The scene was . . . chaotic.
Rachel stood off to the right side of the main room, addressing a small but rabid-looking group of reporters. Shirley Davis sat in a chair along the wall at the far back of the room, talking with another middle-aged woman with blonde hair. The two desks in the room were now covered with folders, notes, and coffee cups. An open laptop sat on one, next to a half-eaten pastry of some sort. Several otherpeople Jake didn’t recognize milled about the room, talking quietly or working on their own laptops. And Wayne’s office door was closed, though the blinds covering the window hadn’t been shut.
A tall woman in a blue pantsuit came up and asked Jake his name, and after he introduced himself and told her why he was there, she asked him to have a seat on the bench along the wall while she went to get Wayne. He complied, although something about the whole situation bothered him. Setting his cane up against the bench, Jake closed his eyes for a moment to try to steady himself.
He’d expected all this chaos, really. Even their small town couldn’t hide from it. Yet he’d still held some sort of hope that things would stay more low-key. He’d hate if Rye—
“Oh, shit,” he mumbled, and he straightened up and glanced back toward Wayne’s office. Shirley Davis was here. That meant Rye probably was too.
But he reallyshouldn’tbe here right now. The whole tone of the place would be too much. Harsh, demanding, busy.
Rye needed calm and quiet. Certainly notthis.
Through the office window, Jake could see Wayne along with one of the detectives who had been at his house earlier and another person—a dark-haired man with a medium build wearing a button-up and slacks. Roscoe, maybe? The man sat on the edge of Wayne’s desk, frowning and waving a hand at a much smaller man sitting on a chair, his unruly blond hair falling down over his forehead and his arms wrapped protectively around himself...
Fuck. Rye certainly didn’t needthateither.
“What the hell are they doing?” The words slipped out before Jake could stop them, but he honestly didn’t care much if someone had overheard him. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his cane, and started limping over toward Wayne’s office, concern driving him to hobble faster than he probably should.
Wayne and the woman in the blue pantsuit stepped out of the office just before Jake got there, but as the door was shutting, he got a better glimpse of Rye. The young man was hunched over himself, his arms gripping his sides, and his cheeks were red, stained with tears. He trembled and shook his head at whatever the other man said. Jake’s stomach dropped as he heard the clear frustration in the other man’s voice.
“Iamtrying to help you here, Ryan,” the man said.
The door shut with a loud click, and Jake could just imagine Rye flinching at the sound. He took another step forward, but Wayne’s hand stopped Jake in his tracks, pushing against the middle of his chest.
“I know, Jake. It’s not as bad as it looks, but believe me, I’m not happy either.”
Wayne motioned to Rachel’s office, which was currently empty. And although Jake scowled and shook his head, he reluctantly followed. Wayne closed the door behind them and let out a heavy sigh.
“Have a seat, Jake.”
“How long have they been—”
“Jake, I’m not allowed to talk about it, and I think you know that,” Wayne interrupted as he collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“Wayne, that poor man doesn’t need to be interrogated, he needs—”
“Iknow, Jake. Sit.” When Jake still didn’t move, Wayne rolled his eyes and added, “The sooner I get you set up in here to give your statement, the sooner I can get back in there and remind Roscoe about whatever sensitivity training he should have had at the academy. The man forgets sometimes that he’s talking to a victim, not a perp, I swear. I mean, I wish Ryan would talk, too, but whatever trauma he went through obviously runs pretty deep, and the way Roscoe’s handling things certainly isn’t helping.”
“Didn’t you tell him—”
Wayne sighed again, and Jake shut his mouth. “Of course. I explained what you’d said this morning, too—that Ryan only started talking a few words at a time after he felt safer. Roscoe’s just... intense. He cares, but his focus now is on getting information so he can find the bastard who did this. Iknowhe’s always felt that he failed this case. When we weren’t able to find Ryan back then, it hitallof us hard, but maybe Roscoe hardest. He had a little boy not much older than Rye at the time, and—” Wayne groaned and shook his head. “Christ, pretend I didn’t say that, okay?” After another hesitation, he added, “We really don’t have anything new yet anyway. Not even a confirmation from Ryan that he was indeed kidnapped.”
Feeling heavier than he had a few minutes ago, before he’d entered the police station, Jake nodded and made his way across the small office to the desk. He rested his cane up against the wood and then lowered himself into the chair—the hard, uncomfortable plastic feeling unwelcome to his simmering pain. Across from him, Wayne pulled open a drawer and fished out a yellow pad of paper before sliding it across the table toward Jake, along with a plain black pen.
“Okay, so what I need is pretty much everything you told us this morning, written out as best you can. Then you’ve gotta sign it and date it for us.”
Jake nodded just as a knock came on the office door. It opened before Wayne could answer, and Rachel poked her head in, giving Jake a tight smile before turning to her dad.
“Media’s handled for now, but it’s only gonna get worse as word gets out. Craig said he’d put out an official statement and request that Ryan and his familybe left alone.” She paused and let out a short sigh. “What do you need from me now?”
Wayne stood up, muttering something under his breath, and shook his head. “I dunno. Help me out in the other office, maybe? Roscoe’s being... well, Roscoe. You remember him, Rach? How he was before?”
“He’s... intense,” Rachel offered hesitantly, but her quick glance in Jake’s direction had his stomach in knots. There was that word again. Intense.
Intense wasnotwhat Rye needed.
“Hell, maybe we can get Roscoe to give Ryan a break and come in here to interview Jake for a bit. That, or...” Wayne scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or maybe... maybe Ryan’ll feel better talking if you ask him to, Jake? Do you think?”
