When he gets into the car, I ask, “Where are we headed?”

  “I was thinking a nice dinner to start.” He turns out of my part of the complex and navigates toward the main road. “We’ll see where the night takes us.”

  “Oh, I do love a good intrigue.”

  His laugh is quiet. “I thought you might.”

  Quick, Bailey. Think of something to talk about. “Cathy’s party had a good turnout.”

  “Yeah, it did. She’s got a lot of names for sandwiches, too. The town really came through.”

  “Any favorites?”

  “Of the names?”

  “Yeah. I know for a fact that you have at least two good ones.”

  He chuckles. “Both from you?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  “Mm-hm.” He takes the turn toward the interstate.

  “We’re not eating in town?”

  “What place has candles, music, and tablecloths? I mean, I could always call Nell and see what she’s got.” He sets his mouth and eyebrows in a serious look—the type steeped in sarcasm.

  “Ha, ha.”

  “It’s a proper date, Bailey. Somewhere special, just the two of us. We’d hardly have any privacy in Golden Shore.”

  Whoa there, heartbeat. Just the two of us. Where is all this coming from?

  I wait until he merges onto the interstate before I say, “OK. Cards on the table.”

  “Hit me. I’m an open book.”

  “How long have you felt this way?”

  “Hungry?”

  “Callum Scott Baldwin.”

  He laughs. “All right, all right. A while.”

  “A while.” I relax against the passenger seat, looking at the road ahead as I process that. “A while.”

  “I’m afraid to reciprocate the question.”

  “Why?”

  “Just nervous about the answer.”

  One thing that I love most about my friendship with Callum is our honesty. It’s been an unspoken rule that we’ll always be upfront with each other. Well, that’ll change over my dead body. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was sixteen.”

  “What!” His grin is endearing. “Sixteen?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “What could I say, Callum? We both dated other people, we both went to different colleges, and we were friends through it all. I wouldn’t have risked that for anything, especially back then.”

  “And now?”

  The question is a vulnerable one.

  “Now we’re adults. We were friends first, and that’s never going to change. I won’t let it.”

  “Even if this—” He waves his fingers, letting the statement hang.

  “Doesn’t work out,” I finish for him. “Yes, even if that happens. I care about you. I always have, and I can’t imagine that ever changing.”

  He reaches a hand to mine. “I care about you too, Bailey. Always.”

  “And somehow in the recent past, you decide that it’s time to ask me out to dinner.”

  “I’ve been working up the courage since I came back to Golden Shore.”

  This makes me smile. “You’ve been sitting on this for two whole years?”

  “Like you said, we have something special. I had to be careful.”

  Our fingers entwine, and I cover his with my other hand, feeling the peaks and valleys of his knuckles. I never imagined that something like this would feel so…natural. Callum and I, together, on our way to a romantic dinner.

  “Whoa. What’s this?” Callum slows down as interstate traffic comes to a halt. In the distances are blue and red lights. Using his car’s Bluetooth, he calls the precinct.

  “Golden Shore Police.”

  “Hey, John, it’s Callum. I’m on the interstate, and it looks like something’s happened.”

  “Yeah, we got a report of a pile-up. Just happened about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Any details?”

  I sit in complete silence, listening to what I think is the sound of shuffling papers. “Yep. Got it right here. One dead, two injured.”

  “Anybody from Golden Shore?”

  “Yeah, the fatality. A man named Ray Sharp.”

  Flashing lights, honking horns, vehicles passing us by.

  “We’re still in Golden Shore. I have to stop.” Callum parks his car on the median. “Wait here.”

  His voice betrays his frustration, and I can’t blame him. Planning a night out, even dressing the part, and work literally stops him in his tracks. But this case seems to be much bigger than either of us could’ve anticipated. We see Ward with Ray Sharp, and then Ray Sharp is killed in a car accident. This is much more than a disgruntled bank client, isn’t it? Too many pieces are showing up on the board, and we’re scrambling to try to put the puzzle together.

  I watch Callum talking to a highway patrolman. He pulls out his notebook and starts scribbling. Even out on a date, and he still has that thing with him. Does he have a gun holster on beneath his suit jacket?

  Callum in his button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, no tie, and that gun holster, like some 1940s noir detective, sitting on his desk looking out the window and into a rainy night…

  Snap out of it, Bailey. Someone’s been killed, and Callum has to do his job.

  Callum shakes the patrolman’s hand before pocketing his notebook and getting on his phone. He talks to someone for only a few seconds before ending the call and coming back to the car. “I have to go straight to the precinct.” He sits in the car for a quiet second, not even putting it into gear to drive. “The captain knows you’re with me, so you can wait in his office until I can take you home.”

  “I can have Kelly come pick me up.”

  He winces. “I don’t want a reporter anywhere near this yet.”

  “She wouldn’t, Callum.”

  “I know, I know. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

  “But you haven’t even notified his family yet.”

  “And if it gets out that a reporter was there...”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  His jaw flexes as he puts the car in gear and pulls forward. There’s a war going on in his head—the date, the accident that’s probably not an accident, what he’s going to face when he adds Ray Sharp to this mess of a case...

