Chapter 35
Thirty Five
For a long moment, Erin couldn’t breathe. The words hung between them, heavy and wrong, echoing through her chest like a bruise she’d given herself. She wished she could drag them back, swallow them whole before they landed.
Jamie’s face had gone pale in the wash of cruiser lights. Her lips parted like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.
“Erin,” she whispered.
The sound of her name cut sharper than the wind. Erin looked away, pressing a hand through her hair like she could wipe the night off her skin. The air tasted like metal and smoke, and every noise around them—radios, boots on pavement, the hum of idling engines—pressed in too close.
She could feel Jamie behind her, still and cautious.
“You didn’t hear that,” Erin said finally, voice low and frayed.
“But I did,” Jamie said. “I literally can’t not report that.”
She swallowed hard, voice low but steady. “And Erin… if I pretend I didn’t hear it, it looks like you gave me something off the record and I buried it. That puts both of us in danger. My producer would ask questions. Your department would too. Covering it up would be worse than reporting it.”
Erin turned, the plea already on her face. “Please don’t.”
“Erin, it’s my job.”
“Then quit,” she said, too fast. The words came out like a spark catching on dry air. She stepped closer, desperate. “Please, I’m begging you. Let the department announce it. Let me handle this before it gets worse.”
Jamie’s jaw tightened. “Erin… my station’s already on me. They know something’s happening here. If I walk away from this, they’ll put someone else on it and ask why I didn’t push. I could lose this story entirely.”
The silence between them sharpened. Erin could see the moment Jamie made the choice, the way her shoulders squared, the mic still dangling from her hand. When she turned to leave, Erin reached out before she could think.
Her fingers wrapped around Jamie’s sleeve. “Please,” she said, voice cracking. “I can’t lose this job. I can’t lose—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Just this one thing. Let it go. Please.”
Jamie froze, but she didn’t look back.
The wind pushed through the trees, carrying the faint crackle of a radio and the sound of someone calling orders from across the park. Erin’s hand slipped from her arm, fingers cold from the air. She stayed where she was, the weight of everything she hadn’t said pressing down on her chest.
She didn’t move for a long time. The night stretched open, hollow and bright. Her lungs burned. The flashing lights blurred, and the noise of the scene carried on without her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this untethered, like her own voice had been the thing to undo her.
She forced herself to breathe. In. Out. Focus. She was still the department’s voice tonight. Still the one everyone looked to when things got messy. She just had to keep it together long enough to…
“Hey, Calhoun,” someone called. It was Rodriguez, one of the younger officers on scene, holding his phone out with a frown. “You seeing this?”
Her stomach dropped before she even looked.
The blue glow of the screen caught her face. WCVB’s logo sat in the corner of a live feed. Jamie stood in front of the same perimeter tape Erin had been guarding all night, hair catching the wind, voice calm and steady.
“Sources confirm the victim has been identified as twenty-two-year-old Lila Grant, daughter of Boston Mayor Michael Grant. Police have not yet released additional details, but next of kin have been notified.”
The rest blurred.
Erin’s pulse roared in her ears. The sound of Jamie’s voice, a voice she’d memorized in softer moments, twisted in her chest like a knife. She’d begged her not to. And she’d done it anyway.
Her throat went dry. “Where did she—who gave her—” She cut herself off, because she already knew.
Rodriguez looked up at her, eyes wide. “You okay?”
She nodded, though her body felt like it wasn’t hers. “Yeah. I… yeah. I need to make a call.”
She walked away before he could ask anything else. The radio on her belt crackled with updates, background chatter about media requests and comms delays. She couldn’t make out the words, only the rising tone of chaos that told her people were noticing.
By the time she reached her cruiser, Sergeant Collins was already moving toward her. His stride was clipped, the kind that meant trouble before he even spoke.
“What the hell is going on?” His voice carried across the lot. “WCVB just dropped the victim’s name on live TV. How did they get that, Calhoun?”
Erin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could lie. Say it leaked from the hospital or that one of the beat cops talked out of turn. She’d seen others do it. She knew how. But her chest tightened, and the lie caught in her throat.
“I did,” she said.
Collins stopped short. “You what?”
“I slipped,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to, but I told her. She asked something and I said it before I could stop myself.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he could force down the frustration. “Jesus, Erin.” His voice dropped. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks? The mayor’s office is already blowing up my phone.”
