Once she was dressed and Leo had been properly hooked up, they stepped outside into the brisk morning air.
Erin loved walking with Leo. The routine grounded her, and she knew it did the same for him. It kept her active, forced her to breathe in fresh air, and offered a much-needed contrast to her hours spent under fluorescent lights at the station.
Leo stopped to sniff at the base of a tree. Erin paused with him and looked across the street. The neighborhood was already stirring with morning commuters, joggers, cyclists, and other dogs on their daily loops. She and Leo resumed their familiar route toward the neighboring park, his leash tugging gently in her hand.
At the edge of the footpath, Erin crouched to unclip Leo’s harness. He was a failed police K9, though you wouldn’t know it by his discipline. She had always felt the leash was more for her neighbors’ peace of mind than for necessity. He might not have been cut out for the force, but Leo was loyal and sharp, and Erin never doubted for a second that he was enough.
Freed from the restraint, Leo took off, paws tapping rhythmically on the sidewalk. Erin jogged after him. She hated running, but it cleared her mind better than anything else. Leo eventually slowed so they could fall into step together, settling into a more comfortable pace.
The cold air stung her lungs, but she welcomed the burn. It was somethingto focus on, something that wasn’t green eyes staring up at her from a dream she couldn’t shake. She’d seen those eyes across a press room, watched them spark with interest over coffee yesterday morning, and she’d seen a flicker of hesitation in them when they parted ways.
They were Jamie Garrison’s eyes. There was no question.
That alone made things messy. Erin had just met her, technically worked with her. She should know better than to entertain thoughts like this. That’s how things had gone wrong with Tilly.
They’d met in a coffee shop in DC, back when Erin still believed in clean breaks and easy flirtation. Tilly had invited her out with a group of reporters and photographers from the station, and like an idiot, Erin went. She’d only been twenty-six, still convinced she could keep things casual. But then came drinks, late nights, shared cabs, and eventually, keys exchanged.
Now, five years later, she knew better. The turnover rate in newsrooms was brutal. People left—burnout, transfers, bigger markets. The job chewed them up and spit them out, and Erin had sworn off getting attached to anyone in that world again.
And yet, she couldn’t get those eyes out of her head.
Erin’s feet pounded against the concrete as Leo bounded beside her, the pair locked in a silent, playful race. The wind whipped past her ears, cold but invigorating, and for the first time that morning, her thoughts quieted.
She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t undo the things she’d done or the people she’d pushed away. But she could keep showing up for herself and Leo. That was something.
As they neared the rear end of the park, Erin slowed to a jog, then to a walk, her breath puffing in short clouds in the crisp air. Leo trotted ahead before circling back to her side, tongue lolling, eyes bright.
“You win,” she said with a small grin, ruffling his ears.
Back on the sidewalk, she clipped his leash back into place and gave the harness a soft tug. Together, they began the walk home, the early light rising behind them, casting long shadows on the pavement.
Erin wasn’t sure what the day would hold. But she knew one thing for certain: Jamie Garrison’s eyes were still with her. And for better or worse, they were becoming harder to ignore.
Eight
Jamie knew she needed to pull her mind back from wherever it had wandered, but Friday night kept tugging at her. Something had been off, though she’d only caught fragments of the story Monday morning in the newsroom.
She and Tilly sat side by side, the scanner muttering while Jamie sorted through her inbox. Tilly halfheartedly clicked through some adventure game, silence stretching until Jamie finally blurted, “So… what’s the deal with you and Erin Calhoun? You two act like you’ve got history.”
Tilly’s shoulders stiffened. “Drop it, J.”
Jamie tilted her head. “C’mon. It’s obvious. Did something happen?”
With a sigh, Tilly clicked harder on their trackpad. “Her car died Friday. She called me. I couldn’t go; I was in Cambridge. So she walked.”
Jamie blinked. “In the rain? From the station?”
“Yeah. That’s Erin. Stubborn as hell. Don’t waste your sympathy.” Tilly’s eyes stayed locked on the laptop, shutting down the conversation.
The image clung to her: Erin alone in the storm, badge locked in her car, shoulders squared against the rain. Erin was a cop—she didn’t need saving—but the thought still twisted in Jamie’s chest. She didn’t know what unsettled her more, the picture itself or how much it mattered to her.
Jamie sighed and looked up at the digital clock on the wall.12:19 p.m.She shook her head, attempting to clear the thoughts from her brain as she came back to reality, where she sat at the news desk, staring blankly at her inbox. It was Monday, and she’d come in earlier than usual for her shift, hoping to find something, anything, worth turning into a story. The newsroom seemed unusually still, though Jamie wouldn’t dare say the q-word out loud.She swiveled in her chair, taking in the sparsely populated common room. Phones rang in short bursts, keyboards clattered in uneven rhythms, the scanner mumbled its usual monotone. The hush pressed in, sharp and heavy, until the sudden shriek from the scanner split the air.
“Fire reported at four-eight-seven Columbia Road. RP states at least two trapped occupants.”
Jamie’s head snapped up. She grabbed the nearest notepad, jotting the address down.
Beside her, Tilly was already halfway out of their chair, slinging the camera strap over their shoulder. Their expression stayed neutral, but their clipped movements said enough.
