Falmouth Shadows (Cape Cod #3)

Prologue

“ T his doesn’t make any sense,” Ian muttered before minimizing the screen and pushing his chair back.

He spun around in the swivel chair, stopped a few feet away from his desk, and huffed. Then he folded his arms over his lap and stared up at the ceiling.

He couldn’t stop looking at the single crack in the center and wondering how it got there. Or how he got there.

All he could think about was his mom’s case.

It was all he could breathe or feel or see.

And little by little, it was driving him crazy.

With a frown, Ian rolled his chair back to his desk, pushed some papers aside, and picked up his mouse. He scrolled through the screen, and his eyes darted back and forth, quickly skimming through the documents. Yet, the harder he tried to pick up on any inconsistencies, the worse he felt.

Nothing was jumping out at him.

Not even a single sentence.

It had been weeks since he’d campaigned to get his mom’s case reopened. Since he was a respected member of the department and well-liked amongst his peers and the higher-ups, it hadn’t taken much to get them to agree. In light of the recent burglaries plaguing Falmouth, he knew the department needed a win.

And he’d been excited to hand them one on a silver platter.

Unfortunately, nothing was working out the way he wanted it to.

Not only was none of the evidence making sense, but all he’d gotten after weeks of staring at his screen and pouring over every ounce of information was a headache steadily pounding in the back of his skull. Aside from the stiffness in his limbs that he couldn’t shake off, no matter how hard he stretched, Ian had nothing to show for his hard work. Nothing that mattered or even made a kernel of a difference.

A wave of frustration rose within him, forcing him to push his chair back and stand. He brushed a few crumbs of bread off the collar of his shirt and stretched his arms up over his head. After a few seconds, he pushed himself up to the balls of his feet and held his arms out on either side of him.

He was flapping his arms out when his partner came in, a cup of coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other. She did a double take when she saw him and paused to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ears. Then she took her phone out of her pocket and pointed at him.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I would,” Marissa replied cheerfully. “People don’t think anything interesting ever happens when we have the night shift, but that’s not true. I’ve got proof now.”

Ian let his arms fall to his sides and gave his partner a withering look. “What good is that going to do you? I’m your partner. If you embarrass me, you’re embarrassing yourself by extension.”

Marissa paused. “I’m surprisingly okay with it. At least it’ll get people to stop talking about the drool picture Schmitt took of me.”

Ian’s lips twitched. “You need to let that go.”

Marissa lifted the mug up to her lips, her face half-bathed in fluorescent lighting. “You need to stop staring at your screen and hoping for a different result, but you don’t hear me trying to tell you how to handle things.”

“It sounds like you are.”

Marissa shrugged and crossed over to him. She dropped into the chair next to his and did a half-circle in her seat. Ian did a full turn, taking in the rows and rows of empty desks, many of them with sheets of paper scattered throughout. His gaze stopped at the captain’s door, his name written in bold cursive on the glass window that reflected the neat and tidy office within.

Once upon a time, Ian thought he’d end up in that position.

He’d long since given up on that dream, having made his peace with the fact he was only going to be a police officer. No amount of wishful thinking was going to change the hand he was dealt in life, and he didn’t want to waste any more time wishing things were different.

It wasn’t going to get him his dream job, and it wasn’t going to bring his mom back to life—no matter how much he prayed for it.

“Are you okay?” Marissa was leaning forward in her seat and waving a hand in front of his face. “You look like you’re constipated or something.”

Ian blinked and swung his gaze back to hers. “How is that your immediate conclusion?”

Marissa sat up straighter and yawned. “I don’t know. I guess I spend too much time at the station.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Ian muttered, pausing to run a hand over his face. “Some days, it feels like this is home.”

“Michael was telling me the same thing the other day,” Marissa said with a sigh. “He’s been trying to convince me to try for baby number two, but when I point out how hectic work is, he tells me he feels like the station is my husband, and he’s the mistress.”

Ian snorted, sat down in his chair, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “At least he cares enough to notice. A lot of guys wouldn’t even comment if their wives were gone most of the time.”

Marissa picked up her mug and eyed him over the rim. “Speaking from experience?”

Ian shook his head. “I actually like having Lucy around.”

Even when things were weird between them, he missed her.

He missed her more than he wanted to admit, and each day that went by without resolving the issues between them made him feel further and further away from her. So far, nothing he’d done had yielded any results, not cutting back on his hours, not making sure he was home for dinner, and definitely not any of his attempts to draw Lucy into a serious conversation.

