Page 89 of Love Always

Kevin sniffs. “She told me. I never read it. That asshole is creepy as hell. She was going to get him.”

Carlson pushes the bag closer. “Think hard about your next answer here, Kev. Did you ever tell Thad Cruz about it? About what she was doing?”

The moment the hands come out of the pockets, the instant he flashes a look to Laurel, I know.

Kevin Barr starts talking. Yes. He had warned Cruz that Colleen was documenting his harassment of women students on campus. Whether to blackmail or get him fired—a stain that would permanently bar him from teaching again—was irrelevant at this point.

“Do you know anything about the network that distributes drugs on campus?”

Kevin’s eyes widen. “No sir. Colleen did. And—” he jutted a jaw to Laurel. It’s the first time he’s looked at her directly.

Her green eyes widened, but she doesn’t move. Good girl. The best response is no response.

“That’s not what I asked and it’s not on the table. Did you knowingly transport drugs for Thad Cruz?”

“No—all I did was tell him about the book thing.”

“And why did you tell him if you were not protecting an income stream?”

And why did you fake those texts? I want to ask, but it’s not my investigation or my precinct.

It takes a moment for Kevin to figure out the question. He clears his throat. “This isn’t gonna sound right to some people here, but I thought he was getting the wrong end of the deal. A lot of these girls were askin’ for it. Not all, but some.” He glances at Laurel again. I swear the third time will be his last. I’m terrible at following my own advice sometimes.

“I see,” says Carlson, and there’s a spot of color in his cheeks. He’s pissed too. Blaming the victim does not sit well with him. He thanks all of us for coming so promptly and then we’re dismissed, with instructions to lay low for a couple of hours while a sting is set in place. He keeps Kevin in the room. Nic and Bryce meet us in the hall—they had spoken with Carlson beforehand and knew about the bloodied “evidence,” and had heard about another piece of real evidence Chris was bringing in. I debrief both. In the meantime, Laurel drifts over with Chris to his parents and is chatting with them when the door opens, and Kevin walks right by her. He turns and says something. She stares at him and both Chris’s parents seem taken aback.

Third time. I’m going to kill him.

Nic puts a hand on my arm just as I start for the asshole. As I start to lunge, he holds me back. Then the lobby swirls, blinks, and a wave of nausea leaves sweat on my brow. I have to sit down. Hard. I swallow bile.

“Buddy. You just got out of the hospital. Take it easy,” says Bryce.

Just as suddenly as it hits, the nausea is gone. Kevin continues walking to the front desk, head up, his stride more like a swagger, but empty. It’s all bravado. The kid is scared. I watch him at the front desk retrieving a knife and, fuck me, a pistol which he shoves in his waist, behind his back. His body language is wary, on guard. His fear is not about what’s going on here … and then I get it. This is chronic trauma. He’s moving away from some shoe that is always going to drop. He’s afraid of his father.

In the car on our drive home, I ask Laurel what he said to her. She puts her hands to her temples and then looks out the window.

“He said, ‘I can be a hero too.’”

΅

The plan is simple, and I am grateful to Finn that he has such a good relationship with the local police. At the station, under Carlson’s watchful eye, Kevin placed a text to Cruz telling him he caught up with Chris and traded the journal for drugs. If he wants it, they have to meet at the gutted colonial just north of Rockland. Kevin will wear a wire and Carlson’s team will grab Cruz.

I made Laurel stay home. I wanted to be with her and have her with me, but it makes no sense. Having her here puts her in danger and me being there is pointless. Other than another bout of nausea in the car with Bryce and Nic, I’m feeling almost normal. I want to be there when that asshole is arrested. Carlson asked that we remain off the dirt road and park off Pearl Street behind a large, red barn antique store.

The day is bright, sunny, and people are driving up the coast unaware that drugs are passing from hand to hand, that misery will follow, and that a girl’s murderer is about to be apprehended. That’s the way it should be.

We wait. And wait some more. Nic and Bryce talk about lunch. I’m not hungry or if I am, I’m still not registering it. One o’clock comes and goes and then my phone buzzes. TARGET NOT SECURED. Bryce’s and Nic’s go off simultaneously with the same message.

A brown, beat-up Ford Focus comes barreling down the dirt road, makes it to Pearl, leaves a wide, dark “C” on the asphalt, and hightails it toward the harbor.

Bryce hits the gas.

Nic slaps a magnetized light to the roof and we’re off, gravel spurting as we pass the startled shop owner.

The brown car careens into the parking lot at Rockland Harbor and starts for the public landing.

We’re ahead of the police. There are just a few people walking on the landing and they bolt to the side when they hear tires hit the wooden planks. Cruz barrels down the pier, the car barely fitting between the wooden guard rails. He stops right before the small white clapboard office and jettisons from the car.

Behind us, sirens wail.