Will caught his drift.
“Anyway.” Nick popped the ring on the can.
Sprite gushed up like Old Faithful.
“Shit!” Nick stepped back, but not quickly enough to dodge the spray. His jeans were soaked through at the crotch. Some had even sprinkled into his beard. “Shit.”
Will reached over for some paper towels.
Nick glared up at him, calculating.
Will calculated back.
There were the obvious numbers: Nick was fifteen years older and thirty pounds lighter, not to mention at least a foot shorter. Then, there were the variables: They worked together. The Sara factor. They had kept up this charade for so long that breaking it would be admitting that the game was being played in the first place.
“Boys?” Amanda had quietly appeared in the kitchen.
Nick chucked the Sprite can into the garbage on his way out the door.
Amanda raised an eyebrow at Will. “Why can’t I see your phone?”
Will had forgotten about turning off his phone. He held it up so Amanda could see.
“How many lines are you going to cross this morning?”
“Two.” He indicated the suit he’d changed into. “The first one has been rectified.”
Amanda frowned, but let it go. “Catch me up on this interminable holding pattern we’re all stuck in.”
Will heard his inner Faith pointing out that there were steps that would take them out of the holding pattern, such as talking to several different police jurisdictions about a serial killer, but he was not Faith and he had tripped over enough lines already.
He said, “We’re still waiting for Dirk Masterson’s ISP to process the subpoena. Faith’s been working through Gerald Caterino’s murder closet. I put out a state-wide APB for any missing women or women who’ve reported that they’re being stalked. Then I followed up on our other open cases.”
“Ah, actual police work,” Amanda said. “Bullet points?”
Will gave her the rundown. An arson investigation in Chattooga was about to lead to an arrest. A lie-detector exam had been scheduled for a suspect in a string of Muscogee liquor store robberies. He’d sent a sketch artist to Forsyth to talk to the possible victim of a serial rapist. The Treutlen County sheriff’s office was sending a deputy with some saliva samples to process.
“Good. I want you to email your reports to Caroline. I’ve got a busy day. She’s handling my workload.”
Caroline was Amanda’s assistant, a patient woman who was impervious to shaming. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Sara’s on her way to Grant County. The coroner gave her the key to his storage facility. I told her to call me when she has the tox screen.”
Will tried to act like he hadn’t just been punched in the face. He did not want Sara in Grant County right now, which was the kind of thought an overbearing, controlling boyfriend would have.
Amanda looked at her watch. “I’ve got Caroline working on getting Shay Van Dorne’s parents here. Hopefully, Sara will be back in time. I want this Dirk Masterson thing sorted ASAP. Make a call to the ISP. Tell them to put their skates on.”
“Do you think Masterson knows something?”
“I think I’m the boss and you do what I tell you to do.”
Will couldn’t argue with that logic. He took his sticky bun with him as he left the kitchen. He powered on his phone. It had been a dick move to hide his whereabouts from Sara. Then again, he was the one who’d set up the Find My app on her phone. He doubted she had ever even opened it.
He tapped through to her location. She was already in Grant County. Mercer Avenue. The blue pin indicated she was inside a place called the U-Store. He zoomed out the map. He toggled it into satellite mode. It looked like she was across from a rolling pasture.
With tombstones.
“Fuck me.”
No amount of eggplants and cowgirls could make this better. Will stuck the phone back in his pocket. He knocked on Faith’s door as he opened it.
She was sitting at her desk injecting herself with insulin.
Will started to back out, but she waved for him to sit, then pointed to her phone, which was on speaker.
“Sweetheart.” Faith rolled down her shirt and disposed of the insulin pen. “I can’t solve this for you. You need to talk to her in person, not on the phone, and figure it out.”
Will recognized Faith’s tone, which had the mixture of undying love and mild irritation that she only used with her children.
“Come on, Mom,” Jeremy begged. “You told me that I can always come to you for help. This is me coming to you for your help.”
Faith laughed. “Good try, sport, but if you think I’m going to jeopardize a relationship that saves me twenty-four thousand dollars a year in childcare, then you don’t know your mother.”
His groan sounded identical to Faith’s. “I’ll bring my laundry this weekend.”
“Bring detergent, because you’re doing it yourself.” Faith tapped her phone. She told Will, “Jeremy is pissed off at my mother. I’m trying to let this be a teaching moment.”
Will saw an opportunity. “Maybe your mom should give him some, uh, space? You know, to work through how he feels?”
Faith stared at him. “Blink once if the kidnappers can hear us.”
Will cleared his throat. He was in this now. “It’s just—so he’s hurt, right? But he probably needs time to let it go, so she should back off. And then he can tell her it’s okay, like, in a few hours? Or days, maybe? Would it be days?”
“Days seems like a long time.”
“So, hours?” he asked. “How many hours?”
“Twelve?” She saw his face. “No, three.”
Will peeled the plastic wrap off his sticky bun and took in a mouthful.
“I’m sorry.” Faith sounded genuinely disappointed with herself. “My son is fighting with my mother. I promised my daughter I would introduce her to Detective Pikachu if she let me pee in privacy. I did the motherlode cheat because that’s the only way I can give my Sims the life they deserve. Am I really the best person to ask about being an emotionally healthy adult?”
Will studied the
