Chapter Eight
For as exhausted as he’d been, Connor couldn’t sleep. Even when the rain returned and hit his roof in a soothing, even beat.
His emotions were shredded. Most days, he could compartmentalize the tragic crime scenes he worked. Not today. When the call came in, he’d cringed. All deaths affected him, despite his training, but certain ones hit differently.
Tara had tried to get clean. She’d had a lot going for her. Why? Why had she slipped back into that life when she’d fought so hard to escape? He’d spent the day interviewing people known to be in her life.
No one at Hope House had any insight. He didn’t know whether they were scared and covering up information, or they really didn’t know. Instinct told him the latter. The therapist hadn’t returned his call. Not that he’d hold his breath for any insight from her. He respected the client privilege, even if it frustrated him.
But the fentanyl had come from somewhere. Jake would find the source, of Connor was confident. But would anyone else die before they got it off the street? The dread of another death lingered as a dark cloud above him, yet it infused him with urgency to give the job his all. He was born to be a detective. He’d known that from a young age.
His thoughts shifted from Tara to Tiffany. He didn’t want to think about or remember what she’d confided.
It hurt.
Bad.
An indescribable pain that drove him to unreasonable fury toward a man he’d never met.
A stabbing pain that felt a lot like guilt. If he hadn’t broken up with her nine years ago, would they have gotten married? Would she have still met Brad and suffered years of abuse?
He slammed a fist into his mattress. He’d sworn an oath to protect and serve, but he hadn’t protected the one person who’d meant the most to him at one time in his life.
Rationally, he knew he’d done the right thing back then. But it didn’t ease the pain of now at all.
Glancing over to his nightstand, the glowing light of his alarm clock taunted him. He’d been tossing and turning for three and a half hours. He had to get up in less than two.
At this point, sleep would only be a tease. He left the comfort of his bed and shuffled to the kitchen, where he’d left his work laptop on the counter. Tapping his fingers against the marble, he debated. He probably shouldn’t. But he knew he would.
He opened his database and typed in Brad Endicott, as he’d learned was Tiffany’s last name now. The name pulled up the image of a clean-cut man with strong features. By any standards, Brad would be considered attractive.
Connor pushed away the jealousy that surfaced unannounced. He was a grown, mature man, one who knew appearance wasn’t everything—not that he considered himself lacking in the looks department.
But he was a man, nonetheless. One who didn’t enjoy seeing the man his once almost-fiancée had married. Especially knowing how said man had treated Tiffany.
He scrolled down, reading the list of charges. Not all the information was available to him. To access more, he’d have to file the proper paperwork, and without valid reason, access would be denied.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t google. He closed his work laptop and went back to his room, where his phone lay on the nightstand. Pulling Brad’s information from his work system bordered the ethical line that Connor didn’t feel comfortable crossing. Anything else would have to be public information from his personal equipment.
He laid down on his back, holding his phone up as he searched for information. It took several keyword searches before he found substantial articles. The first one he read outlined Brad’s trial. Connor read through twice, making mental notes of the pertinent facts. Everything he read made little mention of Tiffany, but one thing was clear. She’d known nothing of Brad stealing the drugs from the nursing home patients until it had hit the news.
After he’d spent time with her last night, he knew she hadn’t. Confirming his instinct made him feel better. He hated that the thought had crossed his mind, but in his line of work, he often saw the worst of people. Even when those people had solid upbringings and were considered people of high character. Drugs changed a person, made them do things they wouldn’t do otherwise.
The alarm on his phone beeped. He’d been searching and reading longer than he realized. Groaning, he got out of bed for the second time that morning, and he shuffled to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Double scoop, extra strong coffee. He’d need it to get through the day with no sleep.
After he dressed in uniform—khaki pants, black polo with the department’s emblem embroidered at the top, he snapped his badge in place then hurried to the kitchen for his coffee. He guzzled a cup and started to make a second when he had an idea. If he left now, he’d have time to swing by the coffee shop, pick up an espresso for him and surprise Tiffany with an iced mocha.
She’d lived on them in college. Though her tastes had certainly changed over the years regarding some items, he’d happened to spot a cup in her car yesterday and made the guess of what it was by the scribbled order. A small detail, but he’d learned to look for them over the course of his career.
The inside of the coffee shop had a line out the door, but oddly the drive-thru only had two cars. He opted for the shorter line, and he gave his order at the speaker. When he pulled to the window, his total was substantially less than what he’d been quoted. Wearing a badge had some advantages, though he never asked for the discounts.
Tiffany waited for him outside of her apartment building, wearing a pair of black slacks and a peach-colored blouse. “I thought I’d save you time by being ready out there.”
He jumped out and opened the door for her. “Thanks, but my schedule can be flexible.”
She hesitated to get inside. “You’re driving your take-home unit.”
Her monotone voice gave away the reason she hesitated, and he could have kicked himself. “I’m sorry. I should have brought the truck then went back for the unit after I got you.”
