Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

They’re shutting me out. Cutting me off. Letting me know in no uncertain terms that I’m not needed. I’m not part of the team. This isn’t my gig.

The door swings open. I glance over my shoulder to see a grim-faced Sheriff Mike Rasmussen come through, a folded newspaper in his hand. I’ve known Mike for about three years now. He’s a solid cop and an apolitical sheriff with a laid-back personality, a wicked sense of humor, and truckloads of good judgment. There was a time—before he knew that Tomasetti and I were together—when he wanted to be more than professional counterparts. I consider him a friend and I know I can count on him to give it to me straight—even if he knows it’s something I don’t want to hear.

“You look like someone just shot your dog,” Crowder tells him.

Rasmussen ignores him; his eyes are fastened to mine. In their depths I see an unsettling combination of discomfort and irritation. His mouth is pulled into a thin, hard line. He thrusts the newspaper at me. “You seen this?”

Perplexed, I take the paper, unfold it. The floor tilts beneath my feet when I see the front page. For an instant, I can’t believe my eyes. It’s a color photo of me standing in the doorway of the Beachy farmhouse. King is leaning in to me, too close, his mouth a scant inch from mine. The headline reads SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY.

My heart does a sickening roll and begins to pound. I can’t look away from the photo. It’s damning. Easily misconstrued. I’m aware that everyone is staring at me.

“I didn’t want to spring this on you like this,” Rasmussen tells me. “But it’s out. I thought you should know.”

I hear Rasmussen’s voice as if from a great distance. I’m aware of the blood rushing to my face, heat on my cheeks, that I’ve gone breathless.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say.

Ryan approaches, his eyes on the newspaper. Something sinks inside me when Rasmussen hands him another copy. “I bought up all the newspaper in the machine outside the diner. But there’s no stopping it. It looks bad, Kate, and we’re probably going to have to deal with some kind of fallout.”

Ryan actually recoils when he sees the photo. He blinks twice and then his eyes find mine. “You didn’t tell us King made … inappropriate advances toward you.”

“He didn’t. Not really.” I flick my finger against the photo, refold the newspaper, and lower it to my side. “That’s not what it looks like.” I add a good bit of attitude to my voice, but the fact that I’m being forced to defend myself belies the bravado.

Ryan scrapes his hand over his hair, but he’s still looking at the photo. “All right.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

“That photo is extremely misleading,” I say, struggling to keep my cool.

Crowder laughs outright when he sees the photo. “For God’s sake!”

I look at him, saying nothing. But I know he’s not going to remain silent.

“Looks pretty damn cozy to me,” Crowder mutters.

There’s nothing I can say that will explain or excuse the photo. If I remain silent, I risk my counterparts filling in the blanks with speculation. No matter what I say, the words will be the wrong ones.

“As you can imagine, the situation was intense inside the farmhouse,” I say. “King and I grew up together. When I left, he moved to embrace me. It wasn’t appropriate so I stopped it.” I motion toward the newspaper. “That photo was shot in that instant before I turned away from him.”

“I believe you, of course.” Ryan says the words a little too quickly, his eyes flicking to Rasmussen; he isn’t sure what to think. What to say. “No one is questioning your conduct.”

Crowder laughs. “The media are going to have a field day with that.”

Rasmussen takes the newspaper from Ryan’s hands. “If you have nothing productive to add, Crowder, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. That kind of commentary isn’t helping.”

Crowder doesn’t take it personally. Shaking his head, he walks back to the table and reclaims his chair.

Rasmussen slants a look at Ryan. “Is this going to be a problem? I mean PR-wise?”

“It doesn’t look good.” Ryan shrugs.

Scanlon finally speaks. “I don’t want King to see that.”

“No reason why he could,” Rasmussen says. “Unless he’s in there, Googling himself.”

“I’m assuming the newspaper is online, too,” Ryan growls.

“Checking now.” Rasmussen thumbs the Web-site address into his phone and utters a curse. “Yup.”

“Circulation can’t be much,” Scanlon says.

“People are still going to notice,” Rasmussen puts in. “Especially if it gets picked up by a larger outlet…”

Though I did nothing wrong, something akin to shame slinks through me. The hard truth is that I’ve compromised the credibility of the operation. I look at the men, hating the way their eyes slide away. Suddenly I’ve become one of those female cops. The ones who aren’t respected. Who aren’t to be trusted. The ones who aren’t part of the team.

“Look, we’re all on the same page here,” Ryan says diplomatically. “The photo looks bad. It’s going to be misunderstood. We’re going to be criticized. People are going to talk. If there’s even a hint of impropriety or misconduct, things could get complicated. I mean, legally, but—”

“Could get dicey if we have to take this guy out.” Crowder watches me, hoping I’ll bite, waiting for a reaction.

I don’t give it to him.

Rasmussen passes me the newspaper. “I don’t think there’s any way we can work this to our advantage.”

No one responds. No one looks at me. No one knows what to say. What can they say?

“Kate, look, you’ve been the consummate professional through all this and everyone knows it,” Ryan tells me. “You’ve been a tremendous help and I mean it. But that photo is going to undoubtedly complicate an already complicated situation. Look, no reflection on the good work you’ve done here and the hours and energy you’ve put into this thing. But this might be a good time for you to take a step back.”

He phrased it as if I have a say in the matter, but of course I don’t. I’m poison and I’m being told to butt out. Stay away from the case. Stay away from King.

Rasmussen finally makes eye contact with me. “I’ll keep you posted on how things are going.”

“I appreciate that.” I look at Ryan, but he’s already turned away. I want to shout at them that I didn’t do anything wrong. There was no misconduct on my part. But I know there are times when perceptions outweigh facts, and this is a prime example.

I stand there another minute, watching the men work. But I’ve been effectively dismissed. It rankles. They’re treating me as if I crossed some invisible line. As if I did something unscrupulous. I think about Tomasetti and how he might see this, and another layer of misery washes over me.

Ryan looks away from his phone call and makes eye contact with me. “We’ll give you a call if we need you again, Chief Burkholder.” His gaze slips to the door and back to me. “Thanks again for everything.”