Dutch dropped his head and stared at his lap.
“You didn’t know that?”Georgie asked gently.
“No,” he said to his lap.
Carlyle watched his father die.
And his father watched his son watch him die.
“Dutch,” Georgie hissed urgently.
They’d shared that moment when they both knew life was over.
Carlyle’s life as he knew it, with a good man who was a gooddad in his home, raising him up, molding the man he’d become.
And his dad knowing he’d never see that man because his lifewas just over.
His body jostled and he came to seeing Georgie semi-crouchedbeside him.She had a hold on his leg and his neck, and she was shaking both.
“Look at me, baby,” she whispered.
“I’m all right.”
“Okay, then humor me by looking at me for a sec, okay?”
He slid a hand along her neck and repeated, “I’m all right,Georgie.”
She gave him a good once over, took her time, and only whenshe was satisfied did she let him go and resume her seat.
Dutch cleared his throat and gave the men his attention.“Sorry.”
“Understandable,” Hank replied.
He felt Georgie now in hyper-focus, but on him, and he madea show of forking into his burrito.
But when he got it to his mouth, he didn’t taste it.
Because new thoughts were forming in his head.
Including the fact that the cops had come to the shelter,looking for Carlyle.
Did they do that just to share the case had gone cold,apologize they had to get on with other shit, pat him on the back and tell himto keep his chin up and maybe get his ass home?
No.
They wanted to go over what he saw.
And now Dutch wanted to know what he saw.
But the bottom line was, they allneededto knowwhat he saw.
Because he fucking saw something.
But he was keeping it to himself, and Dutch got that.
Fuck him, he got it.
But as smart as Carlyle was, this was not his job.He wastoo young, and he didn’t have the skills to see it through.
