Page 43 of Dirty Valentine
“Exactly.”I shifted in my seat.“Someone’s been watching, waiting, gathering information.The question is how long they’ve been at it.”
Our house rose from the pine-covered cliff like something out of an architectural magazine.It was supposed to be our sanctuary, a place where the ugliness of our work couldn’t follow us.But tonight, even home didn’t feel entirely safe.
The office that had once been Jack’s private retreat now looked like a war room, with Morton’s documents spread across every surface like battle plans.The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with secrets of their own.
“Time for a briefing with the team,” Jack said, already reaching for his phone.“How do you feel about pizza?”
I thought about it for a few seconds.“I can do pizza.Maybe.It’s all coming up in the morning anyway.”
“You’ve got to think positive,” he said, leaning back in his chair.“Maybe you won’t be sick.”
“I’ll remind you you said that when you’re holding my hair back in the morning.We’ll see how positive you feel.”
While Jack made calls, I found myself studying the photocopied pages of Ezekiel Morton’s journal, trying to imagine the man who’d written these words.His handwriting was careful, precise—the work of someone who understood that his words might be read long after he was gone.But between the lines, I could read the weight of a terrible decision, the slow erosion of a man’s soul under the pressure of keeping a deadly secret.
I must have been lost in his journal longer than I thought because the sound of gravel crunching under tires caught me by surprise.Through the window, I watched Cole unfold himself from his pickup truck with the easy grace of a man who’d spent his life moving with purpose.He was moving a little slower than he normally did, and I could see he was favoring his ribs some from the altercation at the station that morning.
“Heck of a thing,” he said by way of greeting.“Makes you wonder what other skeletons are rattling around in these old family closets.”
Martinez arrived moments later.Where Cole was all rough edges and cowboy pragmatism, Martinez was polish and precision.But beneath the expensive veneer was a sharp mind and a relentless pursuit of justice that made him one of the best detectives I’d ever worked with.
“This feels like something out of a Gothic novel,” Martinez said, picking up one of Morton’s journal pages with the careful reverence of someone who understood the weight of history.“Conspiracy, murder, stolen land—all we need is a mysterious woman in white wandering the moors.”
“Don’t give anyone ideas,” Jack muttered.
The third arrival was Deputy Potts, and watching her climb out of her county vehicle was like observing a study in controlled efficiency.She moved with the precise economy of someone who’d learned that wasted motion could mean missed evidence, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that somehow managed to look both professional and severe.
“Sheriff,” she said, her voice carrying that neutral tone that good cops learned to use when they wanted to keep their thoughts private.“Nice house.”
“We like it,” he said.“Come on in.The office is through there.Pizza should be here soon.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” she said, nodding casually to Cole and Martinez.“I’ve got preliminary findings from the Mills scene.”
She carried her tablet and camera like extensions of herself, tools that had become as natural as breathing.Potts was the kind of CSI who saw patterns where others saw chaos, who could read a crime scene like a novel written in blood and fiber evidence.But there was something else there too—an intensity that went beyond professional dedication into something more personal.
“Hold your horses, Deputy Do-Right,” Cole said.“Pizza isn’t even here yet.We’re gonna need fuel for the brain.”
“My brain is always fueled,” she said, deadpan.“But I’m a little concerned now knowing yours isn’t.”
Cole grinned and crossed his arms lazily across his broad chest.“Oh, there’s always something rattling around up here.That’s why I make the big bucks.”
Potts widened her eyes comically.“I was wondering what that sound was.I thought someone had a pack of Tic Tacs in their pocket.”
Martinez snorted out a laugh and gave Potts a knuckle bump.“Welcome to the team.”
The doorbell rang again and Cole said, “That’s probably Lily.I just told her to meet us here.We’re like ships passing in the night with our schedules.”
“See,” I told him.“It’s like you’re married already.”
Cole grimaced and said, “That’s what I keep telling her.I think I’m wearing her down.”
“Golly, Cole,” I said.“You’re such a romantic.Just what every girl wants.To be worn down.”
“If y’all are going to gang up on me all night I’m going to go off duty and switch to beer.”
Lily came into the room with an oversize backpack and eyes only for Cole.Lily was the kind of beautiful that smacked you right in the face, even though she was wearing one of Cole’s police academy hoodies and a pair of loose black shorts.Her long dark hair rained straight down her back and her face was free of makeup.She looked younger than her twenty-three years, and I could tell by the look on Cole’s face he still wasn’t completely comfortable with the seventeen-year difference in their ages.
She gave him a quick kiss and settled cross-legged on the floor near Cole’s chair with the unconscious flexibility of youth.“Three more days and finals are done.I am not sorry to see the end of organic chemistry.”
