Chapter 12
Twelve
Jamie hadn’t meant to make a habit out of Erin Calhoun, but that was what it had become.
In the three days since the fire, there had been late-night texts, rushed midday check-ins, even two full-on phone calls that had stretched past midnight.
Nothing she would have called personal, not exactly.
Erin stuck to safe ground, and Jamie told herself she was only teasing when she prodded her past it.
Still, Erin’s name lit up her screen so often now that Jamie caught herself waiting for it.
Now Erin was in front of her, not tucked safely behind a phone line. She stood at the head of the precinct briefing room in full uniform, posture sharp, every word clipped and precise. PIO mode.
“The department is treating this as a voluntary runaway at this stage,” Erin said, her voice cutting clean through the low buzz of reporters.
“The teen left a note indicating she was leaving home. There is no evidence of foul play. We are asking the public for any information regarding her whereabouts.”
Jamie jotted notes without looking down, eyes drawn to the way Erin’s jaw tightened for half a second before she moved on.
It wasn’t anything most people would catch, just one of those small giveaways that slipped through when Erin was in full PIO mode.
Jamie knew it wasn’t her business, but she still tucked it away, one more detail to add to the growing list of things she was starting to learn about Erin.
Beside her, Tilly adjusted the camera angle, their face as unreadable as always. Jamie forced her attention back to the statement instead of the flicker in Erin’s eyes when they passed briefly over hers. Sharp, professional, and then gone.
She exhaled, pen hovering over her notebook. This was supposed to be about a missing teen. But all she could think about was how easily Erin slipped into a version of herself that felt miles away from the one who had stayed on the phone with her half the night.
When the cluster of reporters broke apart, Jamie lingered near the edge of the crowd, pretending to double-check her notes.
Erin stepped down from the podium, answering a quick question from another journalist before scanning the room.
Her gaze landed on Jamie, steady and deliberate in a way that made Jamie’s stomach flip.
“Garrison,” Erin said when she reached her. Professional, but softer at the edges.
Jamie clicked her pen closed and shoved it into her pocket. “That sounded like you’ve done this speech a hundred times.”
“Probably have,” Erin admitted. “Different names, same story.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the doors, where the girl’s parents had been ushered out. “Still matters, though.”
Jamie hesitated, then nodded. “I know.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, pulse kicking up for no good reason. “Hey, um… are you free tonight? I was thinking maybe we could grab a drink. Off the clock.”
It was out before she could second-guess herself, and she instantly wished she could stuff the words back down. Erin didn’t flinch, though. If anything, a hint of surprise tugged at her mouth before it curved into something Jamie couldn’t quite name.
“Yeah,” Erin said simply. “I’d love to.”
She gave Jamie one last look before heading toward the exit, the sound of her boots fading down the hall. Jamie let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her pulse still racing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jamie turned. Tilly stood a few feet away, camera slung at their side, mouth tight.
“What?” Jamie asked, already defensive.
Tilly didn’t answer right away. They just shook their head, muttering something too low to catch, before brushing past her.
By the time they reached the car, Jamie could feel the storm brewing. Tilly yanked open the driver’s side door, tossed the camera bag into the back seat, and slid in with a kind of energy that dared Jamie to test them.
The drive started quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space. But it didn’t last.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Tilly snapped, eyes locked on the road.
Jamie blinked. “What?”
Tilly let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t play innocent. Drinks with Calhoun? After hours? Sure, that’ll end well.”
Jamie’s stomach dropped. “It’s not like that.”
“Please.” Tilly’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “She’s not your friend, Jamie. She’s a cop. A cop who only talks to reporters when it benefits her. And you’re eating it up like… like you don’t see the game she’s playing.”
Jamie bristled, heat rising in her chest. “You don’t even know her.”
That made Tilly laugh, short and sharp. “Neither do you!”
Jamie whipped around in her seat, glare meeting theirs. “Well, excuse me for going off what I actually see. Since you’d rather play mystery games and not tell me anything, that’s all I’ve got to work with.”
Tilly’s grip on the wheel tightened, tendons straining, but their voice cut sharp.
“What you see isn’t the whole story, Jamie.
You think you’ve got her figured out because she smiled at you a couple times?
Because she answers your texts? You don’t know what she’s like when the cameras aren’t rolling, when the shine wears off. ”
Jamie blinked, caught off guard by the venom. “Then tell me,” she shot back, pulse spiking. “If you know something, if she’s so terrible, then tell me what it is.”
Tilly’s jaw clenched. For a second Jamie thought they might finally give her the truth. But then Tilly shook their head, a humorless smile tugging at their mouth. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
The words landed like the slam of a door. Jamie looked away, pressing her lips together to keep from saying something she couldn’t take back.
Jamie didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.
She couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her chest tighter, and every mile of silence seemed to press the argument deeper instead of letting it drift away.
When Tilly pulled into the station lot, they didn’t look at her — not a goodbye, not even a quick glance — just grabbed the camera bag and walked off like the air between them wasn’t still buzzing.
Jamie stood there for a beat, hands useless at her sides, trying to tell herself she didn’t care. But she did. And the worst part was she couldn’t even make sense of what the fight had been about.
She swallowed hard, pushed the feeling down, and headed to the bar anyway.
* * *
Jamie sat at a corner table, her jacket draped over the back of the chair, one hand worrying at the label of her beer bottle until it came away in damp shreds.
She’d told herself this wasn’t a date, just two professionals grabbing a drink after a long day.
But the longer she sat, the louder that little voice in her head got.
Every time the door opened, her pulse jumped, only to crash when it wasn’t Erin. She hated that. She hated how invested she suddenly felt in seeing her walk through the door, like it mattered too much already.
She checked her phone, even though she knew Erin wasn’t late. The screen glowed back at her with nothing new. She almost ordered another beer just to have something to do with her hands, but stopped, worrying it would look like she was trying too hard.
Jamie shifted in her seat, picking another strip from the bottle until it curled under her nail. She told herself she could leave, that it wouldn’t mean anything if she just slipped out before Erin showed up. But her legs stayed rooted to the floor.
She tried to focus on the TV over the bar, the muted basketball game playing to a crowd that didn’t care, but her thoughts kept circling back to Erin.
To how easily she’d laughed on the phone.
To the way the uniform seemed to sharpen every line of her posture, and how quickly that confidence had cracked when she checked on the restaurant owner, or when she talked about the runaway teen.
That crack had stayed with Jamie. It had felt real, unguarded.
She tore another strip of paper from the bottle just as the door swung open again, and this time it was her. Erin in jeans, a leather jacket, hair loose. Jamie’s breath caught before she could stop it.
Not a date. Just drinks. Just friends.
Her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip anyway.