Page 17 of Save Me
“I’ve never had mac and cheese with chicken in it before,” he told Emma.
While they ate, Emma told him all about all the wonderful food she loved. Then when Crissy brought out a small cup of pudding, she explained all the desserts she loved as well.
“Okay, I think Brock is done hearing about all your favorite foods.” Crissy laughed as she moved over to pick up her daughter. “I think it’s bath time and then story time.”
“No.” Emma frowned, sticking out her bottom lip.
“Yes,” Crissy countered. “Unless you want the tickle monster to get you.” She tickled her daughter, who erupted into a fit of giggles as they disappeared down the hallway.
While he listened to the happy sounds coming from the bathroom, he pulled out his laptop and scoured through the list of people who had seen Crissy’s file once more. He’d taken the time to type them into a datasheet and had added more information thanks to the meeting with his father. He now knew which people still had active logins into the system and which ones didn’t.
More than a dozen people on the list were either retired or no longer with the force. Those were all highlighted in red as potentials. Three names were blacked out due to deaths. The rest of the names were highlighted in green.
He figured he’d go through and mark those that were local, just for ease.
He wanted to know just how close any of them were to Crissy and Emma.
The fact was, he hadn’t even thought to put Crissy’s ex-husband’s name on the list until his father mentioned earlier that Carl Talbot had been arrested three times in the last year.
After Crissy had divorced the guy, Brock had lost all interest in looking out for the man. Until now.
Now Carl was the first name on his list. He hadn’t realized that Crissy’s father, Simon Jones, was still alive until his father mentioned him as well. Hell, he was doing a very bad job at figuring out who could be making these calls if her ex and her father hadn’t even been on his initial radar.
A quick search on the man brought up no current address. Which is why he’d assumed the man was deceased.
“The man lives off the grid. You know the type. Refuses to let the government tell him what he can and can’t do on his land. The guy’s been squatting on the same property for years now. Every now and then, someone will go out and have a talk with him, but they always come back unable to find the guy.” His father had read from the man’s file. A file Brock now had a copy of.
When Crissy came back down after tucking Emma into bed, she joined him outside on the patio. The families had disappeared with the explanation that they were heading to dinner at a local restaurant.
“I bet you enjoy this time of night,” he said to her.
She glanced over at him and frowned. “Not normally.” She shook her head and gave a nervous little giggle. “The quiet and I don’t get along well. I’ve even taken up painting and needlepoint to fill the time.”
He felt like kicking himself. He’d gone through all the training about how to deal with victims of crime. How, even when the horrors were over, most lived the hell over and over again. It was a huge reason a lot sought the comfort of drugs, alcohol, or… final darkness.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She turned a little more towards him. “You keep apologizing.”
“I do?” He shrugged when he realized she was right. “Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.”
She smiled and then asked. “What about you? What do you do on your off time?”
“I run,” he answered quickly. “Hit the gym.” He shrugged. “Mostly, I don’t have free time.” He wanted to add that that had become the case in the past few years, since he’d found out that his partner had been raping and killing. But he held that part back. “Still, this is a far better view than my apartment next to an Indian food place.”
“You live next to an Indian food place?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “How often do you eat there?”
“I used to eat there twice a week. Now, since I smell it on my clothes and in my sweat, not so much,” he joked.
“We used to live next to a pizzeria. I swear everything tasted like greasy cheese. I couldn’t eat pizza for a whole year after we moved out.”
“We? You and your ex?” he asked, hoping to transition the conversation to her father.
Her smile slipped. “No,” she answered softly. “Me and my father.”
“Is he still alive?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She turned slightly and tilted her head. “Something tells me you already know the answer to that.”
