“Writing him a ticket for being double-parked now.”
Ah, the life of a small-town dispatcher. A double-parked car on a side street that probably saw five cars a day travel down it.
“This is zero-nine-zero-four,” Luke called in.
“Go ahead, zero-nine-zero-four,”I replied.
“I’m going to need a copy of that ticket on my desk so I can expunge it from Mr. Tutino’s perfect driving record while he assists his recovering daughter.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to rein in the giggles that were trying to escape.
“Ten-four,” I confirmed as professionally as possible.
A few beats passed before the radio squealed again.
“This is zero-nine-zero-five. Ticket is being discarded,” Matt grumbled into the radio. Officers hated having to void a ticket and explain their reasoning, so I knew Matt was probably pissed.
Another text came in that had me rolling my eyes with a smile on my face before I even looked at it.
Luke: What… is he worried about looking like an asshole now?
Me: I think we can agree it’s a little late for that.
I had to step away from my desk for a few minutes to collect myself. The station was quiet, with just me on dispatch and Captain Langston in his office.
While a fresh pot of coffee was brewing, I cleaned up the breakroom, even though the team generally left it in pretty good shape. My mind was on Luke’s situation, having to work every day with the guy who was sleeping with your wife. I had always thought Juliet was a bit cold, ever since that first day I met her at their housewarming party and she gave me a nasty look when Luke greeted me and got me a drink, but I didn’t think she was so callous as to strike up an affair with his friend, colleague, and partner.
Captain’s office was near the breakroom, and I could hear him talking on the phone about the Karrigan case.
“Everything is there. You have nothing to worry about. Redmond’s not getting off. I made sure of it.”
As the biggest crime to happen in Calla Bay, it was the topic of a lot of conversations.
“Winters can look until he’s blue in the face; he isn’t going to find anything. The forensic evidence all points to Redmond…” He was quiet for a second, presumably listening to the other person. “Karrigan’s autopsy, the footprint analysis, the testimonials from her friends, his well-documented history of drug use… According to the case file, it came back inconclusive… I told you, I’ve got it well in hand.”
I made my cup of coffee and grabbed a banana from our fruit bowl. Captain’s door opened just as I left the breakroom on the way back to my desk.
“Hey, Captain. Fresh coffee if you’re interested,” I said. He pulled back at the sight of me and glanced to the breakroom to the semi-full carafe of coffee. His hard gaze softened slightly. It was clear this case was weighing on him. I was sure that wasn’t the first call he’d had to assure someone that Wes’s investigation was all for naught. Wes had made a name for himself over the years as a damn good private investigator. It was making some folks uneasy that he had taken the case and was convinced of Ryan Redmond’s innocence.
“Thanks, Hart. I think I’ll take you up on that. These days just keep getting longer, you know.”
“I can only imagine.” I smiled.
He didn’t return the warmth, his eyes still tight from his phone call. I left him in the breakroom, settling myself back at my desk, ready to see what was going to happen next in the Wilder versus Monroe saga.
11
Luke
For the first time since I moved out of the house I shared with Juliet, I had a fleeting moment of wishing I was still there. Not for the life that I used to have with her. Not for the bright, open spaces—unlike Wyatt’s house, which didn’t get nearly enough natural sunlight. And certainly not for the company.
No. I only wished—for a couple of seconds—to be back in that house so I could raid Juliet’s makeup and try to cover up the yellowing bruises on my cheek before I walked into my father’s house.
I hadn’t told anyone about my altercation with Monroe. I wasn’t the fighting kind of guy. As a police officer, I kept myself in good shape. My six-foot-two frame and broad shoulders were often enough to intimidate most suspects into acting right, but I could hold my own if they decided to act up.
Being the aggressor in a bar fight though? That might take my family by surprise, and I wasn’t looking forward to the questions I was bound to get.
As if on cue, my father looked up from where he wassitting in his new favorite electric recliner, his eyes widening at the sight of me.
