Today’s choices were blueberry scones and chocolate croissants. Partially because Vance loved them. Partially because the dark, almost black chocolate suited my mood.
With the baking and breakfast prep finished, I went about my normal tasks to open the shop. I made lattes and cappuccinos for the regular customers who came in each morning. I warmed breakfast burritos and served yogurt parfaits. I dished cinnamon rolls and wild huckleberry muffins, all with an unwavering smile.
I’d just finished wiping down a table when Winn walked in.
She was dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a white button-down shirt. She had on a black blazer today, its length mostly concealing her badge and gun.
“Hi.” I gave her a quick hug before I went behind the counter, making her a latte. “Want breakfast?”
“Pops said you had chocolate croissants.”
“I do.” I laughed.
Winn’s grandfather was the reason I had to save three croissants for Vance in the back. Covie would tell anyone he saw today that I had croissants. He was retired now, but when he’d been the mayor, I’d have sold out within an hour. Today, they might last until noon.
“I’m also here on official business,” Winn said as I handed over her coffee and pastry.
I swallowed a groan. “Okay?”
“Can we talk in the kitchen?”
“Um, sure.” I scanned the space, making sure the few people at tables were taken care of for now, then headed for the back. “What’s up?”
“When I got to the station this morning, I had a message from an FBI agent. He was returning a call I made last week.”
My pulse quickened. Was it a good thing for Vance if the FBI was now involved? Or a bad thing? “Okay,” I drawled.
“The agent I spoke to is assigned the Cormac Gallagher case. I told him about you and that I have reason to believe Cormac is who attacked you.”
“And did you tell him about Vance?”
“No.” Winn shook her head. “Vance has enough problems with his superiors since the shooting. I didn’t want him to catch any flack for being here. As far as I’m concerned, he’s in Montana on vacation and doing a lot of hiking.”
Shooting. What shooting? What was Winn talking about? Vance hadn’t mentioned a shooting.
“I’ll call Vance later,” Winn said, sipping her coffee. “I assume he’s out in the mountains today.”
I managed a nod, still trying to slow my mind from spinning. What shooting?
“I called the FBI because it’s their case. If this really is Cormac Gallagher, then it’s federal. They have jurisdiction.”
“So does that mean they’re coming here?”
“No.” She shook her head. “The agent assured me that if it was Cormac—I’m not sure he actually believed me—he’d be long gone from Quincy by now. That without a trail or lead, there’d be nothing to find. The agent was, um . . . not exactly happy that I hadn’t notified them immediately after the incident at the river.”
I scoffed. “We didn’t even know who he was at that point. We might never have known if not for Vance.”
“Well, the agent made it clear that the reason Cormac was still at-large was because of me and the shortcomings of the local authorities.”
“That’s not fair.”
Her shoulders fell. “Maybe. But I’m sorry we didn’t find him.”
“It’s not your fault. You tried.”
“Maybe we should have tried harder.”
“Even then. I don’t think it would have mattered.” It was the harsh reality I didn’t want to face.
Cormac was gone.
He’d left this area after the river, taking with him not only my chance for justice, but Vance’s chance for closure.
“He’s gone, isn’t he? Cormac?” I couldn’t ask Vance. I wouldn’t make him answer.
“Most likely.”
“Is that why you let Vance keep searching?”
“Yes and no. Given his experience, if there was something to find, he would have been the one to find it. But I also think he needed this search to take his mind off everything else.”
The shooting?
“After something so awful, sometimes, you just need to remember why you’re a cop.” Winn’s gaze was unfocused as she stared at an invisible spot on the floor. “To do something good. I wasn’t going to take that from him.”
For that, I would always be grateful. “I love you, Winn.”
“I love you, Lyla.” Her eyes softened. “You’re falling for Vance, aren’t you?”
There was no point in lying, but I was going to dodge. “He’s leaving.”
