Paige snorts. She jams her fob into her bag and undoes her seatbelt. “When your mom and I were kids, we spent all our time with Holden and with Larry Browning. We were friends growing up. I even dated Browning for a little bit.” She pops open the car door and climbs out.
I follow suit, eager to be out of the vehicle, even if it means a potential law enforcement run-in. “You and Browning?”
“For a few months. It never went anywhere. It sounds silly now, but it broke apart our little group. Your mom, Holden, Browning, and I were thick as thieves. He and Holden were close before, but after we graduated, they went their separate ways, your mom moved, and things were never the same. The way it goes, I guess. But the way he’s bungled the investigations of the kids…”
“Bungled?”
“Not that many kids run away. Vanish like that, with no reason. But a dozen open missing person cases makes the department look bad, puts the pressure on them.” She sighs. “Maybe if they’d fought harder, they might have found some of them. Or at leastoneof them.”
I meet Paige’s eyes over the top of the car. “What do you think Gonzales is doing here?”
Paige shrugs. “He’s probably waiting for Browning.” She rounds the car, and I join her up on the sidewalk. “They check in with Nora pretty often. If they don’t, she’ll go find one of them. Usually at the station to make a big fuss.”
Gonzales hasn’t noticed us yet, and I doubt we’re close enough for him to hear, but I can’t hold my tongue. “She told me she once showed up at Browning’s house on a holiday,” I say.
“Oh, she didn’t just show up. She let herself in and marched into his kitchen.”
That sounds like Nora. Steadfast and fierce.
I smile and turn toward the shop. I look to Paige, who waves me on.
“You head on in. I’m really not in the mood to reminisce.” She nods toward the coffee shop on the other side of the street. “Want any? I’m buying.”
I nod. The idea of walking past one cop and into a shop I know holds another isn’t appealing, but the caffeine is.
“Usual?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tell Nora I’ll get her usual, too,” Paige says, and heads across the street.
It’s a quiet morning, in between the breakfast rush and the lunch crowd. The sidewalk is empty as I make my way to the Stacks’ front door, so my approach catches the detective’s attention.
I resist the urge to flinch as his head lifts. I meet his eyes briefly and pray my thundering heartbeat doesn’t give me away.
The longer I stare at him, the further back in time I’m drawn. Clad in a hospital gown and those pastel hospital socks, I have a cannula protruding from one elbow, most of my skin is covered in gauze, and an arm and leg are each in a hard cast.
The detective turns his gaze back to the phone in his hand, apparently unconcerned with me, and I let out a sharp breath.
I push through the front door, shaking off the non-encounter. The tiny burst of adrenaline leaves my tongue dry.
Instead of walking into a reprieve, I find Nora and Detective Browning arguing inside.
“—the hell am I supposed to do with that?” Nora barks, standing opposite the counter from Browning. Neither notices my entrance.
Browning winces. “I did everything I could, Nora. But there’s no evidence. There never has been. And with his age and his history—”
“So you call him a runaway and forget about him altogether? How is that justice?”
“He isn’t the only one whose case has been reevaluated. There simply isn’t enough physical—”
Nora waves him off. I’ve never seen her this angry. She is red-faced, fierce, and unwavering, even against a seasoned detective.
“It’s bullshit, and you know it.” She seethes.
I shift my weight, eyeing the stacks to my right, wondering if I can slip into them and make my way to the back office unnoticed. The old floor under the carpet creaks, giving me away, and Nora and Browning stop, finally turning my way.
I clear my throat, cheeks flaming. “Sorry. I can give you a minute—” I start.
