Lucas sipped the coffee in his hands.

He was at Lulu’s with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, waiting on Blaine. A blueberry muffin sat parked in front of him, a monstrosity sprinkled with what looked like an entire cup of crystallized sugar. But Lucas wasn’t complaining. No one made better muffins in town than Lulu’s.

He tore off a hunk of the muffin and popped it in his mouth. The taste of fresh blueberries and cinnamon was like nirvana, and he had to remind himself to slow down and ignore the temptation to devour the whole thing.

He looked around the coffee shop, soaking in the ambience and the sunshine streaming in through the windows. Music played softly in the background—a Beatles song, he thought—and the smell of roasting coffee beans permeated the entire space. Lulu’s felt like a home away from home, and often served as a makeshift office for him, especially when the mess of his real office had been too much to bear. On more than one occasion, he’d contemplated giving up his lease and just working from a table here in the shop. Of course, he’d then have to find a new home for all of his work shit, and that alone was enough to throw cold water on the fantasy. Besides, he needed an office, a work address that made his business official. He knew it was old-school thinking—so many people worked from home or from any place they could access Wi-Fi—but he’d spent his entire career with as legitimate of an employer as one might have: the police force. Having an office made him feel like he was operating a legitimate business…even on the days when it was too messy to walk into.

“Hey, stranger.”

Lucas looked up.

Blaine pulled out the chair across from him, the squeak of the chair legs across the floor like nails on a chalkboard.

“Hey, yourself,” Lucas said.

Blaine slid into the chair with his own cup of coffee and muffin, a chocolate chip one. “How you been?” he asked as he slipped out of his coat. He was dressed in jeans and a thermal, not in his police uniform, and Lucas was grateful for that. He didn’t like that it sometimes still got to him, seeing his buddies in uniform when he’d had to hang his up over a year ago.

His gut tightened just like it always did when he let his thoughts drift to his time on the force and the incident that had killed his career as a police officer.

Injured in the line of duty. It sounded honorable, like he’d been a hero or something. His lips twisted into a scowl at the memory. There was nothing heroic about his injury or his exit from the force.

A baseball game.

A stupid fucking baseball game.

It had been a charity event, the Aspen Falls police force battling it out on the field against the firefighters. It had been a tradition for nearly a decade, a fundraiser to help raise money for new equipment. Lucas had never loved baseball—his sport had always been hockey—but he was athletic enough to be decent at any sport he participated in. A bad slide into second base during that game and Wyatt Gentry’s 250-pound frame landing full-force on his twisted knee had been enough to tear his ACL and shatter his kneecap. Despite surgery and immediate therapy, it became clear that he’d never be in the same physical shape he’d been in prior to the injury. He’d never be able to pass the physical required for any responsibilities out in the field.

Sure, he’d been offered a desk job, but he knew immediately that the last thing he was going to do was push papers around for the rest of his life. Hell, knowing his organizational skills, he’d probably lose half of whatever ended up on his desk.

It had been the most brutal decision he’d ever had to make, but walking away from his career in law enforcement was the only thing he could do.

He’d sulked for the better part of a month, pissed off at the world. And then, when his bank account began to dwindle and he realized current life expectancies projected him to live at least another forty years, he figured he’d better get his shit together and come up with a plan.

He liked investigating. He liked solving mysteries. He liked getting the bad guys.

And getting his private investigator’s license would allow him to do all of those things. There’d be no physical to pass, no superior to report to. He’d be his own boss.

It wasn’t ideal—if he was being honest with himself, he’d admit being a cop was still better—but it was all he had.

So he had to be alright with it. Because it was his only option.

“That good, huh?” Blaine asked with a chuckle.

Lucas blinked, coming back to the present. “Huh?”

“I asked how you’ve been.” Blaine smirked. “Too complicated of a question? Need me to simplify things?”

“Shut up,” Lucas said with a good-natured smile. “To answer your question, I’ve been alright.” He sipped his coffee. “Ready for winter to be over.”

Blaine snorted. “You know we’ve got another month of this, right?”

“Nah, it’s gonna be an early spring. Farmer’s Almanac said so.”

“You don’t believe that crap, do you?”

Lucas shrugged. “Only if they’re telling me something I wanna hear.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Blaine said with a grin. He kicked his legs out straight and leaned back in his seat, his gaze drifting to the front counter.

Lucas followed with his eyes. Rosie was at the register, chatting with a customer. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, her cheeks rosy, her sweet smile visible even from a distance. She looked up, her gaze drifting across the café, settling on Blaine. Her smile deepened, her cheeks turning almost crimson.

“You and Rosie doing good?”

Blaine didn’t respond.

Lucas kicked his friend’s shoe. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What?” Blaine asked, finally turning his attention back to his friend.

“Now who’s not paying attention?” Lucas rolled his eyes. “I asked how things are going with you and Rosie. She fully recovered and everything?”

