"Jesus." Finally, Cullen sighed. "Shit. I kept the notes."
Relief flickered through her, but before she could speak, he added, "But if I give them to you, I want something in return."
"What?"
"The truth. Why you’re really calling me. Because I don’t buy that this is just about the case."
Charlotte hesitated. Because deep down, she knew this wasn’t just about Gideon Ward. It was about everything they left unfinished. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to face that yet.
She rubbed her temple, the headache already blooming. Graham always had a way of getting under her skin, of pushing just hard enough to make her feel like she was backed into a corner. Even after all these years, it hadn’t changed.
"It is about the case," she said, keeping her voice even.
Cullen let out a short, humorless laugh. "Sure. And I’m the Pope. Cut the bullshit, Everhart."
She swallowed the sharp retort rising to her tongue. She didn’t have time for a pissing match. Not now.
"Like I said, there’s something’s off about Byron and the Ward Case."
A pause. Cullen wasn’t laughing now. "His disappearance? He’s dead, Charlotte. We both know that."
"He is now. He died in the Waverly County ER at 1:12 a.m."
Cullen exhaled, and she could almost hear him rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus. You’re serious. You’re telling me Henry Byron was really left on your porch.”
"I wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t."
Another silence stretched between them, thick with old wounds and unspoken words. Finally, Cullen spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "You really think we missed something?"
Charlotte hesitated. That was the thing—she didn’t know. But her gut, the same instinct that had kept her alive through years of police work, was telling her to look again.
"I think we need to go back through it," she said. "And I think you’re the only one who still has what I need."
Cullen let out a slow breath. "You know, I should tell you to go to hell. But… I never could say no to you, could I?"
"No, you couldn't.” A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
He was quiet for a second. “Alright, Everhart. I’ll meet you. But you’d better bring whiskey, because if we’re doing this, I’m gonna need a damn drink."
Charlotte let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Send me a place and time."
"You still got my burner number, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good. See you soon, partner."
The call disconnected. Charlotte stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it down.
Graham Cullen was right about one thing. This wasn’t just about the case. Charlotte leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Bailey whimpered and climbed up on the bed, lying beside her.
The real reason.
It wasn’t just the case—though that was the excuse she was using. It wasn’t even about the nagging feeling they’d missed something with Gideon Ward.
It was about Graham Cullen. About the way things ended between them.
She’d cut him off, just like that. Shut the door and walked away. It had been the only way to survive back then, or at least that was what she told herself. He made it easy at the time—resentful, bitter, daring her to prove him right. When she ignored his complaints about her promotion she wasn’t supposed to hear, when she disciplined him for punching out a suspect in an interrogation, and when she retired and never looked back—she told herself she was doing what needed to be done.
