Jake
“Why the hell are we being called to a car crash?” I ask my partner, Rudy.
“Damn, your ass is cranky,” he says as he grips the steering wheel tighter.
I slide my hands down my face. “I have some shit going on.”
“Well, I prefer the partner who was shitting rainbows and unicorns for the last month.” He slings his head back and chuckles, and I notice his walnut-brown hair is due for a cut. I also notice the crow’s feet wrinkles showing around his eyes.
Since I was promoted to detective at a young age, it’s beneficial to have Rudy as a teacher. He’s twelve years older than me, with a wealth of knowledge to pass on, but it’s hard for us to relate on a personal level.
He’s been married for almost twenty years, so talking to him about my situation with Sailor and Elliott would be pointless. He wouldn’t understand, and I don’t know if he could keep it a secret.
“Again … why were we called to this accident?” I ask as we park outside a wreck on Charles and 4th at ten in the morning.
“A Chevy Malibu crashed head-on against a street post, and foul play is suspected. The supposed driver, who died, might not have been driving.”
Walking up to the crime scene, we step around the yellow marker tape to speak to the officers on duty.
“What do we got?” Rudy asks Officer Sparks. She looks up at us, and her dark eyes remind me of Sailor’s.
“Victim is a thirty-eight-year-old female. Eye witness claims the male driver, our victim’s husband, dragged her from the front passenger seat into the driver’s side after the accident.”
She shakes her head. “The driver would have to be drunk to think he could pull that off in broad daylight on a busy Monday morning, and guess what–he was drunk. Blew a .18.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “So, you’re saying you think he wanted it to look like the passenger was driving.”
“I’m not the detective, Detective, but that’s my guess.” She smiles, her gaze lingering, and damn, is Sparks finally flirting with me? She’s never given me the time of day, always refusing to mix business with pleasure.
I’m no longer interested in her, but for the first time since meeting Sailor, I’m wondering if my old life was better. Games of cat and mouse with attractive women were fun, challenging and usually came with happy endings.
Yeah, my life was missing something–a sweet, raven-haired woman. I won’t deny it, but at least my heart was protected, and my temper was in check.
I huff out a breath, feeling like a dick for even imagining a life without Sailor. I don’t want that. I love her, but I also don’t know if I can take losing her. I guess I’m trying to prepare myself.
“Jakey.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
“Then get with the program. I’m trying to show you something here.” The driver’s door is open as he bends down and points to the seat where our dead victim’s still resting, her body slumped over on its side.
“Look how short her legs are and how far back this seat is positioned. There’s no damn way she was driving.” Standing, he shakes his head. “It’s obvious her husband panicked. I think this will be an easy case unless she was dead before they even got in the car.”
Once Rudy steps back, I move closer to get a better look at the seat and our victim. He’s right; there’s no way the short blonde could’ve reached the pedals.
I look at her body, which is petite like Sailor’s. God, I can’t get the teacher out of my fucking head. I think about what it must’ve been like for her when she realized Rebecca died in the accident.
Sailor had no business driving that night. She was fourteen, driving Elliott’s car home late at night all because he and Rebecca were too drunk to drive. It was a recipe for disaster. Elliott was drunk…
No way.
No. Fucking. Way.
“You don’t know shit about the accident.” The words Elliott has said to me more than once repeat in my head.
“She hates me.”
“Sailor doesn’t hate you. She’s remembering the accident.”
“You don’t know shit. I’m going to my room.”
He said that the night he saw her in the condo for the first time. Why would he say that when he didn’t know about the baby yet?
I think about a conversation I had with Sailor, too.
“You were trying to help that night. At some point, you have to forgive yourself.”
“Demons, Jake. You don’t know everything, and it needs to stay that way.”
Fuck. Was Elliott the one driving the night Rebecca died?