He’s wearing sweats and a black T-shirt, but his car is in my drive, so I know he didn’t run here.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Got a minute?” he asks.
“Sure. I’m in my office. Come in.” I let him through and walk back into my office.
“Drake here?”
“Nope.” I point to the plush armchair in the corner next to case of guilty-pleasure, sexy books.
Drake teased me the first time he realized what they were, but he soon stopped when I forced him to read a hot chapter and he realized they’re beneficial for him too.
“Does he need to be?” I ask.
“Not really.” Jason sits on the chair, filling it with his large frame.
And hey! He’s holding a bag. I didn’t notice that before. For an investigator, my skills of observation could use some work.
“I have something for you.”
I stare at the black rucksack. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
He chuckles deeply and unzips the bag. “Some case notes on Daniela Russo’s disappearance. You know the family pressured HWPD and us into reopening the case and now appear to have tempted fate. I spoke to Trent this afternoon, and he said the mom hired you to do it and Bates has you working with the HWPD.”
I shrug. “There’s not much point working separately. Besides, I find out a lot of information simply because I’m not a cop. People trust me more.”
“And you obtain a lot of said information by illegal means.”
“Hey. You didn’t complain when it solved your case.”
He holds a hand up. “Not complaining, darlin’. Here.” He hands me several sheets of paper stapled together. “Keep this between us and Drake. If anyone found out I’ve given you anything at all, my ass is on the fucking line.”
I mime zipping my lips. “Is this really info from the original investigation? I’ve been scouring old missing persons archives all day. You wouldn’t believe the amount of shit that’s on the Internet. It’s literally its own universe.”
“I can imagine.” His twinkling eyes tell me that he thinks I’m cute.
I just about resist the urge to beat his ass with my lamp.
“There’s a lot of gossip in the media articles,” he says. “Comparing actual notes with it should probably weed it out.”
I grab another piece of garlic bread and scan down the first page. “Did you know that her parents almost got divorced around the time she disappeared?”
Jason frowns, his brown-blond eyebrows drawing together. “I just read the notes again this morning. They said they were having problems but nothing serious.”
“Well, numerous papers”—I point to the ones scattered across my desk—“quote sources ‘close to the family’ as saying they were even separated and about to divorce.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he mutters.
He’s not wrong. If those sources are correct, why wouldn’t they have just been honest? Parents’ breaking up isn’t exactly an out-there reason for teens to run away. It’s a scary prospect. I know I’d be terrified and want to run away if my parents broke up and I’ll be thirty this year, for the love of god.
“It’s probably one of those things where the severity of the situation eclipsed any of the problems they were having,” I reason, flicking through another couple of pages. “They probably realized they needed to be there for their kids more than they needed to break up.”
The realization obviously worked—fifteen years later, they’re still together, even though their kids are old, grown, and, for the most part, moved out.
“You’re probably right. I gotta go—I just wanted to bring these over to see if your magical brain could do anything with them.”
My lips form a wide smile. “Magical brain. I like that.”
“Here we go.” He rolls his eyes as he gets up. “I’m swinging by the station on the way home. Want me to pass a message on to Drake?”
“Yes. Please. Tell him to let me know if he’s coming home soon or if I can heat the rest of the ravioli Nonna
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Got a minute?” he asks.
“Sure. I’m in my office. Come in.” I let him through and walk back into my office.
“Drake here?”
“Nope.” I point to the plush armchair in the corner next to case of guilty-pleasure, sexy books.
Drake teased me the first time he realized what they were, but he soon stopped when I forced him to read a hot chapter and he realized they’re beneficial for him too.
“Does he need to be?” I ask.
“Not really.” Jason sits on the chair, filling it with his large frame.
And hey! He’s holding a bag. I didn’t notice that before. For an investigator, my skills of observation could use some work.
“I have something for you.”
I stare at the black rucksack. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
He chuckles deeply and unzips the bag. “Some case notes on Daniela Russo’s disappearance. You know the family pressured HWPD and us into reopening the case and now appear to have tempted fate. I spoke to Trent this afternoon, and he said the mom hired you to do it and Bates has you working with the HWPD.”
I shrug. “There’s not much point working separately. Besides, I find out a lot of information simply because I’m not a cop. People trust me more.”
“And you obtain a lot of said information by illegal means.”
“Hey. You didn’t complain when it solved your case.”
He holds a hand up. “Not complaining, darlin’. Here.” He hands me several sheets of paper stapled together. “Keep this between us and Drake. If anyone found out I’ve given you anything at all, my ass is on the fucking line.”
I mime zipping my lips. “Is this really info from the original investigation? I’ve been scouring old missing persons archives all day. You wouldn’t believe the amount of shit that’s on the Internet. It’s literally its own universe.”
“I can imagine.” His twinkling eyes tell me that he thinks I’m cute.
I just about resist the urge to beat his ass with my lamp.
“There’s a lot of gossip in the media articles,” he says. “Comparing actual notes with it should probably weed it out.”
I grab another piece of garlic bread and scan down the first page. “Did you know that her parents almost got divorced around the time she disappeared?”
Jason frowns, his brown-blond eyebrows drawing together. “I just read the notes again this morning. They said they were having problems but nothing serious.”
“Well, numerous papers”—I point to the ones scattered across my desk—“quote sources ‘close to the family’ as saying they were even separated and about to divorce.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he mutters.
He’s not wrong. If those sources are correct, why wouldn’t they have just been honest? Parents’ breaking up isn’t exactly an out-there reason for teens to run away. It’s a scary prospect. I know I’d be terrified and want to run away if my parents broke up and I’ll be thirty this year, for the love of god.
“It’s probably one of those things where the severity of the situation eclipsed any of the problems they were having,” I reason, flicking through another couple of pages. “They probably realized they needed to be there for their kids more than they needed to break up.”
The realization obviously worked—fifteen years later, they’re still together, even though their kids are old, grown, and, for the most part, moved out.
“You’re probably right. I gotta go—I just wanted to bring these over to see if your magical brain could do anything with them.”
My lips form a wide smile. “Magical brain. I like that.”
“Here we go.” He rolls his eyes as he gets up. “I’m swinging by the station on the way home. Want me to pass a message on to Drake?”
“Yes. Please. Tell him to let me know if he’s coming home soon or if I can heat the rest of the ravioli Nonna
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