“I have my moments.”
She looked at me over the rim of her mug, eyes tender, and the smile that spread across her face was the kind that made me want to cancel the planetarium and take her back to bed.
I was halfway to acting on that when my phone buzzed on the counter. I checked the screen. Summit Falls PD dispatch.
“Hold that thought. I have to get this.” I picked up. “Garrison.”
“Ben, it’s Rawlings. We’ve got a drug overdose fatality at Ridgewood Apartments, unit 2B. Suspected Drift. Unfortunately, just because we found our leak doesn’t mean the drugs automatically stopped. Any chance you can bring Jolly out and work the scene?”
I looked at Kayla. The damp hair. The bare legs. The planetarium we weren’t going to make, at least not this morning.
“Yeah, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Copy. Scene’s already being processed. You’ll see units in the lot.”
I ended the call and set the phone down. Jolly’s ears had come up at the shift in my voice. He was already watching me from the doorway, reading the change the way he always did. Not the words, just the frequency.
Kayla turned around, coffee in hand, and stopped.
“I need to go in. Rawlings needs Jolly at a scene.” I turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but maybe we can still do the planetarium this evening.”
Part of me braced for the shift. The tightening around her mouth, the careful “it’s fine” that meant it wasn’t.
I’d never been the guy who canceled plans, because I’d never been the guy who made them. This was new territory, and I didn’t know what it cost a woman when a man had tochoose something else over her. But it was unescapable in my line of work.
Jesus. How did this cup-of-coffee moment become so critical without us being aware of it?
Kayla had gotten a de facto babysitter so she and I could spend time together alone. She wanted—hell,deserved—to be wined and dined and courted. She hadn’t signed up to date a cop, but right now, I was having to act like one.
Her being pissed would be understandable. Fuck, her calling everything off between us would be understandable.
But she didn’t do either. She set down her mug and crossed to me, resting her hands flat against my chest. “Go. Seriously. I’ve got plenty to do around here and more edits I’ve been pretending don’t exist anyway.” She smoothed the front of my shirt like she was straightening a collar that didn’t need straightening. “Just come back when you’re done, and we’ll figure it out.”
I covered her hands with mine. “I’ll come back.”
“I know you will.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed me, quick and sweet. “Now go before I change my mind and lock you in the bedroom.”
“Wait. That was an option? Let me call back and?—”
She playfully smacked me again. “Get out of here.”
I pushed away from the counter. Jolly scrambled up, nails clicking on the hardwood, already oriented toward the door.
Kayla put her hand on my arm before I could go farther. “Be careful.”
I kissed her forehead. Then I grabbed my keys and my go bag from beside the door, and Jolly and I walked out into the morning and across the yard to my place.
I loaded him into the truck, backed out of my driveway, and headed toward town.
Ridgewood Apartments was the kind of complex that told you everything before you stepped out of your vehicle. Two stories, exterior corridors, paint peeling in strips above the stairwells. The parking lot had more cracks than asphalt. A dumpster sat at an angle near the entrance, lid propped open. Three patrol cars and an unmarked sedan were already parked along the curb, lights off.
I pulled in beside the farthest unit and cut the engine. Jolly pressed his nose against the window, reading the scene the same way I was. New people, new territory, tension in the air. I walked around the truck, let Jolly out, then clipped on his working lead and brought him to heel.
The apartment with the victim was on the ground floor. The door stood open, propped with a rubber wedge. I checked in with the officer holding the perimeter log, signed my name, and stepped inside.
Small. That was the first thing. You could stand in the living room and see the kitchen and the bedroom door and the bathroom all at once. A place that said someone was making it work on not very much.
Officers moved through the space with the careful choreography of a scene already in process. Evidence markers on the kitchen counter. A photographer working the angles. Vance stood with two detectives conferring near the refrigerator, voices low, although he gave me a slight nod when he saw me.