“I know.” Her voice broke around the words. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. I’ll call WCVB, I’ll—”
“You’ll do nothing until I talk to Command.” He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Pack up and go back to HQ. Now. I’ll deal with you later.”
Her mouth went dry. She wanted to argue, to promise she could fix it, but there was no version of this she could make right tonight.
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t answer, already moving to bark orders at another officer. Erin turned toward her car. Her legs felt heavy, her vision too sharp. She climbed into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles ached.
The inside of the cruiser smelled faintly of coffee and rain. She turned the key, but didn’t drive. The radio played fragments of dispatch chatter, the kind she’d normally monitor. Tonight it just sounded like noise.
She could still hear Jamie’s voice in her head, smooth and professional, saying Lila Grant’s name out loud. Saying the thing she wasn’t supposed to say. The thing Erin had handed her like a loaded gun.
Her chest tightened. She’d spent her career building trust with the department, proving herself to men who never thought she belonged in the first place. One mistake, and it was all gone.
When she finally started the engine, her hands were trembling.
The drive back to HQ blurred together. Streetlights smeared across the windshield, and her thoughts tripped over themselves in useless circles.
She replayed every second of the conversation, Jamie’s face, the way she’d said please, the silence after.
There was no version of it that didn’t end with her own voice sinking her.
The parking lot was mostly empty when she pulled in. She didn’t even remember the drive, just the jolt of her tires bumping the curb. Inside, the building was quiet, but word had clearly spread. Heads turned as she passed through the hallway toward the comms office.
Her desk light was still on. Papers from earlier sat in neat piles, press drafts she’d been proud of hours ago. She sank into her chair, trying to steady her breathing.
Her email was already flooded. Messages from reporters asking for confirmation, the mayor’s office requesting a formal statement, Command forwarding directives.
She moved on autopilot, typing, deleting, rewriting the same two lines: “The department can confirm the victim has been identified as Lila Grant. Next of kin have been notified. Further information will be released at the discretion of Command.”
Her cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. She stared at it until the letters blurred. She hit send.
The room felt colder after.
Her phone buzzed against the desk. Collins. She picked up.
“Sir?”
“You still there?”
“Yes.”
“Captain wants you in his office.”
Her stomach twisted. “Now?”
“Now.”
The line went dead.
She straightened her blazer, though her hands were still shaking. The walk down the hall felt longer than it should have. Every sound—the squeak of her shoes, the hum of the fluorescent lights—pressed against her skull.
When she stepped inside, Captain Vega was seated behind his desk, arms folded. His expression wasn’t angry. That somehow made it worse.
“Close the door, Calhoun.”
She did.
Collins stood off to the side, jaw tight. Vega motioned for her to sit.
“I’ll make this quick,” he said. “What happened tonight can’t happen again. You’ve been one of our best communicators, but this is serious. The mayor’s already demanding accountability.”
Erin nodded, throat thick. “I understand, sir. I take full responsibility. It was my mistake.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “For the record, we believe you when you say it wasn’t intentional. But that doesn’t change the optics. Effective immediately, you’re being placed on administrative leave pending review.”
The words landed like a physical blow. “Sir, please—”
“It’s temporary,” Vega said, firm but not unkind. “We’ll sort it out after things cool down. For now, hand your badge over and go home.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. There wasn’t anything left to say.
She slid the badge from her belt, the metal cold against her fingers, and set it on the desk. It clicked when it hit the surface.
“Understood,” she said softly.
Vega nodded. “Get some rest, Erin.”
She didn’t answer.
The hallway was quieter on the way out. The weight of the empty space pressed in on her. She moved on autopilot, down the stairs, through the glass doors, into the night air.
Outside, the city felt wrong. The lights were too bright, the wind too sharp. Her car sat where she’d left it, dark windows reflecting the glow of the streetlamps.
She climbed in and sat there for a long time. The keys dangled from the ignition, unmoving. Her hands were still trembling.
She wanted to cry, but nothing came. Only the hollow ache of exhaustion settling into her bones.
Eventually, she turned the key. The engine hummed to life, soft and steady. She pulled out of the lot, headlights cutting through the empty street.
She didn’t know where she was going yet, only that she couldn’t go home. Not right away. Not while everything she’d built was slipping through her fingers.