  “I’m really sorry, Bailey. This isn’t how I wanted our date to turn out.”

  He has one hand resting on the center console. I slip my hand into it. “I know. But if we hadn’t gone out, if we haven’t come this way, we wouldn’t know about Ray Sharp.”

  “Technically, you shouldn’t know about Ray Sharp.”

  “Yet here we are.”

  “Here we are.”

  I give the moment some space to breathe before I add, “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

  His mouth opens, but words don’t come out. He looks...surprised? Or maybe just caught off guard? “I’m glad, too.”

  It doesn’t take us long to get back to Golden Shore, to pull into the precinct parking lot, to go in together dressed for a nice evening out. Eyes follow us in, and one person even whistles at Callum.

  “Lookin’ sharp, Baldwin.”

  Callum takes me to the captain’s office. He’s expecting us.

  “I’m sorry,” Captain Gregory says. “Talk about dumb luck.”

  “Rain check.” I look at Callum with a small smile, trying to reassure him of that as well. “I’ll just wait here.”

  “I appreciate you coming as quickly as you did,” the captain says as he walks with Callum toward Callum’s desk.

  I take a seat and wait. My hands itch to reach for my phone, but I don’t dare text Kelly what’s happened, although I want to tell my best friend. She’s also a journalist, and I know that she can’t unlearn this information once I tell her. It’s best to keep it to myself for now. She might be upset, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

  There’s not much to look at in the captain’s office—what few pictures he has are all facing away from me and toward his seat. A couple of awards hang on the walls, as well as a picture of him at his twentieth anniversary party. My eyes wander to the open doorway. Callum’s desk is out of view, but I have a clear shot to the bulletin board filled with missing persons posters, flyers for self-help groups, and community events. The poster for Alcoholics Anonymous and Addicts Anonymous catch my eye, both of them with stock photos of models posed to look desperate.

  That’s when I see the poster for Gambler’s Anonymous.

  I get up from my seat and take a closer look. Each of the posters gives the date, time, and location of each meeting, all of them at one of our churches or at the community center.

  There’s a GA meeting at the community center, tomorrow at six o’clock. I wonder if that’s the meeting Kurt attended. I wonder if anyone there would know why someone would want to come after Ray Sharp.

  I don’t know for sure that Ray was targeted, but a part of me knows that something isn’t right. How could Ray be killed after speaking with Ward? After Kurt’s death? Was Ray a target this whole time, or only after being seen with Kurt’s brother? Was Ward involved? He seemed disgusted with Kurt’s vice...unless...

  “I thought you were going to wait in his office.” Callum leans against the wall in front of me.

  “I just—” I point to the meeting poster. “Seems like a good place to investigate.”

  “Work on getting your P.I.’s license, Ace.” He jingles his car keys. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  12

  The drive back to my apartment is quiet, passing cars and streetlights, music low on Callum’s radio. He pulls into a spot in front of my building, the two of us sitting together in the quiet. I don’t want to leave yet.

  Gambler’s Anonymous. Community center. Tomorrow night at six o’clock. I’m going to that meeting. Someone there has to have an idea about what’s going on. Kurt, Ray Sharp...and Martin and Ashley are somehow caught in this, too.

  Martin would be returning to school soon. Did he know about his dad’s addiction? Does he know about the phone calls Ashley’s getting? I would be too afraid to leave my mom alone...

  This case is everywhere. It feels so much bigger than any of us realized. Is that my own fear coming out, making the shadows seem larger than the objects themselves?

  Take a breath, Bailey. You’re safe. Everything’s OK.

  Except that Ray Sharp could’ve been targeted for talking to Ward. What about Martin and Ashley?

  “What are you thinking about?” Callum asks. He reaches over and takes my hand.

  “Ray Sharp.”

  “I’m sorry you saw all that.”

  “Coming up on that accident, after we just saw him the other night...” I shake my head, finding it hard to verbalize the fear swirling around inside.

  His thumb strokes my knuckles. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  I put my other hand on top of his, his hold tightening a little. A reassurance, an anchor. The tension in my chest eases. “I think this is related to his gambling problem. This is more than just an angry client or a case of embezzlement. Someone else is involved. Someone bigger. Or multiple someone’s.”

  “Why would Ray Sharp be involved in this? He was Ashley’s divorce lawyer, not Kurt’s.”

  “There’s something we’re missing.”

  “Bailey.” He squeezes my hand. “Not we.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “And we—as in my fellow officers and I—are going to follow every lead.” His tone is both comforting and resolute. He wants me to steer clear of this, and I can’t blame him.

  But I can’t stop the nagging fear and worry that’s gnawing at my insides. “I know. It’s just—” I stop, the words moving in my head too fast for my voice.

  “Just what?” His fingers smooth my hair behind my ears. “Tell me.” His voice is quiet, as gentle as his hand on my cheek.

  “This case is everywhere. In my school, on my date...”

  “We’ll find who’s responsible.”

  I look up to meet his gaze. We’re so close that I can see myself reflected in his eyes. “I know you will.”

