Page 62 of Our Darkest Summer
I slowly released the breath I had been holding and turned to Thomas. His gaze was locked on the dashboard, his jaw clenched tight.
“What do you think?” I asked carefully, and he took a shaky breath, like he was trying to find his way back to reality, to steady ground. To the present.
“I think we need to talk to Chief Miller.”
???
Luckily, Kevin’s townhouse wasn’t far away. The street lights flickered on just as we reached his front door, casting long shadows over the pavement.
Thomas knocked. No answer.
I pressed my ear against the door. Silence. I leaned into the doorbell, holding it down. Still nothing.
Connor said he was coming here…What if something had happened?
“I’ll call him,” I said, reaching for my phone, but before I could, the door flew open. Kevin stood there, mid-movement of adjusting his T-shirt like he’d just thrown it on.
“Thomas. Kinsley.” His gaze flickered between the two of us. “I couldn’t open the safe yet if that’s why you’re here,” he panted.
Thomas and I exchanged a look. Yeah. We definitely interrupted something.
“We need to talk to your dad,” Thomas said, and Kevin’s forehead creased. I followed a single drop of sweat as it slid down his temple.
He hesitated, just for a second, then, stepping back, he pulled the door open wider. “He’s not home yet, but while we wait, you guys can bring me up to speed.”
That sounded fair. Except, the moment we stepped into the living room, my gaze landed on Connor.His shirt was wrinkled,his blond hair a mess, and his lips…not only red, but swollen.
I raised an eyebrow, sending him a knowing look, to which his entire face turned the same color as his mouth.
“Braxton sent us the video from the camcorder’s hard drive,” Thomas said, clearly ignoring the awkward tension better than I did.
I pulled out my phone and handed it to Kevin, pressing play. Connor joined us, keeping a careful arm’s distance, but stretching his neck just enough to see the screen.
As Lizzie’s voice filled the room, I let my gaze drift around the small space for the first time. Bookshelves lined the walls on both sides of the TV, while across from it stood an old couch. My gaze drifted toward the fourth wall, the one with no doors, no windows, no bookshelves. Just framed black-and-white photos hanging in perfect alignment.
I stepped closer. The first was a newspaper cutout of two officers, shaking hands for the camera.
Officer Lance Miller, Honored for Decades of Service - September 12, 2009.
Kevin’s grandfather, the year Lizzie had disappeared.
“I went to the police to ask for their help, but they sent me away,”Lizzie’s voice cut through the room, and my stomach twisted, my fingers curling into a fist.
How do you get praised for your work after losing a woman who asked for your help?
I exhaled slowly and forced my gaze back to the photos, shifting to the next one. I recognized Kevin’s dad from the photos in his room, although he was younger here. He must have just finished the academy. His wide smile was so familiar to Kevin’s, bright and natural. His father, Lance Miller—the lead investigator of Lizzie’s case—stood beside him, his arm thrown over his shoulder in an easy, familiar way. He seemed really proud.
But the next picture was different. The same father and son, aged by a few decades, stood side by side, but something was off. The warmth was gone, replaced with something stiffer, more formal. In the first picture, Officer Miller was holding his son’s shoulder. But here, there was space between the two, not wide but noticeable. An invisible wall forcing them apart. The longerI watched them, the more I could see; their smiles never quite reached their eyes.
What had changed between them? What could have happened in those years that created this abstract change between these two pictures?
A strange feeling curled in my stomach.
“What are you trying to find?”
I blinked, forcing my eyes away from the wall. “Just looking.”
Connor arched a brow. “Anything interesting?”
