Rose appeared from the kitchen and started clearing plates without a word, but her expression was all wrong. She always had that frown line between her brows—it came with carrying the family’s weight for decades. But this was different. Deeper.
Sapphire gathered the unfolded notes from the table, stacking them carefully. When Rose’s gaze lingered on them a beat too long, the hair on my neck lifted.
Had she been listening?
“You okay, Rose?” I asked.
“What?” Her hand flew to her chest. “Yes. Fine. Just tired.”
I studied her. That wasn’t tired. That was spooked.
A sick feeling settled in my gut. Did one of Frank’s notes have information about Rose she didn’t want revealed? Christ, that would suck. Rose had been in my life since the day I was born. Steady. Solid. Wholesome.
If I was wrong about her, too, that was going to gut me almost as bad as Mom walking out had.
Sapphire picked up her backpack with one hand and scooped the Chivas box under her other arm. “Goodnight. See you at five.”
I shot to my feet. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I think we’ve done enough talking for today.” She gave Rose a tired smile. “Thank you. Goodnight.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Rose said softly.
Sapphire walked down the hallway without looking back.
Maybe that was for the best. She already knew I was an asshole. She’d known it for ten years. One conversation in the dark wasn’t going to change that.
I pushed back from the table and headed for the door.
Tomorrow would bring answers. Frank. The cave. Maybe even justice.
But it wouldn’t change the fact that Sapphire was everything good about the law, and I was still the asshole who made it look like lying to her was easy.
The sooner we found Frank, either dead or alive, the better.
Chapter 16
Sapphire
* * *
The guest room Rose had shown me to earlier was exactly what I’d expected. Clean and practical. A double bed with a patchwork quilt that looked handmade, a timber dresser that had seen better decades, and a window that looked out over the dark expanse of Koolaroo Ranch.
I dropped my backpack on the bed and put the Chivas box on the bedside table. I unclipped my duty belt, put it on the side table, too, pulled out my Glock, and checked the magazine. I had eight rounds left in the gun and two full spares in my belt pouch. Thirty-eight rounds total. That had better be enough to take down those two assholes. I doubted they had Glock rounds out here on Koolaroo.
I headed into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and caught sight of myself in the mirror.
Bloody hell. My hair was scrambled all over the place, sticking up at odd angles like I’d been electrocuted. And there was blood on my cheek. Dried and dark.
Was that Wayne’s blood?
My stomach clenched.
Jesus. No wonder they’d all stared at me when I’d walked into that dining room. I’d had blood on my face all this time.
I scrubbed at my cheek, and as I watched the water in the sink swirl pink down the drain, I tried not to think of Bruce and Wayne’s bodies in that kitchen. I could lose my badge for failing to report that crime scene. I had damn good reasons. I just hoped they’d be enough.
I stripped out of my filthy uniform and stepped into the shower, cranking the taps as hot as they’d go. The water beat down on my shoulders, washing away the grime, sweat, and horror of the longest day ever.