Blaine smiled. “Yeah, thank God. She’s bounced back fast and doesn’t seem to be having nightmares or anything.” He winced. “Considering she was shot, I was worried it might be worse, but things are really looking up for her.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “She’s working pretty much full-time right now for Louanne—not just counter help but also with the baking.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? She make this muffin?” He gestured at the half-eaten one in front of him.

Blaine chuckled. “I think she’s doing mostly cookies and cupcakes right now. You know, the really good stuff.”

Lucas broke off another hunk and stuffed it in his mouth. “I don’t know.” He dusted the crumbs from his hands. “I’m pretty sure this right here is the good stuff.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute or two, with Blaine casting occasional glances at his girlfriend and Lucas’s gaze drifting to the window, watching the cars lumber past, all of them coated with weeks’ worth of salt and dirt. The temperatures had been too cold to contemplate car washes, and every vehicle on the road looked the same muted shade of…grime.

“So, I’m working on a case,” Lucas finally said.

Blaine nodded. “Yeah, something about a high school kid, right?”

Lucas hadn’t given him much in the way of detail when he’d asked to meet up. He didn’t need to; he knew Blaine would come. That part was a given. Getting information out of him might be another story, though. They were friends, good friends even, but Blaine was a by-the-book kind of guy, especially when it came to procedural stuff. Even though he and Blaine had worked on the force for a few years together, Lucas knew their friendship was no guarantee that a free exchange of information was on the agenda.

Which was totally fair, Lucas reminded himself. They weren’t on the same team anymore. The same side, sure—they both wanted to help people and solve crimes. But their approach and who they worked for were different. Blaine followed the rules and reported to his superiors. Lucas had no problem operating in shades of gray and ultimately worked for himself, and whatever client hired him.

“What do you know about Noah Dans?” Lucas asked.

Blaine swallowed a piece of muffin and washed it down with a generous gulp of coffee. “Dans?”

Lucas nodded.

“The suicide?”

“Yeah.”

Blaine stared into his coffee. “Not much.” He shrugged. “Kid hung himself in his bedroom. Parents were out of town. St. Paul, I think. Mom found him late the next morning.”

“Did you respond to the call?”

“No.” Blaine gave his friend a curious stare. “Why?”

Lucas ignored the question. “You hear if a note was recovered?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Tox screen came back clean?”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Lucas bit back a sigh. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of his friend unless he gave him a little something.

“His sister has some questions about his death,” he said. “She asked me to look into it.”

“Why you? Why didn’t she ask for the autopsy report?” Blaine picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it, just cradled it in his hands. “Or speak to the responding officer?”

“I’m sort of doing that for her, aren’t I?” Lucas pointed out.

Blaine’s brow furrowed. “I just told you I wasn’t the responding officer. And besides, you know that info is private.”

“I know,” Lucas admitted. “But I also know you could give me a little something if you wanted to.”

Blaine’s frown was impossible to miss.

“Tox screen came back clean,” he finally said.

“Oh?” Lucas leaned toward his friend. “I thought you weren’t involved in the case.”

“I wasn’t,” Blaine clipped. “But there were some bad drugs circulating. I asked for the tox results to make sure this kid wasn’t another victim.”

His answer made sense, but there was something off in Blaine’s demeanor, something Lucas couldn’t quite place. He was visibly uneasy about discussing Noah, and Lucas didn’t know why.

“You okay, man?” he asked.

Blaine avoided Lucas’s gaze. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said evenly. “You tell me.”

Blaine blew out a breath. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You asked me about a suicide, I told you what I know. End of story.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. Blaine wasn’t just uneasy. He was pissed.

Lucas tried hard to stem his own irritation. Something was up with his friend. And he was going to figure out what it was.

He opened his mouth, intent on giving Blaine the third degree, when his phone buzzed.

With a frustrated huff, he yanked it out of his pocket.

Alaina’s name flashed across the screen, and he immediately conjured up an image of her beautiful face.

Blaine watched, a little warily it seemed, as Lucas answered the call.

“McGowan,” he said.

“Lucas.” Alaina’s voice was soft, slightly breathy, and it made his heart hiccup. He liked the way she said his name, the way it rolled off her tongue. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing her voice. “Are you available right now?”

Lucas glanced at the man sitting across the table. “I’m sort of in the middle of something.” He paused. If it were up to him, he’d go right to her, but he wasn’t done with Blaine and the weird twist in conversation that he wanted to get to the bottom of. “Can you give me a half hour or so?”

“No.”

He was taken aback by the sudden firmness in her voice.

“No?” he repeated.

She made a noise, something between a cough and a sniffle. “I’m at the house. I…I think I found something.”

He stiffened, alerted by what sounded like genuine distress. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He stole another look at Blaine. His friend was still holding his coffee, and his knee was bouncing up and down like a jackhammer.

Lucas wanted to press him, wanted to figure out why the hell he was acting so weird.

But he’d heard the urgency in Alaina’s voice.

It had been impossible to miss.

And he was already beginning to realize just how hard it would be to ever say no to her.

“I’m on my way.”