Page 50 of Whispers in the Dark
“Didn’t know if I should.” He shrugged. “But you called. That meant something.”
“I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t serious.”
“You were never one for false alarms.”
Charlotte watched the steam curl off her coffee, her fingers loosely wrapped around the mug like it might slip through if she gripped it too tight. Across from her, Graham looked irritatingly at ease — same crooked smile, same eyes that never gave away enough.
“So,” she said, voice light but edged, “what have you been up to all this time?”
Graham leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting to the window like the question barely registered. “Oh, you know me,” he said with a shrug. “Always around when your old partner calls at three o’clock in the morning.”
Charlotte looked at him over the rim of her cup. “That’s not an answer.”
He smiled, unbothered, and took a slow sip from his cup before meeting her eyes. “I’m here to help you with the job. That’s what matters.”
She studied him for a long second. Same charm. Same deflection. Like no time had passed at all. “Still dodging questions,” she said. “Some things never change.”
Graham smiled that maddening, familiar grin. “And some things shouldn’t. Keeps life interesting.”
She studied him. He looked tired but grounded. Like someone who’d found a way to live with his ghosts. She hadn’t. Not yet. She reached into her coat and slid a photo in an evidence bag across the table. The Polaroid.
Graham stared at it for a long time before picking it up. “I remember this,” he said quietly. “Interrogation Room 2. You were pressing Ward. He wasn’t giving us anything.”
Charlotte nodded. “Someone left it on my night table while I slept. Then, a few minutes later, after I cleared the house, I found it pinned to my hallway mirror with a knife. After that, they called my house. Forensics found a registration card for Ward’s alias from the Holloway Motel. Nothing triggered the alarm.
“That’s how it started. Then, last night, Henry Byron was left near death on my back porch. The medical team did their best, but he died in front of me. Molly is doing the post-mortem this morning.”
Graham looked up sharply. “Jesus, Char.”
“I didn’t know who else to call,” she said.
His eyes were hard now, calculating. “You think this is from Ward?”
“I don’t think. I know. But I don’t understand how.”
He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his beard. “He’s still inside.”
“I’m not sure that matters anymore.”
Graham didn’t argue, just stared at her for a long time. Then, finally, he said, “You still trust me?”
Charlotte met his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright then. Let’s see what the bastard wants. Want to take a ride?”
She nodded.
They finished their coffee in silence. The kind of silence that didn’t press—just filled the space. They ordered two cups to go, hit the restrooms, and walked out into the morning cold.
Charlotte unlocked her SUV with a click. Graham didn’t hesitate. He slid into the passenger seat like he’d never stopped riding shotgun beside her. That detail struck her more than it should have. He didn’t ask, didn’t argue. She always drove.
They left the diner with the kind of quiet that didn't need filling. She didn’t look back.
She pulled out onto the highway, hands steady on the wheel even though her chest felt tight. “Last I heard,” she said, “Ward was in the hospital ward. You think we should let them know we’re coming?” She glanced at him, already knowing what his answer would be.
He shook his head. “So they can tell us not to? No way. I want to see his cell. Meet his cellmate. Talk to the COs.”
That old sharpness in his tone—it was familiar. Reassuring in a way she wasn’t ready to admit. She gave the faintest smile. “We have a plan then.”
