“Clearly.” Silas raised his beer to her. “Carson’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have him.”
Carson’s hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently.
They stayed until midnight, laughing and drinking and telling stories. Nora learned about Carson’s early days as a detective, about the time he’d accidentally tased himself, which made her feel better about the dumpster story, about his reputation for never taking vacation time.
“Until you,” Finn pointed out. “You changed everything.”
“Good,” Nora said. “He needed someone to make him take breaks.”
“She’s got you there,” Knox said.
As they walked to Carson’s truck later, slightly tipsy and happy, Nora said, “I like them. Your people.”
“They like you too. I could tell.”
“How?”
“They didn’t pull out their weapons. That’s always a good sign.”
She laughed and leaned into him. “Thank you for sharing them with me. For letting me into your life.”
“Thank you for fitting so perfectly into it.”
They drove home, and for the first time, Carson realized how much his life had changed. He had someone to come home to. Someone who knew his friends and integrated seamlessly into his world. Someone who made everything better just by existing.
He’d spent nineteen years avoiding this. Avoiding connection. Avoiding the risk of loss.
But looking at Nora—laughing at something on her phone, comfortable and happy and his—Carson realized the risk was worth it.
Love was worth it.
She was worth it.
***
The following week, Carson got called into Holloway’s office.
“I’ve been going through the files you flagged,” Holloway said, his expression grim. “Plus a few more I pulled from Shaw’s tenure. Carson, I think you’re right. There’s a pattern.”
He spread out files across his desk. Twelve cases, all from Shaw’s time as captain. All involving women. All with critical evidence mysteriously disappearing or being destroyed.
“Twelve cases,” Carson said, his jaw clenching. “Twelve women who didn’t get justice.”
“That we know of so far. I’m pulling every case from Shaw’s tenure where evidence went missing. There could be more.” Holloway leaned back. “The question is why. Was Shaw covering for someone? Taking bribes? Or was he directly involved?”
“We need to find out.”
“Agreed. But carefully. Shaw’s been retired for five years. He moved to Arizona. We can’t just fly down there and accuse him without solid proof.” Holloway tapped the files. “I want you to dig deeper. Find the connections between these cases. Figure out what Shaw’s angle was. But do it quietly.”
“What about the victims? They deserve to know their cases are being reviewed.”
“We’ll contact them once we know what we’re dealing with. Until then, we keep this internal.”
Carson left the office with copies of all twelve files. Twelve women who’d reported crimes and gotten nowhere. Twelve cases where evidence had conveniently disappeared.
And somewhere at the center of it all was Captain Ray Shaw.
