Page 6 of Not This Night

She moved around the side of the fence to the wooden gate, and as she did, a glint of ink caught her attention—a sliver of black and blue just beneath Ethan's rolled-up sleeve. A tattoo was out of character for him, the little she knew of his past speaking to a more conservative upbringing. "That new?" she asked, nodding toward his arm.

Ethan glanced down, as if surprised to see his own skin. A sheepishness crept into his expression. "Ah, yeah," he murmured, tugging the fabric down in a swift motion. "Kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Never took you for the type," Rachel said, the corner of her mouth twitching upward ever so slightly. It was as close to a smile as she got on the job—Ethan's discomfort amusing her in a way she wouldn't admit out loud.

"Neither did I," he confessed, scratching at the back of his neck, the picture of unease.

"Doesn't seem like your family's brand of rebellion." Her voice was dry, but her eyes stayed on his face, searching for an explanation he didn't owe her.

Ethan shrugged, a wry tilt to his lips. "Guess we all break the mold eventually."

"Your brother's wedding was this weekend, wasn't it?" she asked, her voice low, almost lost amidst the chatter and radio static as they cross the property

"Yep," Ethan replied, his eyes on the horizon, but a hint of warmth seeping into his tone. "I played best man. Big turnout—almost felt like a precinct gathering."

"Speech go over well?" Rachel kept her eyes forward, watching a deputy string up crime scene tape.

Ethan chuckled, a short burst of sound. "I made this joke about how he finally managed to 'arrest' the love of his life. Got some laughs."

Rachel's eyebrow arched. "Funny," she said flatly, though her lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smirk. "Good to know you've got a fallback career in stand-up."

"Harsh, Rache," he quipped back, but there was no sting in his words. “You hear anything back from Dawes?”

She blinked. "Did I mention that to you?”

“Mhmm. Why? You regretting it?”

“I wasn’t drunk was I?” she said, sarcastically. They both knew this was a rib—she hadn’t touched alcohol in a very long time. For someone with so much self discipline, it annoyed her how little control she had if she started drinking. Having bought herself only a moment with her joke, Rachel cleared her throat and added, “Dawes wants to meet up.”

“Need backup?”

She hesitated. There was a time, not long ago, when she would have ignored the offer. But Ethan… Ethan had been there for her. Was there for her.

She hesitated, studying his face. And then she smiled, a genuine, authentic, meaningful smile.

“That’d be nice,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it. If I go.”

“If? You thinking of bailing?”

Rachel just shrugged, and Ethan knew better than to push the point. But he did reach out, patting her in a comforting gesture on the shoulder.

Silence settled between them for a moment, comfortable and familiar, as they continued their approach.

The paddock gate groaned as it closed behind them of its own accord, the rusted hinges protesting. She stepped along the damper portions of the muddy terrain, her boots sinking slightly into the churned earth, remnants of equine residents long gone. Ethan followed, his eyes scanning the perimeter, alert to every shift in the landscape.

They moved under the shadow of an ancient oak, its branches twisting skyward. Beneath it, the scene unfolded—a discordant blend of nature and human intrusion. The ground was littered with evidence markers, each a mute witness to the chaos that had played out.

Cops milled around, their voices a low hum against the backdrop of the crime scene. Forensic techs were hunched over, collecting samples with meticulous care, while photographers documented every inch of disturbed soil, every broken blade of grass.

"Full house," Ethan observed, gesturing toward the gathering of uniforms and lab coats.

"Murder tends to draw a crowd," Rachel replied, her focus unwavering as she took in the grim tableau before them.

A forensics officer glanced up from his crouched position by a cluster of evidence markers. He nodded at Rachel and Ethan, recognition flashing across his features before he returned to his task.

The air was thick with the scent of turned earth and something else, something metallic and unnerving. She edged closer, her senses sharpening.

The grave itself was shallow, the earth around it packed down with deliberate care. Heather's body lay at its center, arms crossed over her chest in a semblance of peaceful repose. But there was nothing peaceful about this death.

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