Page 8 of Tactical Revival

Even the slightest of details can lead to a break in the case.

Once, a single hair clip abandoned on the sidewalk led us to a woman who’d been missing for three days. And we would likely never have found her if not for the fingerprints on it.

So, as I walk, I look for Kleo Finch’s ‘hair clip.’

The sidewalk is relatively trim as I keep walking, the grass clipped short on either side of it. The road isn’t super busy, though enough so that if she were attacked in broad daylight, the likelihood of someone driving by and seeing the incident is high.

However, it wasn’t broad daylight when she attacked. It was five in the morning, and I doubt there were many people out on the road then. No one to witness an abduction. That familiar dread coils in my belly.

I monitor the sidewalk for any scuff marks or anything that might allude to a struggle while also keeping an eye on the houses. If anyone had been out this morning, maybe they saw something.

Definitely worth knocking on doors as I make my way back to the Finches’ home.

My phone rings, so I dig it out of my pocket and check the readout. I don’t recognize the number, but it could be Lance or Michael calling me from the Finches’ for whatever reason, so I press it to my ear. “Payne,” I answer.

“It’s about time.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and my stomach churns at the mere sound of her voice. “Rosalie.”

“So you do remember me. Here I thought that time in the hospital gave you amnesia.”

“What do you want?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and stop walking, knowing that if I continue, I won’t be paying near the attention I need to be.

“I want to talk to you. It’s all I’ve been trying to do for weeks now.”

“And I told you the last time we spoke that I had nothing else to say.”

“Jax,” she starts.

“No, Rosalie. I am working, and this is hardly the time.”

“Listen—” She sighs into the phone. “I want to see you so we can clear the air. I know you’re in Maine now, and I’m actually headed to New York in a couple of days for a conference. Can we meet up? I can come to you. See where you’re?—”

“No. There’s nothing to clear.”

“There is for me.”

“There’s not for me,” I repeat. “Goodbye, Rosalie.” I end the call and take a deep breath. The phone rings again, and I’m prepared to answer it and tell her just how tired I am of her constant phone calls, but the B&B’s number appears on my screen. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Hey, yeah, it is now. Silas came and handled it.”

Unease climbs up my spine. “Handled what?”

“Nothing important. Chad showed up, Elijah sent Silas. Chad’s gone now.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She hesitates a moment, as though she wants to say something else about it but changes her mind. “Anyway, you know how you offered to help earlier?”

I smile. “Vaguely.”

She laughs. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind grabbing a can of paint from Felix’s on your way back? I need to do some touch-up painting later, but won’t have time to get it before the hardware store closes. If not, it’s okay, I can figure?—”

“I don’t mind.” I can’t help the stupid grin that adorns my face yet again, or the way I can picture her twirling the cord of her office phone around her finger because she refuses to go cordless at the B&B.

“Really?”

“Really. We’re nearly done taking statements, and I can pick it up for you later. If you show me what you need painted, I can take care of that, too.”

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