Page 102 of Redeeming Melodies

"Call it in." My voice came from somewhere far away. "Full forensics. And get the coroner. They deserve better than this place."

Smith radioed while Rio secured the scene. Professional distance taking over because it had to. Because falling apart wouldn't help find whoever did this.

But fuck if my hands weren't shaking as I studied the room. Looking for signs, for proof this was Ramirez. For anything to explain why two gentle people had to die in this dark place.

No prints. No casings. Just blood and questions and the weight of responsibility crushing down.

"Found this." Smith held up a piece of paper, carefully bagged. An address in New York.

Not a coincidence. Nothing about this was random.

The forensics team arrived in a blur of lights and cameras. Watching them work felt surreal - like this kind of thing happened in other places, bigger cities. Not here. Not in my town.

Had to get out. Had to breathe.

The night air hit cold, carrying pine scent that couldn't quite mask what waited in that basement. My phone felt heavy as I pulled it out. Needed to hear his voice. Needed something real to hold onto.

"Jake?" Elliot answered on the first ring, worry clear even through the static. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The lie tasted bitter. "Just needed to hear your voice. How's New York?"

"Good." A pause, like he knew I was holding back but wouldn't push. "Told the crew about us. About everything."

"Yeah?" Something in my chest loosened slightly. "How'd that go?"

"Better than I expected. Mike said he'd known for years." His laugh carried warmth I desperately needed. "Guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought back then."

"Subtle isn't really your style, El."

"Says the man who pulled me over just to flirt."

Had to smile at that, even with death at my back. "That was professional law enforcement."

"Sure it was." His voice went softer. "Seriously though, you okay? You sound off."

"Just a rough night." Couldn't tell him about the Winslows. Not yet. Not over the phone. "Miss you."

"Miss you too." Simple words carrying so much. "Coming home soon. Whatever's happening there, we'll handle it together."

Together. The word steadied something in me. Because yeah, this was my burden as sheriff. But having someone to come home to, someone who saw past the badge to the man underneath - that made it bearable.

"Be safe." My voice caught. "New York's got its own dangers."

"You too." A pause heavy with everything unsaid.

The paperwork blurredin front of me, crime scene details mixing with Rio's careful handwriting. TV droned in the background - some racing commentator getting excited about drift angles and pit strategy. Found myself watching more than reading, picking up terms I'd never cared about before. Inside lane. Drafting. Things that mattered to Elliot.

"And Blue's absence is still felt on the circuit," the announcer said, making my head snap up. "His aggressive style in turn three"

I memorized that detail. Turn three. Something to ask Elliot about later, show him I was trying to understand his world like he was trying to understand mine.

The house felt too quiet without him. Too empty. Even with case files spread across the coffee table and the TV filling space with engine roars, something was missing. Someone.

The doorbell shattered my thoughts.

Midnight. Nobody rang doorbells in Oakwood Grove at midnight. Not unless something was wrong.

I drew my weapon before approaching the door. Years of training kicking in as I checked angles, stayed out of direct sight lines. But the porch stood empty under the security light.

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