“Give me five minutes.”
“Five minutes?”
“I’ll call you back,” she said before ending the call abruptly.
Confused, I threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, stretching all my muscles out with a loud groan. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I found myself standing in the kitchen in nothing more than my boxers, waiting for my coffee to brew.
True to her word, exactly five minutes later, Skye called me back and told me she’d be flying in tomorrow, a lot earlier than I thought. Given what she’d told me about Kellie’s situation, I didn’t expect her to be packing up so soon.
When I’d asked her what was so urgent, she’d remained tight lipped which had my mind in overdrive. For now though, I had twenty-four hours to make some progress on finding out more about Cassidy’s father and what was going on. There was no way I was going to let Skye get here only to have no new information for her.
After a trip to the gym, I cleaned up, picking up the dirty socks, and changing sheets before attacking the bathroom with more disinfectant than I’d ever used before. Once the place was spotless, I got to work.
Calling Dickson, I woke his grumpy ass up and asked him to come help me work through it. Thank fuck he was always reliable and dependable. An hour later Dickson fell through my door barely moments before the pizza delivery guy dropped off a couple of pies.
“You look like shit,” I greeted him.
“You’re no fucking oil painting,” he grumbled back as he slumped on the couch, dropping a pile of papers on the table next to the cheesy goodness that was making my stomach rumble.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Grabbing a slice of pizza, Dickson shoveled it in his mouth in a way I recognized. He’d just woken up too. Night shift fucked with everything. Your sleeping schedule. Your eating schedule. Your social calendar took a hit. When it was your turn on night shift, you learnt very quickly to eat and sleep when you could.
“Have a look,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
Wiping my hands on a napkin, I picked up the first file and flicked it open, not at all ready for what I saw.
“Dickson?” I questioned.
“Mmmm.” He was too busy eating to be paying attention to my shock.
This was a complete suspect file. There was a photo. Phone number. Home address. I knew exactly where Jeremy Cannon was. Flicking through the pages I was impressed by how comprehensive the whole thing was. I’d been working with Dickson for a while and never had I seen him pull together something like this.
“Dickson, what the hell?”
“You weren’t going to let this go,” he said with a shrug like it was nothing at all.
It wasn’t nothing. It was everything. This wasn’t even a real case. Dickson didn’t have to do anything, and truthfully using police resources for something like this could get him in a shit ton of trouble. He hadn’t cared. He’d done it anyway. For me.
“You didn’t have to-”
“Yeah, Hayden I did. The sooner we get the bastard behind bars, the sooner I get my partner back.”
“I’m sorry…”
I knew I’d been a shitty partner for months. Sure, I showed up every shift and went through the motions but obviously I was doing a shitty job of everything else. Dickson never had to doubt I’d have his back. No matter what we went into or came up against, I was there. But for the first time, I was realizing how much of an asshole I’d been just by withdrawing. Pulling out of poker nights. Skipping afternoon beers with the boys. I hadn’t felt like it and rather than go and put everyone in a bad mood, I’d bowed out.
“Don’t apologize ’cause I don't want to hear it,” Dickson declared adamantly. “Have a look and see what you notice. Then let’s nail this son of a bitch so we can have some fun.”
“Do I even want to know what kind of fun you’re suggesting?”
“Probably not. Now, start reading.”
And that’s what I did. For the next hour I went through everything Dickson had compiled adding in my own notes. When something didn’t make sense, Dickson and I talked it out, quickly coming up with a game plan.
“Well shit!”
“What?” Dickson asked, slipping the sheet of paper back in the file.
