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Darby
“Show me,” I told Deputy Furlong.
“It’s not pretty, Detective.”
“I’m a homicide cop. I’ll live.”
He shifted the camera so I could see.
Richard’s body was spread across the floor of what may have been an office. Numerous wounds covered his abdomen, not unlike Prairie Rasmussen.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “How long has he been dead?”
“No more than a few hours, ma’am.” Furlong gave me a few more seconds of viewing, then shifted it back to see me. “A friend of his found him this morning.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Ah, some lady. Tall chick.”
“I need a name, Deputy.”
“Sorry, I’m having to go back over my notes. Ah, right. Amanda O’Flannigan. Said she lives the next county over.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be over in a couple hours. Thanks for letting me know.”
I ended the call and put my comm away. Immediately, I looked around the park, running a hand over my forehead. Rick Pierce was dead?
Well, that let him out of the suspect pool.
“Who was that?” Mark asked gently.
I’d nearly forgotten about him. Our fight would have to go on the back burner for now. Although I’d made some pretty crazy insinuations about him and our now second victim just a few minutes ago.
“Osage County. Rick’s dead.”
He blinked, then swore.
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” I said ruefully. “I need to get out there. When were we supposed to have the backup car ready?”
He glanced at his watch. “It should be ready when we get there.”
I nodded.
We got to HQ ten minutes later. En route, Mark had called ahead and inquired whether the backup Flexion would be ready. They needed another fifteen minutes to code us to the vehicle.
That gave us a chance to figure out what to do.
Both of us going to Osage County made little sense, not when there were things going on here in town that needed to be addressed.
Never mind the fact that I could use three hours away from Mark.
We decided I’d go to Rick’s residence, talk to the sheriff and anyone else called into the scene. Meanwhile, Mark would follow up on things we’d intended to do yesterday afternoon before our car was blown out of the sky.
Mark seemed more jittery than normal as I packed up a few extra things I’d need for the long outing. I glanced at him a few times.
“I’ll be okay without you, partner,” I assured him.
He nodded, not quite looking at me. “I want to finish what we started earlier.”
“No time now.” I was reluctant to talk about it anymore, not until I could wrap my head around what had happened.
He looked down at the floor as I slung my backpack over my shoulder.
My comm buzzed. I looked at the text from requisitions: our replacement was ready, and all it needed was for us to come give it our handprints.
“I’ll walk you down,” Mark said.
I didn’t balk, though I wished he didn’t have to come.
Ten minutes later, I was on my way, sans Mark.
The Flexion was an older model—all that could be had on short notice—one of the early ones that had been a testing model for the hover feature. The autopilot wasn’t quite as accurate, but it would do for what I needed it for. I plugged in the coordinates, authorized five miles of hover every ten miles—all the system would allow—and sat back.
My brain spun with everything that had happened. That could have been a holdover from the ecstasy, but I wasn’t sure. I was feeling better than when I’d awoken, although giving up my breakfast hadn’t helped matters.
The last fifteen hours had been a whirlwind, and I needed the time alone to attempt to come to grips with everything.
Mark and Genova. How on earth was I supposed to accept that happened? How could I reconcile that in my brain? I’d seen them flirt, and just Monday, Genova had admitted she’d been interested in him at one point, but that ship had sailed.
Was it because of whatever agreement they’d come to after their night together? Had he said something to her in the morning?
They’d be a pretty odd couple. Even I had to admit that. The thought of my currently-blue-haired friend and more traditional partner was almost laughable.
Genova, who had a guy in about every port as the saying went.
Mark, who used to have a similar reputation, at least before I’d shown up, but now seemed more devoted to his sisters and their families than any brother I’d ever seen.
That wouldn’t mesh. She’d get bored.
My thoughts drifted back to Wednesday before we’d interviewed Rick with Genova. I’d made some off-hand comments, derisive of Genova’s choice in men.
Heat came to my cheeks now as I considered Mark’s reaction in light of the new details. He must have been completely taken aback, maybe even hurt by what I’d said.
Although I’d reckon my assertion that Genova preferred men who were less intelligent than Rick Pierce were obviously wrong on at least two counts. Mark at least had a more muscular build, but neither he nor Rick were close to ignorant.
As the city gave way to farms dotted with cows, hogs, and oil derricks, I chewed on my thumbnail, contemplating. What a crazy mess this all was.
I might be mad that my partner had found it acceptable to enter the bed of my best friend, but given everything that had happened, could I blame him, regardless of my own personal convictions on the subject?
I closed my eyes. My reaction to the news that morning had been knee-jerk, selfish even. Sure, coming on top of the ecstasy, probably not the best timing, but if what Mark had told me was true, that I’d figured it out last night, he really couldn’t wait. I could accept that now.
Didn’t mean I had to like it.
Forgiving them both would be another matter.
They’d both gone in eyes open about how Mark felt about me, how I felt about both of them, and how I felt about sex outside of marriage.
They both also knew I’d find a way to forgive them.
Not that that was an excuse for them to do what they’d done. They couldn’t totally get a free pass.
I sat back in the ratty seat, determined that by the time I reached the scene, I’d at least have set the subject aside, even if I hadn’t totally processed everything. I was about twenty minutes out now, and I needed to shut it down.
But how could I? It hurt to know what had happened. Something deep within me ached with the knowledge.
I cared for them both very deeply. I—had—trusted them both implicitly, one so much so as to entrust my life in his very hands on a daily basis.
I wasn’t sure I’d feel any different about them sleeping together if they’d started dating, even just once.
And that thought puzzled me.
It hurt because I cared. I cared who Mark spent his time with.
I cared that it wasn’t me.