“You look like hell.”

Blaine rolled his eyes at his friend. “You’d look like hell after a twelve-hour overnight shift, too.”

Lucas dropped into the chair across from Blaine. He was sitting at his friend’s desk, back in the one place he’d once sworn he’d never step foot in again.

The Aspen Falls police department.

The sights, the sounds—hell, even the smell—were achingly familiar. The low hum of conversation, of phones ringing, of fingers tapping on keyboards. The smell of stale coffee and sweat permeated the air like a low-lying layer of smog. Everything was bathed in a sickly yellow, the result of fluorescent lighting that was a holdover from when the building had been erected back in the eighties.

Lucas loved every inch of it. Still.

Blaine yawned and rubbed his eyes. Stubble lined his cheeks, and he looked in desperate need of a shower. And sleep.

“What brings you here?” Blaine asked.

Lucas hesitated. He’d meant for his next interaction with his friend to be less direct. He’d wanted a chance to chat, to make sure everything was cool with his friend, especially after the somewhat testy exchange they’d had at Lulu’s.

But that wasn’t why he was there.

“I need a favor,” Lucas said.

Blaine eyed him warily. “What kind of favor?”

Lucas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the samples. He tossed them onto the desk. “I need you to send these to forensics.”

“Fingerprints?”

Lucas nodded.

Blaine reached for the bottle of water on his desk and took a long sip, still eyeing Lucas. He recapped the bottle. “Why?”

“It’s for a case.”

“No, really?” Blaine asked, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. “What case?”

Lucas hesitated. “Noah Dans.”

Blaine leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. “It was a suicide.”

“I know,” Lucas acknowledged.

“So why the hell are you dusting for prints?” Blaine frowned.

“It’s a long story.”

Blaine glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. “It’s a good thing I’ve got time.”

Lucas sighed. He didn’t want to go into the specifics of the case, especially after Blaine’s somewhat hostile reaction when he’d mentioned it to him earlier in the week, but he also knew he didn’t have much choice. Lucas was still friendly with several of the officers on the force, but there was only one he asked for favors.

And this time, he wasn’t sure Blaine was going to give him what he wanted, especially if he didn’t give him a hell of a good reason as to why he needed it.

“Alaina got a text message from Noah today.”

Blaine frowned. “What?”

“It was a spoofed call,” Lucas explained. “Someone pretending to be him.”

“I know what spoofing is.”

“And there’s some other stuff that’s just a little off,” Lucas said.

“Like what?”

Lucas looked down at his hands. “The lock on Noah’s bedroom window was broken. There were footprints in the snow just outside his room. No one in the family goes into the side yard,” he said. “And there was grit on the inside window ledge. Salt and gravel from the snowplows, by the looks of it.” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out the baggie, set it on the desk.

Blaine looked at it sitting next to the print samples.

“So?” he finally said.

“So I just want to see if something’s there,” Lucas said.

Blaine shook his head. “I’ll tell you what’s there. A fat lot of nothing. The kid probably forgot his keys one day. Or maybe he snuck out at night. None of this proves jack shit.”

“And the text?” Lucas prompted.

Blaine hesitated. “Someone who wants to be an asshole,” he said with a shrug. “Alaina isn’t exactly everyone’s favorite person.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

And, more importantly, why was he not aware of this?

“She’s tough,” Blaine said. “She has to be, considering her line of work.”

“How do you know her line of work?” What Lucas really wanted to ask was How do you know her? And why didn’t I know her before all this?

“It’s my job to know people in this town, Lucas. You know that. Word gets around.”

Lucas swallowed. That had been his job, too. Before the stupid injury that had taken him out. He wondered if he’d ever inadvertently crossed paths with her. No, he was sure he hadn’t. He definitely would’ve remembered her.

“Have you had any run-ins with her?” Lucas pressed. “Something that put her on your radar?”

Blaine shook his head. “Nah, she’s completely clean. But I’ve heard talk with some of the local guys.”

Lucas’s gut pinched tight. “What kind of talk?”

“Just that she’s pissed off some people. Guys who don’t like answering to a woman.”

Tough shit, Lucas thought. Her strength was one of the things he liked most about her. She wouldn’t let anyone walk over her, was adept at making decisions and taking charge. He found it heady. Intoxicating.

He made a face. “That’s business stuff. This? This was personal.”

“Sometimes people make things personal, Lucas. You should know that from all your years on the force.”

Lucas bristled. Blaine had been a cop for what, four years? He didn’t need a lecture from this kid of a cop sitting across the desk.

“So you won’t run them?” he asked.

Blaine looked at him. “There’s no case,” he said. “There’s no reason to.”

“A kid died,” Lucas said bitterly.

“A kid committed suicide,” Blaine clarified.

“And I’m telling you there might be more here,” Lucas barked. “What the hell is your problem with all of this? You don’t want to touch this case with a ten-foot pole.”

Blaine’s eyes flashed. “I don’t have a problem with this case,” he bit off. “What I have a problem with is you pretending to be a cop when you’re not.”

Lucas bolted out of his chair, his temper flaring.

“You know what?” he said, his temple pounding, his heart thumping against his chest. “Fuck you.”

He pivoted, his boots heavy on the tile floor as he made his way to the entrance.

He didn’t look back at his friend, but he didn’t have to.

One thing was absolutely certain.

Blaine wasn’t coming after him.