Page 1 of Shattered Secrets

CHAPTER ONE

Matt Alvarez leaned back in the oversized Adirondack chair. He paid no attention to the unobstructed view of Puget Sound. Ignored the blue skies and the crisp breeze that whipped around him. He focused solely on his phone. Or rather, the email that he’d fired off moments earlier.

Holy fuck. What had he just done?

His fingers itched to call his captain, to tell the man who’d become a mentor and friend to disregard the email. Say he wasn’t going to retire, after all. That he’d changed his mind and was still a detective with the Seattle Police Department.

Instead, Matt took a steadying breath. Then exhaled. He repeated the movements a few times until he recognized the tingling in his belly. Beneath that initial panic was something he didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to admit.

Relief.

Knowing he no longer had to go back to Seattle, back to his old life, was a fucking relief. But one that shamed and embarrassed him. Getting shot had changed him in more ways than one.

Physically? Well, fuck. He’d worked damn hard to get back into shape. Some would say he was in better condition nowthan when he’d been on the force. And they wouldn’t be wrong. He’d added twenty pounds of muscle, and his cardio fitness was ridiculous. However, he had lingering nerve damage in his right hand. It wasn’t enough to sideline him from work, but it was enough to bother him.

Mentally? To put it simply, the shooting and the aftermath of it all had fucked with his head. Big-time. And unlike his body, his mind was still a work in progress. It didn’t help that, while he’d still been in the hospital recovering from his gunshot wound, his personal life had imploded in a horribly spectacular manner.

Bitterness burned in Matt’s chest, and he shook his head. To say that he’d been working through some serious anger issues over the last year was a gross understatement.

The forced downtime had made him take a step back and reevaluate. He loved what he did. Truly. Investigative work got his blood pumping. There was nothing quite like the rush of the chase, of catching those who thought they were above the law, of bringing justice to the victims who’d been wronged. But the longer he’d been away, the less sure he’d become about wanting to go back down that bureaucratic, red-taped path.

His finger hovered over the phone icon. With another shake of his head, he sighed and flipped his phone so it was face-down on the chair’s arm.

At last, Matt took in the view. Mid-June in the Pacific Northwest was picturesque. The sun was shining and the dark waters of Puget Sound glimmered. Soft white caps dotted the horizon, and as he watched the churning of the sea, the tension in his chest released. God, he loved this place.

After getting shot, he’d undergone two surgeries and had been hospitalized for two weeks. After his release, his twin brother, Jake, and Jake’s then-girlfriend, Carmen, had insisted he stay with them. So he had. It was safe to say Matt hadn’t been the best roommate, but his brother had stuck by him.

Nearly a month later, when Jake had offered up his vacation home on Hudson Island, Matt had jumped at the offer. The minute he’d arrived, a weight had lifted from his chest. He’d still been in a world of hurt—both physically and mentally—but for once, he’d actually been able to breathe.

A little over a year had passed since that day. Aside from taking the ferry to Seattle to see his doctors, he rarely left Hudson Island. He barely kept in touch with his parents and knew his brother was acting as the go-between. Jake, the persistent bastard, visited him every month or so. It wasn’t like he could refuse the guy since he’d been freeloading off him for the past year.

Basically, Matt was a miserable fuck. An angry, miserable fuck. But in all his wallowing, he’d carved out a small space for himself here. He’d made some acquaintances—fine, they’d become actual friends, friends who were recruiting him hard to join their organization, and?—

His phone rang. Flipping it back over, he glanced at the display. Cade. Aside from his twin, Cade was his closest friend. He silenced the call. Seconds later, his phone dinged a text notification.

Cade

Call me back, you motherfucker.

Matt’s lips twitched, then turned into a frown. A surge of anxiety warred with his earlier relief as reality set in. For the first time since high school, Matt was unemployed. Holy shit.

His phone started ringing again, and Cade’s face popped back up on the display. Answering the call and putting it on speaker, Matt welcomed the distraction from his spiraling thoughts. “What’s up, man?”

“What are you doing?” Cade replied.

Matt slumped into the chair and rested his head against the back, closing his eyes. “You’re the one who called. You tell me.”

“Dude. Seriously, what are you doing?”

Aside from wallowing in self-pity, Matt was doing jack-shit. “Nothing. What’s going on?”

“Can you meet me in town?”

His knee-jerk response was to say no, but he knew Cade, like his twin, was a persistent fucker. “Sure. Where?”

“Ray’s Diner.”

Matt frowned, and he was thankful they weren’t on a video call. He had no issues with Ray’s Diner. In fact, it was one of his favorite places to eat in town—their fried chicken platter was fucking divine. His issue came in the form of a pint-sized waitress with rainbow-streaked hair. Scarlet Miller.

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