“It’s not a stupid question. Are you asking if you will feel different when Hayzel’s case is solved?”
Her eyes get a little glassy, and she nods. “I need to know if I’m still going to be like this and think like this.” The pain in her voice is palpable. It makes me want to do more than rub my thumb over the soft skin on the inside of her arm.
“Like what?”
She scoffs, “Like I’m going crazy and afraid of everything. I have to sleep with the bathroom light on, even when I know a stupid light wouldn’t help anything.”
I can’t help myself, I reach out and place my other hand on her arm so we’re completely connected. “It isn’t crazy to be frightened by the things that happened to your sister.”
“Will it get better if he’s caught? Am I still going to make sure the garage door is closed before I get out of the locked car? Am I still going to be afraid to open the windows in the house?”
“Yes,” I reply, telling her the truth even though I wish I didn’t have to. I squeeze her arm a little when she starts to pull away, keeping her in place. “But not forever. You will feel safe again, Harlyn, but it will take time.” I make a promise I have no business making to her for the simple fact that I want it to be true, and I want her to know it is possible.
Her pale blue eyes search mine for a long moment, and I see how badly she wants to believe me. It’s all right there in her unguarded gaze—hope, longing, and something else I can’t name, but I feel responsible for putting it there. It scares me a little.
When she steps backward this time, I release her arms and let her go. Something between us has shifted, and we both feel it.
CHAPTER 10
Harlyn
It’s late when we finally make it over to the kitchen island where Boone left the files. I’m tempted to take him up on his offer to meet again tomorrow, but I don’t know if it’s because I want to see him again, or if I’m really not in the right frame of mind to delve into Hayzel’s case.
A yawn catches me off guard, and I’m late to fully cover my gaping mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter the moment my eyes open again.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” He still has his hand over the folder, as if there will be no going back once he opens it.
“I’d like to at least get started, but it’s really up to you.”
Boone looks toward the kitchen, finding the digital clock on the stove. “How about we give it an hour and see how we feel?”
“As long as that isn’t too late for you,” I agree, surprised he thinks we’d need more than an hour. Other than my initialinterview with the police, they have never given me more than fifteen minutes of their time to talk about the case.
Boone nods once, then he flips the first folder open. My eyes land on what looks to be a report. I exhale soundly. I was a little worried the crime scene photos were going to be on top, but I should have known better. Special Agent Landry has shown respect and concern from the beginning. I don’t think he would be careless enough to leave something like that on top of the file. “I’ve read everything in here.” He places his hand over some of the papers. I can’t tell if he’s intentionally covering something or not. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to hear what happened and how you found her from your perspective.”
I swallow. I assumed I would have to talk about this with the podcast, so I prepared myself for that eventuality, but since she didn’t delve into Hayzel’s death too much, I thought I’d gotten off without rehashing the horrid details of that day. If this is what it takes to get someone to listen to me, then I’ll do it. I’m just not looking forward to it.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay. Like I said, I’ve read the reports,” he offers, trying to let me off the hook.
“No, it’s okay.” I swipe roughly at the errant tear on my cheek that escaped my eye. A dark, humorless laugh comes next. “I’m fine. I don’t know why this is making me emotional. Where do you want me to start?”
“Let’s get what happened that day out of the way, then we can talk about the things that led up to it.” Landry flips over the paper on top to show a blank piece of paper, then he pinches a pen between his fingers as if he’s ready to take notes.
“Somehow, it feels like that entire day is a blur and crystal clear at the same time. I’ve gone over it about a million times in my head, wondering what one thing could have happened differently that might have changed everything, but it was just a regular day. I left a little earlier than normal. I had anappointment to get things sorted with admissions for the next semester before work.”
“Where did you work?”
“I was a server at the Sheard Pig. I’d only been there a couple weeks.”
His eyebrows lift before he puts his pen to the paper. “Sheard Pig?” he questions as if he didn’t hear me right.
“Yeah, it’s a Texas thing about wasting time. Like why would I shear a pig?”
“Makes sense, I guess.” He shrugs and jots down the name of the bar and grill. “What time was your shift?”
“Three to close, which was eleven. I got out of there around eleven thirty.”
“Was that your usual shift?”
