Sniffinga laugh, I said, “Yeah, I guess I do. I just try not to focus on the politicalaspect of it, I guess.”
Henodded. “So, yedinnaelike what ye do.”
“It’snot that,” I protested, shoveling another forkful of rice into my mouth. “Ilike my boss, and I like making people happy with the work we do. I just don’tlike the stigma that comes along with it, and I really don’t like how much timeI have to put into it sometimes, when I’d rather be spending time with my sonorsi—”
Istopped myself, realizing too late what I had almost said. Silently, I remindedmyself that I no longer had a sister. There would be no more meetups after workfor drinks, no more late-night TV binge-fests, and with every agonizing blow tomy heart, I felt it shatter all over it.
“Um…” I focused on my chewing and the container in front of me, as I fought mytears and asked, “Do you like what you do?”
“Aye,”he replied in a hush, as if my momentary lapse in emotion had fazed him aswell. “At least I used to, before I had to come back here.”
“Wherewere you before?”
“Edinburgh,”he answered, sighing as if saying the word left him exhausted.
Itwasn’t any of my business, but not wanting to think about Gracie and my brokenheart for the time being, I decided to make it mine. “Bad memories?”
Hegrunted a disgusted sound and tapped his fingers against the counter. “Idivorced my wife and found out soon after that my father’s dementia had taken asevere turn for the worse, so aye, I’d say so.”
“I’msorry.”
Brodieshook his head, dismissing my sympathies. “What was worse wascomin’ back. Fort Crow isn’t the mostrivetin’place. Not enough happens to keep me busy andthinkin’.”
Myeyes dropped to my fork, working its way through a valley of rice andvegetables, and said with an unintentional bitter bite, “Not enough bodieslayingaround.”
“It’sa horrible thing, but murder happens,” he replied unapologetically. “Icannaebring the dead back, but I can bring their killersto justice, so, … I do.”
Inodded slowly. “I get it. It gives you purpose. Makes you feel like,” I pulledin a deep breath and looked up, staring toward the stove and the brick wallbehind it, “like you’re doing something good with your life.”
“Especiallywhen Idinnaehave much else to live for,” hemuttered, shrugging. “I’m an arsehole for evensayin’it, but I don’t think I’ve used my mind this much in months.”
“Oneperson’s tragedy is another person’s triumph, I guess,” I said quietly, gentlypushing the container away, as I realized I wasn’t going to eat anything else.
Brodiewas quiet then, gently tapping his fingers against the counter, while Isilently drowned in my never-ending ocean of grief and hopeless despair.Soulless fingers reached up from the murky depths, threatening to drag me underand rip the life from my lungs, and I knew, if I didn’t shake myself free, I’dsuccumb to my own demise. I couldn’t do that, though. Not when her killer wasoutthereand I had my son to worry about. So, I tooka deep breath, to ask this man something, anything to take my mind off the imageof her ghastly face and lifeless eyes.
ButBrodie spoke first.
“I’venever left a case unsolved, Rosie,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “In fifteenyears, I have caught every cold-blooded bastard that landed on my desk, and Iswear to ye, this one will not be the first to slip through my grasp.”
“Youdon’t knowthat,” I whispered, choked and weak.
“Itold ye earlier; I keep my promises,” he replied firmly, laying a hand againstmy shoulder.
Iturned to look at him, sitting there in a worn t-shirt and grey pajama pants.In my yoga pants and sweatshirt, perched on a stool in this kitchen, thesetting suddenly felt too casual. It was too personal, and I had to scold myeyes for drifting downward, to the width of his shoulders and the breadth ofhis chest. A memory of telling Gracie to grab herself a hot Scot slitheredgently into my brain, and I slammed my eyes shut as I turned away, giving myhead a gentle shake as I took the container and slid from the stool.
“Ishould get some sleep,” I told him, then held up the container. “Do you want meto keep this?”
Heshook his head. “Only if yewannasave it foryerself.”
Ijittered my way through a nod and closed the container before putting it backin the fridge. I felt his eyes on me with every step that I took but not in away that left me uncomfortable. I wanted to turn to him, I wanted to stay. Iwanted to spend the night getting to know him better, without talking about mysister or death. But I ignored every one of those feelings and walked hurriedlyto the kitchen doorway, to head back up the stairs and to the security of myroom.
Butbefore I could leave, I stopped with my hand on the doorframe and said,“Goodnight, Brodie.”
“Callme Alec,” he said, slicing through my resolve to only think pure thoughts withhis voice made solely for fantasies.
Myeyes drifted shut to the awakening of lust as I swallowed and whispered,“Okay.”
“Goodnight,Rosie.”
