Page 45 of Bad Blood

I press my lips into a thin line. “Yeah. Why?”

“And?”

“And what? We rode to the garage together last night. So what? I grabbed a couple of things from my truck, and her truck was still here when I came back upstairs.” I leave out that she never went to her truck but headed to the opposite side of the parking garage.

A couple of awkward seconds pass. I huff out my annoyance, trying to get him to get on with it, but he’s oblivious. This can’t be why he wanted to see me. He mentioned my files. A part of me wishes he’d get on with it, but I don’t want to shine a light on my predicament and get in trouble.

“Did she say what she was doing last night?” he asks, still not making eye contact.

I shake my head. “No, why?”

“Hmmm.” He pulls out a chair and drops into it, running a hand over his scruff.

There’s a certain amount of Kline I will put up with, but he’s getting on my nerves. I go to speak when he pushes out from the desk to stand.

“Are you sure?”

“She mentioned a run at the park. That’s it.” Realization hits me like a freight train. I cover my mouth with my hands. “You two were supposed to meet.”

He swallows and runs a hand over his hair, closing his eyes. It’s all the confirmation I need.

“She didn’t say anything else?” His bruised ego shines through his eyes. I should have known what he was hinting at. He’s been dating a lot since his separation from Margo, but I hadn’t put two-and-two together.

“You had plans?”

He averts his gaze as he stands from his chair and stops in the doorway. “No.” He shakes his head. “Not to meet.”

“For what?”

His head drops, and he kicks at something on the linoleum. “We Facetime.” He glances up at me.

“You what?” I can only imagine the expression he sees on my face.

“Facetime, you know—” He holds up his phone and turns it in my direction.

I hold up a hand in disgust. “You don’t need to mansplain for me. I know what Facetiming is.” Goosebumps spread over my arms. Gross. “Did you tell the detectives?”

He shakes his head.

“Why the hell not?” My shock has me glued in place. I try to fight it, but my mouth falls open of its own accord. “Didn’t you get worried when she didn’t show up for your Facetime?” I use air quotes around the last word.

“It’s not relevant,” he says with a sigh.

“How do you figure?” I fight to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “She is dead, Kline. Dead. You don’t think they’d want to know she was supposed to Facetime you and never showed?” How could he rationalize keeping vital information from the detectives?

“You’re right. They need to know. Maybe it’ll help with the timing of what happened.” He hangs his head and stares into the hallway.

After careful consideration, I attempt to cover the notepad I scribbled on before I fell asleep last night without getting noticed and grab some files to cover it. My illegible scrawl fills an entire page. Nelson and stairs. Over and over. Along with question marks and thoughts. Most of it doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want Kline to see it.

He glances up, looking at the folders I have held in midair. “We don’t usually keep those.”

“The files?” The freaking cabinet squeak had to give me away. But I’m thankful for the change of topic.

“Those kinds of cases.”

“The kind where we help people survive cancer?” I try to keep the condescension out of my voice, but I have too much going on to care.

Kline returns to the chair in front of my desk and shuffles through the files in my inbox. He grabs one and holds it in front of my face, but I can’t see the name on the chart. “He’s nineteen.” The file drops on my desk with a slapping noise, and I flinch. His jaw ticks.

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