Page 61 of Inside Silence
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things when it comes to you. I’m sorry I allowed assumptions and preconceptions skew my view of you. But I want you to know I see you now, I see everything you’ve accomplished in spite of people like me, and I gotta tell you, it humbles the hell out of me. You inviting me inside your house, when by all rights you could’ve kicked me off your property, it shows you’re the bigger man.”
I don’t have an opportunity to react, since he is already walking out my front door, leaving me…speechless.
I never thought anything Brant Colter said could matter, but it does…a lot.
Chapter 18
Savvy
* * *
It’s not until Brenda walks into my office and dumps a brown paper bag bearing the Strange Brew logo on my desk, I realize I am starving.
I was going to pick up something to eat on my way into the office, but I never got the chance. First, Detective Tessa Androtti called to let me know she wanted to meet to discuss Franklin Wyatt’s case. No sooner had I hung up with her when Warren called me from the station to let me know Sanchuk was hooting and hollering from his holding cell that he wanted to see me.
Everyone wanted a piece of me this morning, and I’ve barely had a chance to breathe. Needing a break from what has been a frustrating two hours trying to get somewhere with Sanchuk, I just stepped out of the interview room and sat down in my office to follow up on calls and emails for a few minutes before Androtti gets here.
When I smell the sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon, my stomach rumbles loudly and I reach into the bag and pull out one of the biggest cinnamon rolls I’ve ever seen.
“I asked for a tomato and egg salad sandwich, but Bess packed this instead,” Brenda huffs.
God bless her, she tries so hard to make sure I look after myself, and that includes eating properly, but Bess knows me best. She knows I would’ve probably left a sandwich sitting on my desk to eventually be forgotten about, but I wouldn’t be able to resist one of her delectable cinnamon rolls and would wolf that down in a heartbeat.
“You need to eat properly, take care of yourself or you’re going to wear out before you’re old,” she chastises me. “You probably barely slept again.”
“I did okay,” I mumble around a mouthful of the delicious pastry.
She huffs again and leaves my office, and I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips. I may have woken up early but that was after sleeping like a baby in Nate’s arms, and then proceeded to engage, in what I would call, a healthy morning exercise routine. I was feeling pretty damn skippy until my dad showed up on Nate’s doorstep.
It’s probably a good thing I haven’t had the time to worry and stew about his early morning visit. I haven’t even begun to process how mad I am at my father, and how hurt I am by what feels like a betrayal. I don’t get how Nate could be so calm and collected when he’s the one who was hurt the most.
I put down my cinnamon roll, lick my fingers clean, and grab my phone to shoot Nate a text.
* * *
Hey, just checking in. How are you feeling?
* * *
When there’s no immediate response—he could be napping, or in the shower or something—I take another bite of my pastry, lean back, and close my eyes briefly, focusing on a moment of enjoyment in an otherwise less than stellar workday.
“Sorry to interrupt…”
My eyes fly open to find a salt-and-pepper-haired woman in a pin-striped suit standing in my doorway with a briefcase in her hand. The suit and case suggest professionalism but her hair, haphazardly piled on top of her head in a messy knot, seems a little contradictory, as are the chunky, horn-rimmed glasses barely hanging on to the tip of her nose. Despite the gray in her hair, she looks to be maybe in her early forties at the most.
CID agent, Tessa Androtti, is nothing like I’d envisioned.
“Not interrupting at all,” I assure her, jumping to my feet as I wipe my sticky fingers on my pants in a less than classy move. “I was just enjoying a belated breakfast, or is it lunchtime already? Detective Androtti?”
I round my desk to greet her.
She flashes a friendly smile as she steps into my office, her hand outstretched.
“In the flesh. Sheriff Colter, it’s good to put a face to the voice.”
“So it is. And let’s drop the titles. I’m Savvy. Please have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Although, it should come with a hazard warning,” I whisper conspiratorially.
She chuckles as she sits in one of the visitor chairs, setting the briefcase she was holding beside her.
