Page 23 of Shadow Sabotage
“That’s a start. But I still wouldn’t believe you’re from here. The accent’s wrong.”
“You’re perceptive,” I said, giving her another long look. She’d proven it at the crime scene, and she was proving it here, too.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“You’re also nosy.” I narrowed my eyes, even as my lips twisted into a playful smile.
She grinned. “And you’re stalling.”
She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t usually talk about my history, partly because I preferred keeping it to myself and partly because most people didn’t ask.
Claire Hawkins wasn’t most people.
But I owed her something—something personal. After all, I’d come here, despite knowing she didn’t want me to. I’d introduced myself to her mom, knowing she wanted me to stay away. And I’d questioned her aboutherfamily without a second thought.
“I was born in New York,” I said. “But I split my time between there and Maine as a kid. Mostly Maine. Moved full-time to NYC for college. Went to work for the NYPD the fall after I graduated and stayed there until I took the job with DCI. ”
She was quiet for a second. “Parents divorced?”
“Yeah.”
“That bites.”
I shrugged. “I was six. I can barely remember a time when theyweren’tdivorced.”
She glanced my way, like she was the one trying to read me this time. “I’m guessing your mom lived in Maine, your dad lived in New York?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“What part of Maine?”
“Seal Harbor. It’s a small neighborhood close to Bar Harbor and Acadia.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, I’ve heard of it. A ‘small neighborhood’ that happens to be the vacation playground for the rich and famous.”
I tilted my head toward her in confirmation.
She snorted. “Well, that certainly explains the six-hundred-dollar boots and the fancy leather jacket on a DCI salary. What it doesn’t explain is why the hell you’re working for Wyoming DCI to begin with. Money like that, NYPD detective on your résumé… That’s an odd move, Weston.”
I shot her a look. “Verynosy,” I murmured.
She laughed out loud. “Said the man who showed up for dinner here just because he wascurious.”
“Fair point.”
“How’s the chili?” she asked, changing the subject.
“It’s great. Best chili I’ve ever had,” I said, meaning it.
“Mom’s a fantastic cook.”
“She is. I’m glad I came.” I meant that, too—especially now that Claire had relaxed and the misery on her face had been replaced with a happy kind of calm.
She was different out here.
It hit me that I was, too. Tonight was unusual for me. I typically hyper-focused on my cases, barely taking the time to eat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d relaxed outside on a beautiful evening or even had a conversation that didn’t involve work.
“I guess I’m glad you came, too. Maybe it’s good you’ve met Mom,” she said, letting out a long breath of resignation. “Now, that’s over and we can just focus on the investigation.”
