Page 12 of A River of Crows

“Though little evidence remains, there is hope DNA will be recovered to identify a suspect in this tragic case,” the reporter added.

“What’s he talking about?”

Sloan jumped. “Geez, Mom. When did you come in?”

“Just now, through the back,” Caroline said.

Sloan glanced at her watch. “It’s already eight.”

“Well, excuse me, warden. I was at the creek visiting my crows.” Caroline flopped down on the couch beside Sloan. “Whatcha watching?”

“Do you remember Logan Pruitt? The boy from Longview that went missing?”

“Yeah. Awful story.”

“They found his remains. In Jefferson.” Sloan grabbed the remote and muted the TV. “Anytime I see a story about remains being found, I always think of Ridge.” Sloan avoided her mom’s eyes. “I mean, I know it’s crazy. He was washed out to the gulf, but still.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Caroline asked.

“Since they found no remains, it’s just hard. No closure or whatever.”

“There aren't remains.” Caroline’s tone was sharp. “Ridge is alive.”

Sloan’s stomach hardened. “No, Mom, he’s not. Dad . . .” Sloan could never bring herself to put the blame on who she knew deserved it. “Ridge is gone.”

“Then who was I talking to at the creek?”

Sloan rubbed her forehead. “That’s not funny, Mom.”

“I’m not making a joke. I was talking to Ridge.”

Sloan jumped from the couch. “Stop, Mom. Enough with the games. Ridge is dead.”

Caroline squinted like she couldn’t make sense of Sloan’s words. “Your brother is alive. He's always been alive.”

Sloan sat outside the police station for thirty minutes before going in. She couldn't avoid Noah forever. And while she was picking at scabs, she might as well tear off this one.

“Good morning!” She tried to make her voice sound chipper as she approached the front desk, but she could never get chipper quite right. “Is Detective Dawson in?”

“Do you have an appointment?” The woman behind the desk didn't look up from her magazine.

“No. I'm an old friend and—”

“Sloan?”

She turned, and there he was. Being this close to Noah Dawson still caused a physical reaction in Sloan, like they were high school kids passing in the hallway, biding their time until they could sneak away to make out in the parking lot.

His cologne smelled earthy, like burning pinecones. He and Sloan had tossed them into the fires they built those late nights at Crow’s Nest Creek.

“Hey, Noah.” Sloan wondered if she should hug him. Shake his hand? Run out the door and never look back?

“Sloan. Wow.” He looked at her like he’d seen a ghost. She supposed to Noah that’s exactly what she was. “Umm, welcome home.” He patted her back, then looked around to ensure no one had seen her. “Did you need something or—?”

“Yeah.” Sloan tensed her shoulders. “Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always,” he said. “Follow me.”

Doors buzzed, keys jingled, keyboards clacked, and police radios squawked as Sloan walked down the hallway to Noah’s office. She kept her head down. The fewer people that recognized her, the better.

---