A duplicate of Erin’s that she’d had made from the original in Cam’s wallet.
Edye used her copy as a bookmark, always there to remind her of her daughter, who was likewise a ravenous reader. In Cam’s wallet, the card served to remind him of the place he should have been then and the rules he lived by now so as not to make any life-shattering mistakes again.
“Solve it,” his mother said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He didn’t have to ask what she was referring to. It was the reason he’d decided to join the FBI. But the unsolved case of Erin’s disappearance was cold for a reason. He’d been unsuccessful, like every other detective or investigator who’d touched the file over the past twenty years. “I’ve tried.”
“Need to know,” she said, increasingly winded. She set the book in her lap and laid the card over her heart, tapping it. “No time.”
He laid his own hand over his mother’s, struggling for words. “We don’t know that. The doctors?—”
“No time.” She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. “Need to know if she’ll be there waiting for me.”
Cam’s head swam as his heart drowned. He had to lay his head on the bed and make himself breathe. His mother’s fingers carded through his hair, coaxing and calming. “Please, Cameron.”
Dragging in a breath and sucking back his own threatening tears, he righted himself and squeezed his mom’s hand. “I’ve tried. My entire career.” She was the last person he ever wanted to disappoint again but he’d hit a brick wall on Erin’s case, time and again.
She flipped the book to the last page and held it out to him. Taking it, he was surprised to find the normally blank couple of pages at the back filled with his mother’s meticulous handwriting.
Dates, locations, and details.
He looked back up at his mother. “Are these case notes? When did you start this?”
“The past year, after you left. Kept you both close.” She tapped the side of her head. “Kept this going too.”
Something else he came by honest.
He stared at the scribbled-on pages, running his fingertips over the amateur sleuthing his brilliant mother had been doing.
She covered his hand, stopping its movement. “Need to know.”
He couldn’t disappoint her. Especially if this turned out to be the last thing she asked of him. Not when he’d failed her before.
“Are there more books with notes?” he asked.
“That series.” The words were thin, a battle to get out. “Started rereading. By the bed at home.”
He clutched the book in one hand, her hand in his other. “I’ll try.”
She squeezed, a fraction of her normal strength. “Hurry.”
Six
Nic sat at his brewery office desk, phone jammed between his shoulder and ear, reviewing the details of the proposed new brew Eddie had left for him as on-hold jazz competed with live punk rock for headache-inducing dominance. Weekend nights at Gravity were open to the public, and they did it up right with bands and food trucks to bring in more customers and keep the mood lively. This time of year, when the days were long and warm, they were packed, patrons filling the event space, tasting bar, and picnic-ready back lot. As a result, they were running through their stock faster than expected, which meant his co-owner and former SEAL teammate was busily brewing. All good problems to have, minus the headache.
The hold music stopped, then after a click, “Captain Price?”
He juggled the phone from shoulder to hand. “Here, Lieutenant.”
“Apologies for the wait.”
“Not a problem.” It had been five minutes, which was shorter than he’d expected, considering the day and time.
“Sergeant Byrne’s leave has been extended until the end of the month.”
“Thank you,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “And please give my thanks to the admiral.”
“He says to thank him in person at his retirement party.”
