The ambulance pulled into the hospital and stopped outside the ER. The driver and his partner opened the back and helped Javi out into a wheelchair. It made him sneer, but he slouched down into it anyhow.
Cloister stopped them before they pushed Javi through the grubby, sliding glass doors.
“Special Agent Merlo,” he said as he put a hand on Javi’s shoulder. The muscles tensed under his fingers, taut as cords under the bruised skin. “You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought.”
Javi gave him a dry, unamused look. “But I am still an asshole, Witte?”
“Well, yeah. Have you met you?” Cloister stepped back and lifted his hand in a lazy farewell. “Take care of yourself, Merlo. See you around.”
He waited until they pushed Javi into the hospital, and then he went to cadge a lift back to the station with one of the other deputies.
TWO DAYSlater there was a bottle of wine in a classy black gift bag on Cloister’s desk when he came in to drop off his paperwork. Lara Hartley sat on the other side of it. Her eyes were still bloodshot, and her nails were bitten down to ragged nubs, but her smile when she saw him was free of shadows.
“Deputy Witte.” She stood up and held her hand out to him. Her handshake was firm. “I just wanted to let you know how grateful I was for everything you did.”
“I’m glad we could help bring Drew home,” he said with a crooked smile. “But it was mostly Bourneville, and she can’t hold her wine, Doctor Hartley.”
She sniffed at him. “I’ve already donated to the K-9 retirement program in her name, Deputy,” she said. “But Billy told me what you did for him, and I wanted you to know I appreciated it too. I think I could have forgiven him, that I would have trusted that he hadn’t hurt Drew… eventually. I don’t think he could have forgiven himself if he hadn’t talked to us. You helped both my sons, Deputy.”
Cloister shook his head and gestured for Lara to sit down opposite him. When she did he took a seat as well.
“That’s my job,” he said. “Expecting thanks on top of my wages is why Plenty doesn’t have a separate police department anymore. I appreciate the thought, but that’s all I need.”
Lara folded her lower lip between her teeth and studied him for a second. “Billy told me what you said about your brother.” She paused for a second and then pushed the bag toward him. “It’s a onetime gift, Deputy. No strings.”
The bottle sat between them on the table.
“I don’t even like wine,” Cloister protested, although he left the bag where it was. He could donate it for the Halloween raffle, he supposed.
Lara stood up and absently smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. “Javi does.” She reached out and touched her fingertip to the top of the bottle. “It’s his favorite vintage.”
That caught Cloister off guard. He spluttered for a second while Lara watched with amusement.
“We were friends,” she said. Her mouth twisted around the unsaid fact that they weren’t anymore. Maybe she could have forgiven her son, but Javi didn’t get the same familial pass. “Take the bottle, Deputy Witte, and I hope that one day you find your—”
“Thank you, Doctor Hartley,” he said. “You should get home, enjoy your family.”
Something complicated crossed her face, but she nodded. “I should,” she said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Deputy, but I hope I don’t see you again.”
“Same, Doctor,” Cloister said.
They shook again, and Lara squeezed his hand tightly enough to remind him of her recent desperation. And then she left. Cloister sank back down and stared uncertainly at the gift in its fancy bag until Tancredi stopped on her way through and asked, “Penny for them?”
“I’d need to give you change,” he shot back.
Cloister still didn’t know what to do about the wine, but he had a shift to get through before he could do anything. He picked it up and shoved it into a drawer. Maybe once he’d finished for the day, he’d have a clearer mind… or be too tired to worry about it.
Besides, just because they’d found Drew didn’t mean there weren’t other missing kids out there waiting to come home.
Epilogue
JAVI LAYon the couch in his apartment with his arm slung over the back and watched the news. Drew Hartley’s disappearance and rescue were already old stories. A college football player accused of misconduct ahead of a big match had taken its place.
“This is a transparent attempt by the opposing team to blacken his name,” the red-faced coach, Barney Jenks, insisted. “Patterson will still be playing, and I have every confidence his name will be clear—”
Javi turned it off.
The hospital had signed him off for the rest of the week, against his wishes. He had to wait for his eye—currently puffy and bruised, with the white full of blood—to mend, and a meeting with the LA office’s psychiatrist to go back to active duty.
