Flynn had gotten here first and now pulled a pizza from the oven. She set it on the stovetop. “So?” She took off her oven mitts. She still wore her badge around her neck.
Dawson shrugged out of his black puffer and hung it on a chair. “Torn ligaments but apparently they’ll heal. What kind of pizza?”
“Hawaiian.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Relax. I have a pepperoni in here too.”
Axel walked over to her, gave her a kiss. “We stopped in to see Donald. Wren is still in a medically induced coma.”
“It just goes from bad to worse,” Dawson said, shaking his head.
Axel pulled out a stool and sat down.
Dawson already perched on a stool. He rubbed his thigh. “And Donald is a mess. Says the bills are crazy.”
Flynn frowned.
“No insurance,” Dawson said. “They’ll cut him a rate, but still ... we’re probably talking hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
She blew out a breath. “The important thing is that she lives.”
“Yeah.”
Caspian put his head on his thigh, of course, clearly sensing stress. He rubbed the dog’s ear. “I’m okay, buddy. Just ... hate talking to DAs. They always make me feel like I did something wrong.”
Flynn cut the Hawaiian pizza and slid it onto a wooden board. “You’re going to testify?”
“Yeah. I sat and gave a video testimony on Ravak’s case, but I told them they could call me to the stand if they wanted. She said she was going to show the defense my testimony and offer another plea deal. Second-degree, with one count of kidnapping.”
“That’s fifteen to ninety-nine, for just the second-degree alone. He’ll probably never see daylight again.”
Dawson nodded, kept petting Caspian.
“Okay, what has you so wound up?” Flynn asked.
He paused.
She pointed at Caspian.
Oh.
“Caroline’s parents called while he was getting the MRI,” Axel said.
Dawson looked at Axel. “Thank you for that.”
“I’m a detective. I would have figured it out,” Flynn said. “Are you going to call them back?”
Dawson sighed and pulled out his phone. Looked at it. “Yes. But only because it’s the right thing to do. I can’t change the past. I can’t bring her back. And I’m not to blame.”
Silence. He looked up at them. “What?”
Flynn wore a smile, something kind. “Just ... there’s something different about you. What happened to the dark funk?”
He rubbed his knee. “I’m not doing any Irish jigs over here.”
She threw an oven mitt at him.
