Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Kevin logged the paint analysis request, his fingers punching the keys harder than necessary. He didn’t know why the system had to ask him three times if he wanted to confirm a sample.
Yes, dammit. That’s why I’m here.
He leaned back, exhaling. The monitor blinked its green confirmation. Paint sample? Done.
Next up, Lucy’s fur. Kevin glanced at the small plastic evidence bag beside the keyboard. Inside, the faint blue streak still clung to the hairs they’d trimmed from Lucy’s tail earlier at Jo’s place. Whatever it was—paint, dye, who knew—it had smeared onto her when she got too close to something.
Too late to send it to the lab tonight, but first thing tomorrow? It’d be out the door.
Kevin typed in the case file, pausing to double-check the chain-of-custody notes. His name. Sam’s. All clean. Evidence logged, bag sealed, chain intact. He tapped the enter key and watched the details lock into place on the screen.
He sat back, glancing around the quiet squad room. It felt weird to be here alone. Well, not quite alone. Major, the station cat, slept sprawled across the top of a filing cabinet like he owned the place.
Kevin didn’t mind the quiet. It let him think.
Sam had gone to see Beryl Thorne alone tonight.
Kevin didn’t know why, and he didn’t need to.
There was history there—anyone with eyes could see that much.
Sam kept his past locked up tight, but heck, didn’t they all?
Kevin had his own history too. Things he didn’t talk about. Things he wasn’t proud of.
Sam didn’t ask about any of it. And Kevin didn’t ask about Beryl. That was how trust worked. You earned it, piece by piece, until it didn’t matter where you’d come from—only where you stood now.
And for the first time in years, Kevin felt like he stood in the right place.
Sam hadn’t even been angry about the thumb drive.
He’d stared at Kevin long enough to make him sweat, sure.
But when Kevin explained why he hadn’t mentioned it sooner—his memory issues and that he hadn’t been sure what he was looking at—Sam had just nodded.
Said something about good instincts. Told him to trust his gut next time.
Kevin hadn’t been able to shake that moment. Sam trusted him. Not a lot of people had. Not back then.
Now? Kevin felt like part of the team. Like he belonged here, in this rundown station with its creaky floors, stale coffee, and a cat with an attitude problem.
The phone on his desk buzzed, jolting him upright. He grabbed it. Sam.
“Yeah?”
“I’m done here,” Sam said, his voice steady but clipped. “Heading to Marnie’s. Meet me out front in ten.”
The line clicked dead.
Kevin stared at the phone then at the clock. He was already moving, shoving his chair back and grabbing his jacket in one fluid motion. He was out on the sidewalk waiting when Sam pulled up.