Page 8 of Hold Your Breath
“You know Walsh? With Fire?”
She thought for a second. “Ian Walsh? Big guy? Looks like he should be every single month on the firemen’s calendar, posing in just his bunker gear without a shirt and showing off those tattoo-covered pecs?”
Callum paused, a muscle ticking at his jaw. “How do you know about his tattoos?” She opened her mouth, but he spoke again before she could answer. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Ask him sometime about Lawrence hitting a bison with a month-old squad car. Going ninety miles an hour.”
After considering that for a second, she said, “That doesn’t make him an idiot. Maybe he was responding to a call and couldn’t stop when he saw the bison. I hit a deer a week after I moved here.” She made a face at the memory. That had been a traumatic day. Not quite as bad as headless-corpse-discovery day, but still, it hadn’t been fun.
His mouth twisting in disgust, Callum shook his head. “Hewasresponding to a call. A bison-in-the-road call.”
“Oh.” It was her turn to pause. “Yeah, that was dumb.”
“Just one story of many.”
“Ah.”
They stood in surprisingly tense silence for a few moments, until a full-body shiver made her hug her middle.
Callum eyed her sharply and then jerked his head toward the dive van. “Go check that all our gear is stowed. Grab the puker and Derek to help. We’ll head out soon.”
“Is Rob done talking to everyone on the team?” Great—now that she let herself notice the cold, her teeth were chattering.
He shrugged. “If not, he knows where to find us. Go.”
She trudged toward the opening in the ice, collecting harnesses and ropes. There were ten or so waterlogged…things…that hadn’t been there during training lined up about fifteen feet from the edge of the water. From the manila-colored tags hanging from each piece, she assumed they were what Wilt and Callum had pulled out of the water during their evidence-hunting dives.
After spending months, if not years, in the water, the objects were indistinguishable dark lumps. Trying to look innocent as she coiled a rope, Lou shuffled a few feet closer. The closest one looked like… She tilted her head and squinted. A tackle box, maybe?
“Hey.”
She jerked her head up as she focused on the speaker, a blond deputy standing on the other end of the evidence line. He didn’t look familiar, but she didn’t know many of the cops by name, except for Sheriff Coughlin, and now the unfortunate Lawrence. “Hi.”
“You’re the new girl on the dive team, right?”
She nodded. “Lou Sparks.”
“Chris Jennings.” He took a couple of steps closer, carefully placing his feet to avoid trampling the evidence, and held out his gloved hand. “Heard you were the lucky one who found him.”
She made a face as she shook his hand. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
With a sympathetic smile, he gestured at the line of items. “Well, I’d better get back to hauling the evidence over to the crime-scene vehicle. Doubt any of this crap is actually related to what happened to the floater, but better to bag and tag than miss anything.”
“Need some help?” she asked, trying for nonchalance. If she carried them, she could see some of the potential evidence up close. Plus, the deputy seemed like a chatty one. More information straight from the sheriff’s office wouldn’t hurt. She felt a strange connection to the anonymous headless guy, an urgent need to give him back his name and identity. No one should be dumped like garbage and forgotten.
“Nah.” He grinned at her again. He was an attractive guy, but he didn’t wake up any butterflies in her belly. Maybe she only went for the surly type. “Thanks, but it’s better if I do it. Chain of evidence and all that.”
“Sure. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too.” With another smile, he carefully hoisted the tackle box and headed toward the shore.
She watched him walk carefully away. “Huh.”
“What are you looking at?” At Derek’s voice behind her, Lou turned and slipped. Flailing her arms, she tried to catch her balance, dropping the neatly coiled ropes to the ground. As soon as she had her feet under her again, she punched him in the midsection.
“Ass!”
“What?” He covered his stomach with one arm, although she knew she hadn’t hit him that hard.
“Don’t sneak up behind me like that,” she growled, giving him an openhanded smack on his shoulder before reaching for the scattered ropes. “Especially not on headless-dead-guy-discovery day.”