All of his attempts fell on deaf ears.

It felt like he was batting zero on all fronts.

Marissa took a loud sip of her drink and set her mug down on the coaster. “Have you had any luck with your mom’s case?”

Ian cleared his throat. “No, and I don’t know what else to do. I think Sophia is right, and the guy we’ve got in lockup is connected to my mom’s case, but I don’t know how to prove it.”

Marissa pushed her chair closer and scanned the screen. “Well, at least we got him off the streets, right? That’s got to count for something.”

It did, but it wasn’t enough.

Though Ian wasn’t about to start admitting that to his partner, of all people.

Marissa had no idea what it was like to lose a parent at a young age or the anger and drive that had gotten him this far. She wouldn’t know the first thing about having to shoulder that burden and feel responsible for not being able to bring the real perp to justice.

Ian often wondered if he knew who he was outside of being a cop, or that trauma had led him to the police academy in the first place.

Marissa exhaled and moved back to her own desk. “Whenever I’m stuck on a case, I try coming at it from a different angle.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take a walk, do some exercise. Anything like that. When you give your mind a chance to process without trying to force the answers to come, you’d be amazed at what can happen.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “This part of that new-age crap you’ve been trying to sell me?”

“First of all, it’s called mindfulness, and it’s not crap. It really works. It teaches you about living in the moment and approaching everything with good intentions while being present.”

Ian blinked. “You really believe in that stuff, huh?”

Marissa rolled her shoulders and swung her gaze to her desktop. She drummed her fingers against the desk while she waited for it to start. “It works for me. You never know if you don’t try.”

Ian made a low noise in the back of his throat and said nothing.

Slowly, he rose back to his feet and shrugged into his jacket. He waved at a few of the other cops on shift on his way to the front door. Outside, the cold wind slapped against his face and made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stood at the top of the stairs with his hands shoved into his pockets and his breath crystalizing in front of him.

Still, none of the answers came to him.

There had to be a connection between the Falmouth burglar and his mother’s murder. He refused to believe, after all these years, fate was having a laugh at their expense. The last thing he wanted was to go back to his father and Sophia with the bad news and have to deal with their disappointment and heartache.

You’re the only one who can figure this out, Ian. You just need to take Marissa’s advice and try a different angle. That’s all.

Ian was studying the empty streets on either side of him, half-bathed in florescent streetlamps and half-obscured in the shadows, when his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and smiled at the pictures that were sent to the family group. Kelli, Dana, and Dean were all dressed in heavy clothing and making faces at the camera, and it made his heart swell.

He missed his kids so much that it often took him by surprise.

He knew Lucy was taking it much harder, having dedicated most of her life to raising the kids and keeping her career as a second priority. Lately, he’d seen her wander the house, picking up and setting down their pictures while she sighed. He’d even caught her sitting in their rooms, sniffing their clothes and muttering to herself.

They were all due for a visit soon.

In the meantime, he wanted desperately to bring them some good news.

In the distance, a dog howled, and he heard a car backing up. Ian gave a slight shake of his head and shuffled back into the station, the blast of hot air hitting him directly in the face. He strode past the main desk, where a man and a woman sat in uniform, their gazes fixed on their screen.

With a quick wave, he strode past them and into the main part of the station.

Marissa had her legs propped up on her desk and was talking to a few people. After a brief pause, Ian weaved in and out of the desks and ducked into the back, where a few prisoners were being kept in cells. He stood in the doorway outside the security camera’s range and studied the cells. All of them were built the same: with metal bars, faded old mattresses on uncomfortable-looking metal beds, and single windows that overlooked the backyard.

Most of the prisoners were already fast asleep, except for one.

It didn’t take long for Ian to recognize the Falmouth burglar, who was perched on the edge of the mattress with his fingers linked together. In his stained shirt, a pair of jeans that looked frayed around the hem, and a small scar over his right eye, he looked like every inch the criminal he was.

Ian wondered if there was more to him than that.

He was, after all, the key to this whole thing, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“You going to keep lurking in the shadows, or are you actually going to ask me what you want to know?”

Ian’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jake Long lifted his gaze up from the floor and looked directly at him, sending a shiver racing up Ian’s spine. “I don’t think you want to start our relationship off with a lie.”