Page 161 of Risky Passion

Jaxson

Four WeeksLater

Thursday night dinner at Mom and Dad’s was a tradition my brothers and I rarely missed. For years, it had been the one constant in our family, partly because none of us wanted to get on Mom’s bad side, and partly because of her legendary pork roast. Crispy crackling, golden potatoes, rich gravy . . . the kind of meal that made all the shit that we dealt with every day evaporate for a little while.

The delicious aromas smelled like home. Onyx was sprawled out under the table, hoping for someone to drop a scrap. Which Mom always did. Onyx’s tail thumped against my boot every now and then, reminding me that she was there.

My brothers were in fine form tonight, as always, jostling to outdo each other. Parker had a knack for stirring the pot, and Whitney, for all his supposed composure, never backed down from a challenge. Across the table, Mom’s tired eyes flicked between them, her faint smile not quite masking the lines of twenty years of worry etched deep into her face.

Dad sat at the head of the table, silent as always, his fork movingmechanically between his plate and his mouth. He hadn’t been the same since Charlotte disappeared.

None of us had.

“Captain Watts announced his retirement today,” Parker said, leaning forward in his chair to share the breaking news. “Poor bastard. Guess Beatrice’s notes about his father being a child molester finally broke him.”

I poured more gravy onto my pork roast. “Can’t blame him. Finding out your father’s not the hero you thought he was would weigh heavily on anyone.”

Parker jabbed his fork in my direction, his expression sharp. “People pay for the sins of their family all the time, but this was bullshit. Captain Watts is a good man. Just because his father was an evil bastard doesn’t mean the chief should be poisoned, too.”

“I agree,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “But still, he’s probably struggling to deal with that rotten truth.”

I took a sip of beer, my thoughts drifting. “And he’s not the only one. There will be a lot of families dealing with this fallout. Eleven men have already been arrested at the wharf because of Beatrice’s deathbed confession.”

Parker gave an exaggerated eye roll, shaking his head. “Thankfully, Roger Newton wasn’t one of them. No one was more shocked than him about the arrests. He treated a lot of those blokes like family.”

“Everyone was bracing for Roger’s name to come up,” I said. “Thank Christ it didn’t.”

Parker reached for another roasted potato. “You’re not kidding. I think the whole damn wharf,andevery cop who didn’t also get arrested, let out a collective sigh of relief when he wasn’t in her notes.”

“How many cops were dirty?” Dad asked, blunt as ever, his focus shifting from his plate to me.

“Three so far. Well, two cops and the office manager, Sally,” I said, my tone turning flat.

“I still can’t believe Cooper was crooked,” Dad muttered, his scowl deepening.

“Me neither,” Parker and I said in unison.

Cooper Heathcote was the senior officer Dad had visited countless times,demanding action on Charlotte’s missing person’s case. He was the man Dad had trusted to help bring her home.

“I hope someone’s taking over his files,” Dad said, his voice carrying that low, heavy weight it always did whenever Charlotte came up.

Parker nodded. “I’ve got his cold case files, Dad.”

“Including Charlotte?”

“Yes, Dad. Including Charlotte.” Parker met my gaze, and I caught the silent plea in his eyes:Don’t elaborate.

I knew the real truth. Parker should never have access to Charlotte’s official file, not without running into a conflict of interest.

But that hadn’t stopped him, or Whitney or me, from working on the unofficial records. The ones we’d pieced together over the years. The ones that still kept us up at night, chasing dead ends and clues that disintegrated like mist.

“Good,” Dad said, his voice low and his eyes fixed on his plate. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”

“Anyone want another beer?” Whitney asked, shoving back his chair.

“I’ll take one,” Parker and I said in unison, and we chuckled. We were like that, Parker and I, always on the same wavelength. Same thoughts. Same words. Same unbearable weight of guilt pressing down on our shoulders.

It’s our fault she left that party alone.

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