“Did it?” The question held no judgment.
“Sometimes.” My throat felt raw. “I did good work. I know I did. But the system isn’t as black and white as I wanted it to be. It took me longer than it should have to accept that. Longer still to see the ways I’d helped preserve a system that failed people like Gwen. People like Priya. Even people like you.”
I met his gaze squarely. “I don’t want Priya to become another name on a list of victims the system failed. I don’t want her to suffer the same fate as my cousin. Not if there’s anything I can do to stop it.”
He held my eyes for a long moment. “That why you left LA?” he asked softly. “Because you stopped believing in the system?”
“Partly.” I took a sip of tea to buy myself a second. “Also, because I screwed up. Professionally. Publicly.”
He didn’t flinch. “Heard something about that.”
I grimaced. “I’m sure you did. The Sutter’s Ferry gossip mill is still primed and pumping. But I’m not ready to unpack all of that yet.”
“Fair,” he said again. “For the record, you’re not the only one who stopped believing in systems.”
“I figured,” I said. “You’re living on a boat, Carrera. That doesn’t exactly scream faith in institutions.”
That pulled the ghost of a real smile out of him, and I could tell the full wattage version would be lethal. “Yeah, well. At least the ocean doesn’t lie to your face.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t hostile either. Just… thick with unsaid things and the clink of cutlery against plates.
My mind drifted back to Gwen. To the posters, the press conferences, the search parties. To Carson standing in my aunt’s living room, voice grave, saying they were following every lead.
I set my fork down a little harder than necessary. “I can’t stop wondering,” I said.
“About?” Rios asked.
“How many leads went cold because he was so fucking focused on you,” I said bluntly. “If Carson hadn’t latched onto you as his prime suspect, if he’d been a better cop, if he’d been more open-minded, more aware of the evidence instead of his own prejudices—would we have found her?”
The question hung between us like a live wire. I didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. It had been eating at me since yesterday, gnawing at the roots of everything I’d believed about that investigation.
Rios set his sandwich down carefully, fingers flattening against the edge of his plate. His eyes were very dark, very calm. “You want the polite answer or the honest one?”
“Honest,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I did.
“The honest answer is we’ll never know,” he said. “There probably were leads he ignored because he’d decided I was his guy. Or there was nothing to find. Even if he’d been perfect, we might still be sitting here with nothing but questions. That’s the thing about missing persons. You don’t always get to know how badly you fucked it up.”
Guilt flickered across his face, quick and sharp.
“But I’ll tell you this much,” he added. “If Carson had been a better cop, he wouldn’t have written you the story you needed to hear.”
My stomach lurched. “What story?”
“That the system works,” he said. “That the grown-ups had it handled. That somebody was going to pay. That you could believe in all that and build your life around it. That’s what you did, isn’t it? You built a career on the idea that he’d done his job right.”
The words hit with surgical precision. It was infuriating how accurate he could be when he chose.
“You’re not wrong,” I said quietly.
“Trust me,” he said, voice low. “Realizing the person you hung your faith on didn’t deserve it? That’ll screw you up just as much as being the one they tried to hang for it.”
A shadow fell across the table, interrupting whatever response I might’ve made. “Excuse me. You’re the ones asking about the missing girl, right?”
I looked up. A woman stood there in a polo shirt with the marina logo, her blond hair pulled back in a low knot. She held a half-finished basket of fries in one hand, the other worrying at a napkin.
“Yes.” Hearing my prosecutor voice snapping into place, I worked to soften it. “We are.”
She flicked her gaze to Rios, then back to me, as if measuring which of us was safer. “I’m Lacey. I work at the marina office. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
