I lifted the glass and nodded at it.
“Point taken.” He pulled out a clipboard and began making checkmarks.
“Why haven’t you married?” I asked him while swirling the amber liquid around in the tumbler.
Caine was a handsome man who’d just turned thirty. The regulars of Boone’s Taphouse had thrown him a birthday party complete with a store-bought cake and tons of black balloons—which, of course, Caine had had to clean up afterward. He didn’t seem to mind, though.
He cocked a single brow. “Is that a proposal?”
“Sure.” I grinned. “Let’s go down to the courthouse right now. Give old Mrs. Kenny a big surprise.”
“You know I’m gay, right?” he asked in all seriousness.
I shrugged. “We’ll never have to worry about breaking each other’s hearts.” I took another sip of bourbon. The visions of the two charred bodies had faded during the conversation, but they snapped back now, as did the memories of my own mother and her husband dying in similar fashion.
Over the years, I’d tried to learn how to hold back the flood of emotion I’d felt when my mother died, but nothing worked. I didn’t need anything to trigger memories—they just happened—and every time, they were as fresh as they had been the moment they occurred. Not just the images, but the feelings. And I had to live with them forever.
Things would be better for Bella Reynolds. Her memories would fade and evolve. She would replace the worst memories with happier ones, and eventually she would heal and move on with her life, while keeping fond memories of certain parts of her childhood. Only occasionally would she have to shove those terrible memories back inside their box.
I felt a sudden, ugly wave of envy. There were no lids to my memory boxes.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I pulled it out. “Faith Day,” I said.
“Hi, Faith. It’s Penelope. Chief wants to see you.” She lowered her voice. “We’ve got ourselves a fed in here.”
What the hell was a fed doing in Paynes Creek? “Okay. I’ll be right there.” I hung up and drained the rest of my bourbon. “Duty calls, Caine. Thanks for the drink.”
“Why do you stay with that horrible job?” Caine asked. “Why would you want to photograph death and destruction for a living?”
I forced a smile. “Why do you listen to everyone’s sob stories at the bar day after day? Doesn’t that bring you down?”
“I’d like to think I’m helping. Giving them an ear that they can’t get elsewhere.”
“Well, maybe I think that by photographing crime scenes, I’m giving victims a voice they no longer have.”
That sounded pretty good. Even though it was a lie.
That night twelve years ago was not the only horrifying memory I had to live with. And with every crime scene I photographed, I hoped to form memories that might, somehow, replace those of my past—the ones I kept secret and the ones that made me a liar.
Three
While driving to the Paynes Creek Police Department, I sucked on six Altoids. It was highly unlikely anyone would get close enough to me to smell the bourbon on my breath, but it was still a good precaution.
Besides, I wasn’t an on-duty police officer. I was a contractor. When there was a crime scene or car accident to be photographed, the police called me, but beyond that, my time was my own. Yes, I was basically always on call—crimes and accidents didn’t confine themselves to the convenient hours between eight and five—but I could have a drink when I wanted to have a drink. No one controlled me.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The police station was buzzing. A couple of the more seasoned officers were chatting in the corner to my right when I pushed through the double glass doors. They straightened and stared at me when I entered, then I heard one of them—red-headed and freckled—mutter, “Did you hear that she called about an intruder in her house last week? When officers got there, they didn’t find shit.”
“Crazy bitch,” the other one said. “To think I fell for that dare to ask her out when I first started.”
“We all do,” Red said, laughing. “She never says yes.”
Penelope sat at her desk with a Bluetooth headset connected to her ear. She looked up when I approached. “Hi, honey!” She chomped gum like a teenager and fiddled with the cross around her neck. Then she leaned across the desk and motioned with her finger for me to come closer. “Wait ’til you see the yumminess in the chief’s office.” She cast a mischievous look toward Chief Reid’s office before sitting back with a wide grin.
I lifted a brow. “Penelope, you might need to lay off the coffee.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just thinking of you. Go in there and be real nice, and you just might get to give him the grand tour of Paynes Creek.”
If I was the type to roll my eyes, I would have done it then. Penelope was always either trying to marry me off or trying to get me into a church pew every Sunday. It would have irritated me except that I tried not to ever be angry with Penelope. She was the buffer between Chief Reid and me, and she kept me informed of all the gossip—especially the gossip concerning me.
She hadn’t changed much since we’d attended Paynes Creek High School together. We weren’t friends back then, but I always knew who she was. She was popular—hung out with the cheerleader crowd even though she wasn’t a cheerleader. The guys listened to her, but didn’t really date her. She was everyone’s best friend and was known for helping everyone with their problems.
And just as she had handled her friends’ issues in high school, she now handled—or mothered—the patrol officers she worked with. She brought in food and consoled them after bad days. She was a good wife to an EMT who often worked the night shift, and she was an amazing mother to a three-year-old boy. She had a great big ol’ heart, and I always thought of her when I heard a southerner say, “Bless her heart. She means well.”
“Faith,” Chief called from the doorway of his office. I flinched, causing Penelope to narrow her eyes at me. “Can you come here?”
Penelope pretended to tidy papers on her desk as she mouthed the words Be nice. She had a look on her face as if I’d just been summoned to the principal’s office and she couldn’t wait to hear the details when I got out. With her curly red hair teased into a clip on the back of her head, even her appearance reminded me of high school.
My black combat boots squeaked against the tile as I walked over to the chief’s office. One of the newer patrol officers looked up from his desk as I passed, but immediately averted his eyes. The younger cops were frightened of me. They’d heard the stories of what I’d been through, and were terrified to get into a conversation with me for fear I might finally snap. That didn’t bother me. I wasn’t much for chitchat.
I stepped into the chief’s office. He was seated on the other side of his desk, and another man sat in one of the guest chairs. So this was the fed. He was in his low- to mid-thirties, dark-haired, and wore a navy blue suit. The suit was typical of FBI agents, but the tie was pink and featured… were those giraffes?