  The curves of his face in the white light of the street lamp, the warmth of his hand on my face, the low, soothing timbre of his voice...

  We’re edging closer as if by magnetic force. My lips part as I close my eyes, feeling his lips brush mine.

  In all the years I’ve known him, I’d never imagined that a kiss from him would ignite an electrical storm, as if thunder would roll over us any second and a cleansing rain would wash this night away. There is only us. Everything else has gone, giving us peace in this moment. His touch on my skin leaves a trail of heat, warming and burning. My mouth, my cheek, my neck...

  He rests his forehead against mine, his fingers in my hair.

  I take a slow breath. “At least the night wasn’t a total bust.”

  He bursts out laughing, the kind of laugh that eases tension out of muscles and gives your chest space to breathe. The playful spark returns to his eyes, with the smile to match. “Let me walk you up.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll go up and talk to Kelly, have her call Uncle Dave.”

  His look is relaxed as his eyes scan my face. He kisses my forehead. “Goodnight, Bailey. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, Callum.”

  I turn to open the door, but his hand touches my shoulder to turn me back. One more kiss, for all the times that he may have wished to have done it long before now, for all the times that I’d wanted him to.

  With a smile, he says, “Sweet dreams, Ace.”

  13

  The school day is one of the longest of my career. Every few minutes, it seemed like one minor catastrophe happened right after another. If it wasn’t a student disciplinary action, it was a technical malfunction with the school’s internet. If it wasn’t a colleague crisis with a sick student, it was the impromptu meeting in the vice principal’s office.

  When would this workday be over? All I could think about was the Gambler’s Anonymous meeting at six o’clock. What would I say? Would I present myself as an attendee or as someone trying to help a loved one? Would I just be honest and start asking questions about Kurt? I’m not a private investigator (yet). And regardless if that, it’s not like I can make someone talk to me.

  “Thanks for coming in, Bailey.”

  I take a seat across from Aaron. His shoulders sag as he glances from his computer screen to me. “You look tired.”

  “I am tired. Today has been...” He lets the sentence hang, his demeanor saying it all. “I just wanted to touch base with you about Martin O’Neal. He’s a member of your club, and I know you’ve been there for his family after all this happened.”

  I remember the day I collected Martin’s assignments. “I’m just trying to help. This isn’t easy for them.”

  “I just want to know if Martin’s OK. He comes back in a few days. Let me know if there’s anything more we can do.”

  It was kind of him to think about Martin, despite everything that happened today. “I will. Thank you. I know he and his mom will appreciate that.”

  With the conclusion of our meeting, my school day is done. Finally. I had a few hours before the GA meeting, enough time to grab a bite and freshen up.

  I collect my things from my classroom, noticing the alerts on my phone. Callum is texting me.

  “Hey. Dinner tonight. I’m picking you up at 7. Making up for last night.”

  “Same dress code.”

  I’m grinning from ear to ear. “Got it.”

  I have something I can wear, but it’s going to look really strange at the Gambler’s Anonymous meeting. Bring a change of clothes, or wear a coat?

  Why would it matter? I’m going as myself, upfront about my motives. If no one talks to me, then there’s nothing lost. Hopefully, though, someone will help.

  I just wish I could grab a Blessing to add an extra dice to my Deception roll. Lucky for me, I’m pretty charismatic. (Well, my paladin is. We’ll see if I, Bailey Michelle Knight, have what it takes.)

  I decide on a simple but nice outfit—a dark blue dress this time, but the same kitten heels. Not that I had to worry about my height with Callum, and not that Callum would care either way. But high heels are evil.

  The community center is pretty quiet when I pull up. A few cars are in the parking lot, but it doesn’t look too busy. I suppose that’s a good thing—a small group of people with a gambling addiction, rather than a large one. At least, these are the ones seeking help. How many others are out there still in denial that they have a problem? Or they clearly see the problem but don’t wish to face it?

  I don’t recognize anyone as I go in, looking around tentatively before I take a seat near the back. The chairs are arranged in rows rather than a circle, which I’m grateful for. And I’ve already repaired the line I’m going to say if asked about my attendance: I’m here on behalf of a loved one. And if they want to get anymore information out of me, I’ll do what I can to keep the details private. Just trying to get them help, or something like that.

  But no one comes to me. A few people talk amongst themselves before taking their seats as the program starts.

  A woman goes to the podium, doing a scan of her audience. “I see a few new faces here.” Her eyes go to me only briefly. “Welcome. I hope that we can give you a safe space, one where you are free to be yourself, to answer questions, to seek help.”

  How are they going to feel about that once I start asking questions about Kurt O’Neal?

  A man sits beside me, a paper cup of coffee in his hands. He’s dressed in normal clothes—jeans, t-shirt, a light jacket, and sneakers. He leans back in the chair, watching ahead, then takes a sip.

  “I’m Alex Fisher,” he says, giving me a hand to shake. “You’re new.”

  “I’m here for a family member,” I say, trying to make the words sound as natural and truthful as possible. “Looking for ways to get him some help.”

  “This is a good group,” he says, “if your family member decides to get some help.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12