Page 17 of Vanishing Point
But love was a hell of a thing. He’d keep a million things out of her way if it meant waking up with her every morning. Putting Mags to bed at night together. He’d sacrifice a million things for those quiet, perfect moments.
“I’ve never seen you this happy,” Laurel said, a bit like an accusation.
Thomas didn’t know what to say to that, since it was true. So he just grunted.
When Copeland walked into the detective office, blissfully later than Thomas himself, Laurel jabbed a finger at him. “Hashemet her?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s something.” Laurel and Copeland had learned how to deal with each other, but Thomas wouldn’t call it aneasyrelationship. Neither one of them quite trusted the other yet, but Thomas figured it would come with time. They were both too good professionally to let oil and water personalities get in the way for long.
“Look, she’s a homebody and she’s got a one-year-old.” Thomas shrugged. “We just don’t get out much.”
Laurel pointed a finger at him. “Play date.”
“No.”
“My kids are desperate to meet new kids.”
“Your kids have three million cousins their age to play with. Besides, Mags is just starting to walk. She doesn’t need your brood running her over.”
“Mags?”
“It’s short for Magnolia,” he muttered. “Now can I have my desk? I’ve got that report to finalize.”
“Ourdesk, buddy.” But she got up.
It was indeedtheirdesk, because littered across it were pictures of the Delaney-Carsons. For a moment, Thomas was distracted not by the old, vague sense of envy, but a new one of how thatcouldbe his future.
Futurebeing the operative word. Because it had only been a few months. Even if fifteen years before, it had been four years. But they’d been different then. Everything had been different.
When he caught Laurel staring at him, probably because he’d been staring at her pictures, he ignored it and got to work.
Later when they ate their lunches in the office, discussing Copeland’s current robbery case, Vicky stuck her head in the door.
“This was delivered to the front desk for you, Hart,” Vicky said. She tossed a slim envelope onto his desk.
He set his sub sandwich aside and lifted the envelope. The return address was a police department in Texas. “We had any dealing with someone in Plano?” he asked offhandedly, breaking the seal.
“Not that I recall,” Laurel replied.
Inside the envelope was a stack of pictures. He frowned at the first one. It was kind of grainy, the lighting not very good, but he recognized that wavy red hair.
Everything inside him went utterly still at the trickle of blood running down her nose.
With a slight tremor in his hands, he flipped to the next picture. A close-up this time, still grainy. A black eye, dark and big.
Every single one featured Vi. With a bruise or injury somewhere on her body. And with each picture, his blood ran more and more cold. He reached the end of the stack, expecting some kind of note, some kind ofsomething.
But there was nothing but the pictures. Thomas was on his feet, the chair clattering behind him, without a thoughtto Copeland or Laurel asking him what was wrong. Nothing mattered but getting to Vi.
But there she was. In the doorway. No bruises. No visible injuries. But she was pale.
And clutching an envelope to her chest that looked just like the one on his desk.
THREE SETS OFeyes were on her, but Vi only noticed Thomas’s. Worry and anger. She saw the envelope on his desk that looked just like the one that had been in the mail this afternoon.
Eric had sent Thomas pictures too.
