Page 109 of Moonshine Kiss
“The judge mentioned pictures. What was that about?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s not public knowledge.”
“Does it affect me and my family?” I pressed, getting the distinct impression that my girlfriend was hiding behind her badge again.
“Bowie, I can’t share case details with you. We have bigger fish to fry!”
“Do we, Cassidy?”
It wasn’t exactly fair of me to compare her worries about her job with the effects her investigation was having on my family. But I didn’t like that we were days into our trial relationship and Cassidy was right back where she started, keeping things from me.
“The judge brought the pictures up. Obviously he wants me to know about them,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, and I don’t like it,” Cassidy said, pacing back and forth in front of me.
I grabbed her wrist and held her still. “I don’t like having a conversation with three people who keep hinting at something that I should know. When you’re ready to trust me, come find me,” I said. I turned to walk away. She was still determined to handle everything on her own. Still punishing me for what I’d done.
“Bowie Bodine, I let you shut a door in my face once. I willnotlet you do it again.” She grabbed my arm and spun me around. Temper snapped off of her like electricity.
“This isn’t just investigation shit, Cassidy. I need you to trust me,” I reminded her. “You can’t keep your life separate from mine.”
She dropped her hold on me. “Those pictures were of wounds on Callie Kendall’s arms. Cuts. Scars from much older wounds. Mrs. Kendall gave them to me when I went to talk to her,” she said flatly.
“Cuts?”
“Mrs. Kendall claims Callie was a cutter. Self-harming behavior. The pictures certainly lend credence. And when I turned the photos over to Connelly he demoted me to desk duty.”
My mind was racing. “Why?” I asked.
“How the hell should I know? He’s an asshole who got pissed off because I turned up a piece of evidence that he didn’t find. Maybe I made him look bad?”
“Is he pursuing it?” I asked. Was it possible that Callie Kendall really had killed herself? I couldn’t quite see the bright shiny girl who wowed the crowd with backflips over Rusty Reef on the lake just giving up like that.
But then again, a lot happened behind closed doors.
I didn’t want to be the son of a murderer. But I also wasn’t keen on the only other answer being that Callie Kendall killed herself.
“I don’t know. I’m not part of the investigation! I barely have a job at this point!”
Cassidy was good and pissed.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the photos?” I knew damn well why she didn’t, and it wasn’t because of some code of conduct. At least, not entirely. Cassidy had held back bits and pieces of herself since the day I’d broken her heart. I got it. I understood. It was a survival mechanism for her, proving that she didn’t need me or anything. That she could handle everything all by herself.
But that shit wasn’t going to fly if we were going to have a real shot at forever.
Cassidy threw her arms up in the air and gave a groan of frustration. “I swear to God, Bowie, you drive me insane. It’s evidence in an ongoing investigation. There are rules! I’m already this close to losing my job!”
“And you don’t trust me,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her shoulders slumping. “Honestly, I can’t be scared the Kendalls are going to tell Connelly about us and be pissed off at you at the same time. I don’t have the emotional capacity.”
“Then stew on it for a while. You feel like you have to do everything yourself. And that’s not how a relationship works.” At least, I didn’t think so. I didn’t exactly have the best examples in my life, what with my parents mostly hating each other and all.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back against the brick wall. “Look. I’m new at this relationship thing. Very new. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in a ‘let’s see where this goes’ relationship. So I’m gonna screw up. But damn it, Bowie, you’re screwing up, too. I need you to understand how important my job is to me. I need you not to get in the way of my ability to do that job.”
“All I’m asking,” I said, approaching her slowly, “is that you give us a real chance. That means trusting me. I understand that you aren’t going to give me photocopies of all those fancy police reports. And I wouldn’t ask you for them. But when something happens like Detective Connelly taking you off a case because you were doing your job a little too well, I want to know.”
I put my hands on either side of her head.
