So Hannah had been left to find him like a child who’d lost her mommy at a grocery store: by asking any adult who might have a clue. In this case, it meant someone with a badge.
Even when she walked into the precinct and found him sitting at an empty desk, surrounded by forms and file folders, he barely looked up at her.
“I’m busy, Hannah.”
She didn’t move. Police officers moved about the room, creating dense background noise, but his words and the tone behind them came through loud and clear. It should have felt like a slap to the face, but for some reason, right now, his words hit her as nothing more than that: just words. He didn’t sound angry; he sounded worn out. In the bright fluorescent lighting, she realized she’d never noticed just how much grey had spread through his hair, or how many lines had etched the skin around his mouth and eyes. Her mind always thought of him as the hero fireman, maybe mid-thirties, with blond hair and a bright smile.
Not as this stern taskmaster who lived and breathed by procedure and code, who looked as if life had chewed him up and spit him back out.
Her father looked up more fully when she kept staring at him. His eyes were hard, a cold blue. “I’m not kidding, Hannah. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork—”
“I see that.”
“Then what do you want?”
I wanted to see if you were okay. But she could never say that. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.
Then again, she knew he’d never killed anyone before. Maybe she was just remembering the man he’d been, the firefighter who took every life as seriously as if the victim were a member of his own family. Ten years ago, this would have bothered him. A lot. After his last job as a firefighter, when he’d failed to save everyone, he hadn’t slept for a week. She remembered.
She didn’t want to think too much about the flip side: that he wouldn’t have used deadly force unless his own life was in danger.
At first glance, he didn’t seem bothered. But his knuckles were white, as if he gripped his pen too tightly. The set of his shoulders looked almost painful.
“Hannah?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay.”
Maybe she could say it after all.
His eyes widened a little. Just enough that she knew she’d surprised him. His voice softened. “I’m fine.”
“You didn’t tell Mom what happened.” Her mother had seemed startled that Hannah was even questioning her father’s whereabouts.
“I don’t talk about active investigations. You know that.” His voice was automatic. Hannah thought about what Irish had said in the fire truck. He looked up at her. “Did you tell her?”
Hannah shook her head. “No.”
“Good.”
Hannah wet her lips and dropped her voice. “You don’t want her to know?”
“No reason for her to know.”
“Dad. You shot someone.” A pause. “You killed someone.”
“I was there, Hannah.”
A small steel chair sat beside the desk, and she glanced at it. “Can I sit down?”
She honestly expected him to refuse, but after a moment, he slid the paperwork into a file folder and nodded at the chair.
She eased into it, wishing for privacy. This room was too open. Too many people swarmed around. If she said the wrong thing, her father would shut his mouth and order her out of here.
“I’m surprised you’re not in your office,” she said. “I looked there first.”
“I had people to question.”
Hannah hesitated. “You mean Michael?”
She didn’t expect an answer, but he nodded. “And his friend.”
She’d tried to reach Michael, but his phone had gone straight to voice mail, and he hadn’t responded to her text messages. “Did you arrest them?”
“No. They just had to give a statement.” Her father put his pen down, then rubbed his eyes. “We found evidence on the gunman linking him to the fire in the home.”
“And the bombing?”
“I can’t say.”
Which meant yes. Probably.
“What about the other fires?”
“Hannah—”
“No. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She hesitated again.
He studied her. “Why did you come looking for me?”
She gave him a look. “Because you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, took a glance at the screen, and grimaced. “I can’t believe it’s after seven. I missed one from your mother, too.” He centered on Hannah, and his voice turned brusque again. “That doesn’t answer my question. What do you need?”
She blinked. “I don’t need anything.”
“Were you just trying to find out the fate of your boyfriend? I’ve already told you that I’m not going to let personal feelings get in the way of—”
“Dad.” This was so typical. She almost slapped her hand on the desk to get his attention. “I’m not here because of Michael. Is that what you think? That I came here to beg you not to arrest him?”
“I sure hope you’re not here to make your case about being an adult again—”
“I’m not here to argue at all!” She stood up. It was a struggle to keep her voice low. “God, you make it impossible to talk to you.”