Page 550 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

When she returned, she caught the tail end of her father’s words, low and clipped. “…her into trouble.”

She should have moved to Duluth. Or maybe Anchorage. “Inspector Mulligan?” she said, and her father glanced at her without even a hint of embarrassment.

He just smiled at her. “Stop by the house tomorrow. Your mother worries.” He leaned in and popped a kiss on her forehead.

Now she felt fifteen.

Rembrandt wore a strange, almost soft expression watching her father stride from the room.

Then he turned back to the boards. “He thinks I’m going to get you into trouble.”

“I’m just doing my job. Which is to follow the evidence.” She handed him the envelope. “And help you catch this guy.”

“I appreciate it.”

Rem appeared so wrung out that she quelled the strangest—and inappropriate—urge to touch his arm. Maybe suggest a beer.

Still. “You okay?”

He glanced at her. “You ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“You walk into a coffee shop, on your way to work, and order a latte, and then,boom.It’s over. Your life, done.”

She drew in a breath. “No. Or, not usually. Today, however…”

“Right?” He walked over to her table, leaned on one of the metal benches and crossed his arms. “What would you regret?”

She had followed him over, sat on the chair from where her father had retrieved his coat. “Regret?”

“You know—do over again, if you could? With what you know now.”

She considered him, the way he was studying her. He had amazing eyes, deep blue, the kind a girl could fall into and never come up for air. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d tell my friend, Stefanie, not to trust the cross-country coach.”

His eyebrow went up. “That’s who you think killed her? The girl who got run over?”

She nodded. “But it’s just a?—”

“Hunch.” His smile stirred coals deep down inside.

No, no…she shook her head, not smiling. “A hunch only gets you so far. You need evidence to close a case.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his expression turning serious. “And was there any evidence?”

“It was a hit and run, so…no.”

He gave a grim nod.

Silence hung between them.

“If I could go back in time, I’d tell myself not to ask Dougie Randall to the 10th Grade Sadie Hawkins dance.”

He raised an eyebrow, one side of his mouth tweaking up. “Yeah?”

She ran her hands up her arms, not sure why she’d said that, but she liked the sudden spark in his eye, so, “I called him up, asked for Doug, and then rattled off an invitation to the dance. But then it got real quiet on the other line and this deep voice finally said, ‘I think you’re wanting to talk to Doug Jr.’”

Rembrandt’s eyes widened. “You asked hisfatherto the dance?”

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