and—”
“Get this,” Weber buts in. “She quit six days after the murder.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent,” Gendreau adds.
“Have you found her yet?”
They shake their heads, and it’s Weber who answers. “No, but we’re looking. We have tech running her name through the system to find out where she is.”
“Which means she went into hiding or something,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
“Yeah, or something,” I say.
“Which is a pretty good indication she knows something,” Gendreau says. “So, if we can find her…”
“We may be able to solve this case,” I say, looking up at them. “Good work. Both of you.”
“Just doing our jobs,” Weber says.
“What about any of the other cases? Any updates?”
Gendreau explains, “We’re about to head over to the warehouse to grab some evidence boxes to go through this afternoon. We have a few interviews tomorrow morning.”
“We will catch up tomorrow afternoon,” I say.
“That’s our plan,” he says as they both get up.
“Call me if you need anything,” I call out as they head for the door.
“Same to you, Bennett,” Gendreau says with a small laugh.
I glance at my phone, itching to tell Carter the good news.
But I can’t. It could be too much. We may not have anything.
This could all be a dead end, and I can’t bear to see that hope leave his eyes.
He’s been so happy lately, so hopeful. I won’t kill it.
Not when we aren’t sure. So I get to work on some of my other cases, and continue to look at my phone to see if he’ll respond to my text.