Page 24 of Carry on Wayward Son

“It doesn’t seem like enough.”

Her gaze was direct and unhurried. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“If we don’t find conclusive answers at the end of this—and in cold cases, we often don’t—will you ever be able to forgive yourself?”

I sat with the question for a moment. “I don’t know. But I figure we’re the best chance she’s got of not being forgotten. We sure as hell owe her that much.”

Twelve

LAYLA

After lunch, Jace walked me back to the cottage. I didn’t need company or protection. I had Koa for that. But I didn’t mind the extra time with him. Without him saying a word, I understood he was the epitome of capable, and it enabled me to let my guard down, just a fraction. That was a rare enough occurrence that it felt almost restful.

Not something I had much experience with.

Once he’d left, I set up in the living room, with my laptop on the coffee table and Koa stretched out beside me on the sofa, nose to my knee. I had a lot to do. The language of public records requests was its own particular dialect, formal and precise. I’d written enough of them to move quickly, but it was still a lengthy list: meeting minutes from Miles Busby’s entire tenure as mayor; approved contracts and budget allocations; any documented partnerships with outside developers, including Albemarle Development Group; correspondence related to waterfront development projects. I set up a spreadsheet to track them all, notating which county or municipal channel was the correct contact, and calculating follow-up dates to integrate with my digital calendar.

I decided to make a cup of tea before I dove in. Koa trailed me to the kitchen, focus on the treat bag on the counter with the dozen fancy dog biscuits from the bakery.

I eyed him. “Do you think you’ve been a good boy?”

“Woo!”

“The bestest boy?”

This time his yodel of agreement came with a stomp.

“It happens I agree with you.” Laughing, I dug a biscuit from the bag and put him through his paces. Sit. Down. Wait. Release.

By the time we’d finished, the electric kettle beeped. I doused a bag of oolong, set a timer, and kicked back to wait, absorbing the quiet of the cottage around me.

It was the kind of quiet that let things surface. I was good at keeping a mental blockade in place. At least for a while. Emotional control was essential in my line of work. But I wasn’t unaffected. Everything I’d been pushing down since the meeting at Sutter House—the hold of a ship, the videos they’d mentioned, the evidence of a bigger machine that treated people as product—it was all still there, waiting patiently for exactly this sort of stillness to rise into. I’d gotten good at not letting them take me under. I wasn’t always good at not letting them in at all.

Koa made another soft “Woo,” and turned toward the front of the cottage.

Three seconds later, a knock sounded.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. My hand reached for a knife hilt at my back as I crossed to the door. Easing to one side, I checked the sidelight, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach.

“Damn it,” I whispered.

I dropped my hand and pulled the door open.

The man on the other side was in his mid-fifties, broad through the shoulders, with a face that had never been particularly soft and had gotten less so over the years. He’d been the one they assigned to me at the beginning, when I was sixteen years old, lying broken in a hospital bed, with no comprehension of what the rest of my life would look like. He was the closest thing to a fixed point I’d had through all of it, and the look on his face right now was the look he got when he was frightened for me and furious about it.

He strode inside without being invited. “Your sister called me.”

“Of course she did.” I closed the door behind him. “Ashley has a big mouth.”

“Ashley has good sense.” Bruce turned to face me in the small living room, taking up most of the available space the way he always had. “What the hell are you thinking, Layla?”

“You’re aware of what I do for a living.”

“I’m well aware of what you do for a living. I’m also aware that you signed documentation to the effect that you would never come back to this area. It was part of the terms you agreed to when we set up your protection.”

“I know what I agreed to.”