Page 28 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
Kinsley made her way into the break room, where the countertop was now littered with empty Styrofoam containers. She checked the fridge before returning to the counter, pulling forward each of the lids. Her irritation began to build when she couldn’t find her name labeled in black ink.
The delicious odor of garlic now permeated the small space, and it was strong enough for her to know that fresh Italian-American food was still nearby. Kinsley struck gold when she finally noticed a container tucked in the corner near the coffee machine.
She flipped open her box to find her stromboli with not one but two small containers of marinara sauce. Her stomach agreed, and she couldn’t hold back a smile.
Small mercies.
“You’re welcome.”
The deep, rich voice froze her in place.
Shane’s presence filled the break room, the air around her suddenly too thin. She had gone out of her way to extend him a warm welcome to the department. When they first became involved, well before the well-deserved karma train had run through her life, he had been working Vice. But hell was a one-way ticket, and Shane had decided to transfer to homicide.
“I appreciate the extra sauce,” Kinsley managed to say as she reached for a stack of napkins to buy herself more time. “I thought Sam picked up lunch today.”
“I drove and then dropped him off out front. The cruiser needed fuel since we’ll be gone the rest of the day.”
Shane was the complete opposite of Alex.
No suit, no tie, no dress shoes.
Instead, Shane wore a dark blue button-down that somehow managed to bring out the piercing blue of his eyes. The soft fabric also covered up a tattoo of an eagle, globe, and anchor on his left pectoral muscle. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, revealing a small scar from his military service on his left wrist. She had traced that scar with her fingers many times.
“How's the Scriven case progressing?” Shane asked as he closed the distance to the fridge. He opened the door and reached in for a bottle of water. The simple action was executed with such precision that it was almost hypnotic. “Haugen mentioned the ex-boyfriend is coming into the station this afternoon.”
“Nick Ryder.” Kinsley kept herself busy by grabbing the silverware from the drawer. She hated the plastic utensils given with the order as they had a tendency to break easily. “We’re still looking for a motive. Hannah mulled over cheating on the bar exam. There’s a chance someone blackmailed her about it. There's also tension with her family, her twin sister, her best friend—the list of people with grievances against her keeps growing.”
“But no smoking gun?” Shane removed the white cap and took a sip of water before leaning his hip against the counter.
“Not yet. We've traced some calls to a woman who offers to take the bar exam for students, but the contact stopped weeks before Hannah's death. Plus, the calls were to and from a burner.” Kinsley shifted her weight, conscious of maintaining distance between them. “What about your case with Sam? The Westside shooting?”
“We tied the murder to that string of robberies last month,” Shane said, his jaw tightening slightly. “The homeowner didn’t stand a chance. We've got the perps on camera, but their faces were covered the entire time. They were wearing short sleeves, so forensics is trying to pull something from the footage. Anything that stands out. Birthmark, tattoo, scar. Hell, I’d even take some type of limp at this point.”
The conversation lulled, and the silence between them became thick with unspoken words. Two years of distance hadn't erased the familiarity—she still recognized the subtle tells in his expression, could read the tightness around his eyes that meant he was holding something back.
“You ready for Sunday?” Shane finally asked, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost forced. “Wally's been drilling the team like we're preparing for the Super Bowl instead of a charity flag football game.”
“I heard. Sorry I missed the impromptu gathering at The Bucket last night.”
“Your absence didn’t have anything to do with those missing headbands, did it?” Shane's mouth lifted in one corner. “You should know, Wally already requested security footage of the morgue.”
“Hypothetically speaking, of course, but Wally wouldn’t find anything should he decide to waste his time combing through said footage.” They were walking on thin ice, and the comfortable rhythms were undercut by the knowledge of what awaited below. Kinsley decided to break the ice herself. “I hear things are going well with you and the new veterinarian.”
By this time, Kinsley had the container and napkins in hand. She gave as genuine a smile as she could while meeting his gaze.
“I’m happy for you, Shane.” The truth of that statement burned in her throat. It was as if she had swallowed fire. “Truly.”
“Her name is Chloe.” Shane took his time screwing the water cap back on the bottle. She got the sense that he was studying her expression, which she was trying very hard not to break. “Chloe Marlowe, and yes…things are going well.”
The confirmation was unnecessary since Alex had already given Kinsley the information. Plus, department gossip spread faster than radio calls. Kinsley should have known about the relationship long before her partner shared such details, but she had been too distracted with the chaos she had caused in her own life.
“Levick! Let’s roll!”
Kinsley hadn’t lied. She did want Shane to be happy.Just in some alternate universe where she hadn't killed a man and buried the truth so deep it poisoned everything she touched.
Shane held her gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, something unreadable passing behind his eyes before he shifted and walked toward the doorway.
“See you on Sunday, Kin.”
