Page 21 of The Broken Places

“Well,” Brymer said, “if story time is over, I’m gonna get back to work. See ya.”

The cops left the room, and Ambrose turned in his chair and pulled the case files toward him. He needed to find a moment when he could make copies of everything, so if he had to leave in a hurry, he’d have what the cops had. Those files were why he was here. The cops didn’t know to look for certain things. He did. The specifics about the pills. The swollen eyes. The silent screams.

“You’re a good storyteller,” Lennon said. He looked up to see her smiling at him.

“Thanks.”

Their gazes caught for a beat longer than he would have allowed his eyes to remain held to someone else’s, and he felt a small internal hiccup of concern. He was attracted to her, this homicide inspector who didn’t strike him as a cop of any rank. He’d told himself he wasn’t interested in romantic or even sexual relationships—simpler that way, fewer entanglements—but apparently his biology hadn’t quite gotten the memo. But it didn’t matter if he found her attractive. Nothing could happen between them. He broke eye contact and opened the files on his desk. From his peripheral vision, he saw her begin shuffling through her paperwork, too, the moment between them over.

And suddenly he wasn’t so concerned about the fact that his time here at this department was limited. Suddenly it seemed crucial that it end as soon as possible.

A woman he hadn’t met yet leaned in the wide door. “The assistant chief is making a stop here in about thirty,” she said. “I hear it’s just a morale boost—and a nod to all you poor saps who have to work Thanksgiving.”

She saluted and turned as someone called out, “Is she even bringing us a turkey?”

“Why? Your mother won’t save you some meat?” the woman called back.

“There’s a sick joke in there somewhere,” one of the cops said. “But I’m too innocent to figure it out.”

Thanksgiving.He’d forgotten it was a holiday. Not only because they’d been working this morning and afternoon but because the places they’d visited had been open too. Now all the references to dinner made more sense. The fact that he’d forgotten made him feel sort of pitiful. He had zero plans. Not that any of his friends in town even knew he was here—he hadn’t contacted any of them yet. His family? They never cared. So what did it matter? It was just another day. He didn’t need a specific date to remember what he was thankful for.

Anyone from the chief’s office stopping by might be a problem, though. “I’m gonna get out of here,” he told Lennon, standing and putting on his jacket.

Her head came up. “Oh. Yeah. Of course. Me, too, actually. My parents are expecting me.” She tilted her head. “Are you staying with your family while you’re apartment hunting?”

“No, a hotel,” he answered.

“Ugh, apartment hunting. Good luck with that,” the woman inspector whose name he couldn’t remember said as she took a seat at her desk to his left. “The housing market here is a shit show. You’re better off commuting.” While Lennon was looking away, he slipped the files into his briefcase.

“She’s not wrong,” Lennon said with a sigh. “Where are you looking?”

“I don’t know yet.” He gave her a close-lipped smile. “Happy Thanksgiving, Lennon.”

She didn’t smile back. Instead her expression was mildly worried. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ambrose.”

“Dammit.” What the hell was going on with all the Ubers? He’d been around the corner from the station for thirty minutes now, trying to get a ride, and still none had come available. Did people like turkey that much?

He’d watched the assistant chief’s car, followed by several other city vehicles, drive by about five minutes before and heard them stop in front of the station. He’d expected to be long gone by now.

A raindrop hit his cheek, and he looked up at the cloudy sky, a few more splashing over his cheeks before they began to fall in earnest.Great.He brought his briefcase close to his body, and shielded his phone as he looked back down at his app. Still nothing.

Ambrose stepped backward into a doorway on the side of the building so he could search Google for a cab company, which he should have done fifteen minutes ago. The rainfall increased, splashing up from the sidewalk and hitting his khakis. A car slowed and then came to a stop at the curb in front of where he stood, and the passenger-side window rolled down. Lennon leaned over the seat, peering out at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he called. “I’m fine. Just ... no Ubers. I’m gonna call a cab. I’m good, really. Have a nice holiday.”

She nodded, sitting straight as the passenger-side window rolled up. She pulled away from the curb, and Ambrose watched as her brake lights went on and she reversed back to where she’d just been. She got out of her car, an umbrella blossoming over her as she splashed throughthe puddles to where he stood. She looked sort of hesitant and a little shy as she said, “You said you were from here, so I assumed your family still lives in the city? But you’re not staying with them, so maybe—”

“My family and I are . . . estranged, so . . .”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s for the best.”

She gave a single nod. “Do you have plans for dinner, Ambrose?”

He felt embarrassed and was tempted to lie to her, but he’d already told her too many lies, and he didn’t like it. And so he answered truthfully. “I was going to stop and get a pizza and bring it to my hotel room.”

“That sounds very sad.”

---