A choked sound escaped her. She covered her mouth with her hand, stared at my father as if he were the best and most painful thing she’d ever seen.
His lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “You showed me there’s more. What it’s like to be loved. I’ll always be grateful to you for that.”
She rushed through the front door we’d never closed like she couldn’t get away fast enough. Dad’s shoulders drooped. I looked at the empty space where Mrs. Quinn had just stood, uncertain if I should go after her or stay here.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I hugged him tight, and he held me, his body trembling.
“It was for nothing. All of it,” he mumbled into my hair.
“Maybe not.” I didn’t really believe that, but Patrick had taught me that sometimes brutal honesty wasn’t the best way.
Patrick.
My first instinct had been to call him the second I opened that letter. And then I remembered everything. How he’d shut me out, refused to tell me anything about what happened with that girl. I recognized that reaction because I'd done it myself more times than I wanted to admit.
Hadn’t I just thought Mrs. Quinn needed to give Dad the benefit of the doubt? Yet I hadn’t done the same for Patrick. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I needed him, and he needed me . . . but he wasn’t there for us to tackle it together. I’d have to figure out a way to be strong enough to get us through all our messes. And show him I believed in his innocence.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Patrick
“Hey.”
Trish’s face lit when I made it to the front of her line at the food truck.
I hid my confusion behind a fake smile. I’d wanted something good to eat. Maybe to see a familiar face, but I hadn’t expected her to be happy when I showed up. Especially considering the current press about me.
“Anything good to eat around here?” I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned against the counter.
“I might be able to come up with something.”
She filled a cup with ice and lemonade, passing it to me before even offering. I craned my neck to see past her.
“No news,” I said, my voice low as I pointed my chin toward Cricket.
She gave a swift nod. “What would you like?”
“You pick.” I inspected a container of the lip gloss Baker made. “This stuff just for women?”
Trish tilted her head. “Hmm. I’m not sure pale peach is your color.”
“Ask her if she can make some for guys.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“The Dixons aren’t exactly speaking to me at the moment.” I fiddled with the display, straightening the gloss.
“From what I hear, you aren’t accepting some of their calls.” She gave me a pointed look.
“Lots going on.” The excuse was weak, but the best I had.
“Then you don’t know what their mother did.”
“I thought Mr. Dixon took care of her.”
Trish held up a paper bag. “To go? Or are you eating close by?”
“To go.”
“She sent child protective services to Marlow’s.”
No. No. No.
“When?”
“They haven’t come yet. I think it’s this afternoon—”
“Does Andrew know what time?” I asked, panicked. Trish answered all my questions as well as she could, but it didn’t settle my impatience.
“Yeah. He’s going to be there.”
“Where?”
“Her house.”
I threw a wad of cash in the window. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Give my food to someone.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go over there?” I stopped. Her expression was apologetic. “No doubt Marlow and Blake need you, but”—her cheeks turned pink—“given your situation . . .”
I dropped my chin to my chest. “They might take him because of me.”
I wanted to punch something. Blake needed me, and I couldn’t be there for him.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”
I held up my hand. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Here’s your lunch.” She passed me the paper bag and drifted her gaze past me. “Hello, Timothy. You two have met, right?”
“We have,” I said tightly. The night we’d searched for Trish when—I couldn’t think about that. Yet another terrible situation I’d put someone in. “But I generally try to avoid law enforcement.” I offered a hand to the man in a perfectly starched uniform.
“Whitley.” His grip was firm when we shook.
“I bet you two have lots to talk about. Go sit. I’ll send Cricket out with yours.” She motioned toward a vacant bench.
We both looked at her strangely, but obeyed.
“Mind if I start without you?” I unwrapped my fork and dug in.
“Not at all.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Lot of talk about you down at the station.”
“Lucky me.” I shoveled food in my mouth and prayed he’d stop talking.
“Some people think it’s karma. You’ve gotten a lot of bad guys off.”
I snorted. “So I deserve this shit? Maybe they’re right.” Look at what I’d done to Trish by getting her ex-husband out on bond.
“I’m not supposed to like you, but Trish does, and I value her opinion.”
“My best friend got lucky to have her for a wife.”
“Damn straight.”
“My fan club is almost out of room, so don’t feel obligated to like me.”
He snickered. “Lot of haters from the looks of it.”
Cricket appeared, gave Timothy a wary look, and dropped his food on the bench between us. She scampered away without a word.
“Looks like you’ve got a hater too,” I observed.
His eyes trailed her all the way back to the food truck. “She’s not my only one either.”
For a minute, he didn’t move.
“This one affects you though.”
He shrugged. “You got a lawyer yet?”
“Yeah. I’ve got one.”
“He as good as you?”
“Better.”
“You’re gonna need it.”
I set down my fork. “There’s no evidence.”
“Just witnesses.”
“None of those either. Only people who think they know what they saw.”
He released a long sigh. “They’re coming after you with everything.”
“Why the warning? And how do you know this? You’re NYPD.” I was being charged by the state of Maine . . . where he had zero jurisdiction.
“Because it’s a witch hunt. From what I’ve seen, it