Maybe another friend, another sister, would have urged me to ask him to stay. Maybe suggested we try long distance. But Winn simply gave me a hug, whispering, “I’m sorry,” before she slipped out of the kitchen and returned to work at the station.
The moment she was gone, I took my phone from my pocket and typed in a search.
vance sutter shooting
But before I could add idaho to the criteria, my fingers stopped. I stared at the screen for a long moment, then deleted everything and returned the phone to my jeans.
There was a reason Vance changed the subject so often. There was a reason he’d avoided telling me about his job or his family.
He didn’t want me to know.
I wasn’t his girlfriend.
I was simply his escape.
Why was I always the person in a relationship who fell too far? Who cared too much? Who forgot the rules?
Who let her heart lead the way?
I didn’t regret it. Not a minute. Not with Vance.
Maybe that would come, after he left Quincy. But for today, if he needed an escape, I’d be that refuge. So I squared my shoulders, shoved my curiosity down deep and returned to the counter to smile and serve my customers.
Vance came in around four, dressed like he was most days in Carhartt pants and a long-sleeved thermal layered beneath that thick flannel coat. Both his beanie and gloves were stuffed in the coat’s pockets.
What kind of clothes did he wear in the summers? During his next trip to the barber, how short would he cut his hair? Besides fuck a woman senseless, what did he do for fun?
What shooting?
Questions I didn’t ask.
“Hey, Blue.”
“Hi.” Did all his lovers get nicknames? Or just me? “Did you talk to Winn?”
He sighed. “Yeah. Got her message. Called her on the drive back. Can’t say I’m surprised or disappointed. It’s better this way.”
“How was it? Find anything?”
“Cold. And no.”
No. He used to say not yet.
I swallowed my disappointment. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. That would be great.”
“I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks.” He dipped his chin, then turned, heading for his regular seat.
That chair was his. The table too, but mostly that chair. For the rest of my days, I wouldn’t be able to look in that corner and not think of Vance.
Would he remember me too?
Of all the questions floating in my head, that one terrified me the most. So instead of wondering, I filled a cup of coffee. I plated a chocolate croissant.
And when I took them both to Vance, I reminded myself of the simple truth.
He was all but gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VANCE
I wasn’t the type of man who got lost. North. South. East. West. My internal compass had always read true.
But damn if I couldn’t let myself get lost in Montana.
As I stood on top of a rock outcropping, the view in front of me was nothing less than magnificent. Far in the distance was an indigo mountain range. Between us, the foothills were a spectacular mix of greens and golds. Snow dusted the treetops a sparkling white. Miles away, the river meandered through the valley, cutting its winding path through the landscape.
I filled my lungs with the cold, fresh air, holding it until it burned. Until it chased away any doubt.
This was it.
The last day.
Beneath the tree trunks, three inches of snow blanketed needles and fallen leaves. It was different than last weekend’s snow. It was here to stay. Even if the weather warmed in town, the temperatures wouldn’t change much out here. The flakes that had fallen last night were here until spring. They were here to stay.
There’d be no hiding my presence anymore. There’d be no covering my tracks. If Cormac was out here, he’d likely know about me long before I knew about him.
And if I was being honest with myself, there was probably nothing to find.
There’d probably been nothing to find all month.
I’d only scoured a fraction of these mountains. The area was so vast, so untamed, I could have spent a year searching and still missed Cormac. It was time to face the truth.
He wins. He’d beaten me, time after time.
It burned. It fucking burned. The leather of my gloves squeaked as my hands balled into tight fists. Admitting defeat wasn’t in my nature, but goddamn, he’d beaten me.
It was a strange mix of emotions, the frustration that came with even thinking Cormac’s name and the way I felt so at peace staring out at the Montana landscape. In the end, the rage won.
“Fuck you, Cormac.” The words vanished on a breeze.
With them, justice. With them, resolution. With them, hope.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
He wins.
“I’m sorry, Norah. Goddamn it, I’m sorry, girls.”