Page 114 of The Darkest Chase

Doesn’t that bring back memories?

Blood on my skin in esoteric patterns.

Daddy’s little work of art.

Snarling, I shake myself free from my thoughts, get dressed, and check on my dog.

“Morning, old man. How’d we sleep?” I stop to scratch Rolf’s head before clipping his leash on and leading him into a morning too bright for my bitter thoughts.

He’s cheerful and eager to go, at least.

Every now and then I bring him into the office just for the hell of it.

It’s not hard to tell he knows he’s about to get spoiled completely.

Sometimes, I think he misses his days as a police dog. Being around the guys seems to liven him up until he’s as spry as a pup again, even if he’ll never be the world’s friendliest ball of woof.

He practically drags me down the street on the walk to work—though he’s well-behaved when we stop at Red Grounds to pick up the usual order.

I’m not surprised when the barista slips him a strip of bacon from the breakfast griddle. Everyone loves Rolf.

I usually enjoy their reactions more.

Maybe because I’m realizing how much people project onto the blank canvas I present, and Rolf is part of that image. That fakery, even if I like sharing my life with him.

I really do love this giant furry goofball, but it feels so cynical sometimes, holding together this false identity that makes people smile as I pass by with my fun, yet standoffish German Shepherd.

It never bothered me before.

I came to Redhaven with a purpose.

It’s been slow, this grinding game, but someday when it ends, I’ll be gone and so will Rolf, leaving this town behind.

Before, I never considered the fact that the people around me might feel betrayed.

The guys on the team. The folks in this town who accept me like one of their own.

Hell, Talia.

She’s all I can think about as I coax a tail-wagging Rolf out of the café with his leash looped around my wrist, leaving my hands free for the double load of coffee cups in their carrier.

When the barista waves me off cheerfully, I almost forget to flash my usual polite smile.

How long can a man keep wearing a mask before it becomes his face?

But that mask will get me through this day, dammit.

As I elbow my way into the precinct and everyone—from Mallory to big grumpy Grant—lights up at Rolf.

I let him off leash and he dives through the forest of happy hands reaching out, letting me slip into the background.

I drop off coffee cups on respective desks and cruise by Grant’s desk to snag the topmost folder labeled ‘Newcomb, Brian’ before dropping down at my own desk with my coffee pressed to my lips.

“Hey,” I call over my shoulder. “Is Raleigh forensics doing a full workup on this, or are we handling it on our own?”

Grant looks up from sneaking Rolf the deer jerky he thinks I don’t know he keeps in his desk. “We’re on our own for now, since homicide is possible but not confirmed. They’ll get us the autopsy data, but the crime scene’s on us. We good on photos? Storm’s coming in by this afternoon and any evidence is gonna get washed out by evening.”

“Damn.” I thumb through the photos in the folder, then lean forward and jiggle the mouse to wake my computer. I pull up the digital case record, scanning through the additional photographs. I also have the images I took and need to finish uploading to our system. “Think we’re good, but I’ll take my lunch to head back up there and take another look. Might help to see it with fresh eyes.”

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