The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped the file on his desk. His sour gut turned downright toxic as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to explain all of this to Charlotte. Break her heart all over again. Fuck. Why the hell had he told her before he had been positive?

Oh, right. Because he’d been so damn hopeful that it was finally over for all of them.

Himself included.

Tom knew he was a good cop. But he was too close to this investigation. He should have passed it off years earlier, when he and Charlotte had started getting close, but he hadn’t trusted anyone not to file it away as a cold case. He’d sworn to himself that he could stay objective. Look at the facts and not allow his emotions to rule his decisions.

Clearly, he had failed.

“You got anything else for me?” Tom asked through his frustration.

“Actually, I was just getting started,” Charlie replied downright cheerfully.

Tom gave him his gaze back and scowled again.

“Whoever this little boy is, dental suggests he was around twelve to sixteen months old when he passed away. But, for that to be interesting, I should have started with the fact that we got a set of prints. A woman.” He swayed his head from side to side. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet that DNA belongs to her.”

Finally, good news. Really good fucking news, Tom thought as he blew out a heavy breath and settled behind his computer, barking, “Who?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Simmer down. Let me get to why it’s interesting.”

“Don’t fucking—”

“She’s dead.” Charlie spoke over him. “Killed herself a few years ago. Drove herself into the river with her kids in the car.” He paused. “Her son. Her only son got out alive.”

Tom’s whole body locked up. “So, if we got her only son in the morgue, who the fuck was the kid in that car?”

Charlie leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees, and whispered, “I’m guessing Lucas Boyd.” He picked the file up and flipped it open. “I vote we pay a little visit to the kid’s dad.” He scanned the page with his finger then glanced back up. “Porter Reese.”

And, with those two simple words, Tom exploded from his chair.





* * *





My eyes hurt.

My face hurt.

My lungs hurt.

My body hurt.

My brain hurt.

But my heart… It continued to beat in my chest.

Lucas was dead.

And I had to keep living.

Tipping my head back, I caught Porter’s blue gaze and whispered, “I think I’m done.”

His response was to dip low and kiss me, sad and slow. “How do you feel?” he asked as he pulled away.

“Like shit.”

“Is it wrong if I say good?”

I shook my head. “I guess I actually was having a nervous breakdown.”

“I think you were more than entitled.”

I nodded and looked out at the river. “I’m glad you didn’t get eaten by an alligator during yours.”

Porter chuckled and pulled me against him so he could kiss my temple. “So, what now?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Now, we go home and, I guess, plan a funeral for my baby.”

His face turned pensive. “I want to be there for you, Charlotte, but I know this is personal. So you have to tell me what you need.”

Pushing to my feet, I dusted the back of my jeans off. “I need a glass of wine. I need to call Brady. And then I need to figure out how to move forward with my life. And I want you there for all of that. However, I know you need some dry clothes and to go home to your kids.”

“Charlotte,” he whispered in apology, rising beside me to his full height.

“It’s okay. And that’s not me pretending.” I took his hand and intertwined our fingers, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t I drop you off now? Go home. Start on all of that crap—”

He tugged on my hand. “I don’t think you need to be alone.”

I stared at him impatiently. “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say start on all of that crap and then come back to your house for that glass of wine tonight after your kids go to bed.”

His eyes flared, but a classic Porter Reese smile split his face. “I approve of this plan.”

“Good. Now, get naked.”

His chin jerked to the side. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I said get naked. There is no way you are getting inside Betty White with wet clothes.”

“I’m almost dry!” he defended.

I smiled—on the day when it should have been impossible. But such was life with Porter.

“Then you can almost ride in my car.”

He groaned.

Minutes later, I laughed as he dug through my trunk, looking for the roll of paper towels that I’d told him were back there.

And then, ten minutes later, after he’d wrapped my driver’s seat up like a mummy, we both climbed inside and headed toward his house, leaving a mountain of guilt on the side of that Georgia road.

As Porter drove to his house, I looked at my phone. Two missed calls from Tom. Two from my mom. None from Brady. Assuming he already knew, I didn’t find this surprising. I made a mental note to text Mom when I was on my way home. She’d pass the info on to Tom.

Porter and I rode in silence. All the words had already been spoken. Well, all except the three that screamed inside my heart. But that wasn’t the day for professions of love.

The sun was just starting to go down. Those words could wait for another sunrise.

And, for the first time in ten years, I had hope that there would be a lot of sunrises in my future.

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” Porter asked when he turned into an upper-middle-class subdivision.

I leaned forward and stared out the windshield as rows of tall houses started to appear in front of us. They weren’t huge like his brother’s plantation home, but they were definitely nice. Plush, green grass covered the front yards while tall, dark privacy fences lined the backs. And, from the basketball hoops to the minivans, the place screamed family.

My stomach fluttered, but I didn’t allow the panic to set in. This was where Porter lived. There was nothing scary about that.

“Um…what time do your kids go to sleep?” I asked.

“Usually nine, but my mom probably let them stay up until midnight last night, so they probably—” He abruptly stopped talking at the same time his eyes narrowed on something in front of him. “What the fuck?”

I followed his gaze. Two police cars were parked in front of a redbrick two-story just around the bend.

“Is that your house?”

Porter didn’t reply as he punched the gas, not slowing until the bottom of my car scraped the bump on his driveway. I cringed at the sound.

He didn’t bother cutting the engine before he was out of the car and racing up the sidewalk.

Confused, I stared at his back.

And then the confusion got a whole hell of a lot worse when Tom emerged from inside of his house, a murderous glare contorting his face. His hand shot out and fisted the front of Porter’s shirt as he shoved him against the brick wall beside the door.

What the hell?

Slinging my door open, I jumped from the car. “Tom!” I yelled, storming up to the porch.

His irate eyes never lifted to mine as he snatched a pair of cuffs from beneath his blazer.