“I think I do.” The lieutenant pursed his lips. Again his pen whacked the file—my file—resting under his large hands.

—

“Bet you’re glad that’s over.”

From his place on the hard wooden bench in the hall, Tim looks up at me, waggles his eyebrows, and smiles. He went in before me, which means he’s been done with the lieutenant for hours. We made the two-hour drive south to Oneida together. When it was my turn, I left Tim outside the door of Troop D headquarters fully expecting him to wait out the grilling at a nearby coffee shop. But here he is.

“It’s over, all right.” Suspended pending psychological analysis. I don’t tell Tim it’s the outcome I was counting on. Instead, I sit down beside him. “Know what I need?”

Tim slides toward me until we’re only inches apart. “I couldn’t begin to imagine what you need right now, Shane.”

“Damn,” I say with a half smile. “Me either.”

Aside from us, the hallway is deserted. It’s so quiet I can hear Tim’s watch ticking on his wrist. The corner of his lip curls into an inquisitive smile. “Buy you a drink?” says Tim.

I haven’t been alone with him since it all happened. I don’t know how he feels about me hijacking the investigation and going after Philip Norton and Miles alone. “You sure that’s what you want?” I ask.

Tim rests his forearms on his bent knees. “I saw a YouTube video once, of a bunch of crickets chirping.”

Crickets are what Tim gets in response. I angle my head as I look at him, trying to work out what he’s going to say next.

“The second half of the video is what matters. It was slowed down by something like eight hundred percent. It doesn’t sound like crickets anymore, but music. Like a choir of human voices. I thought that was so amazing,” Tim says. “How making one change can produce a totally different outcome.” He pauses. “We don’t all come from the same place, you know? We’ve all got different backgrounds and different pasts, and that affects how we see things. Like with those crickets. Everyone on Tern Island told us what they wanted us to hear. But you heard something different.”

“That doesn’t guarantee it was right.”

“I was willing to take that chance. We’re a team.” He paused to swallow. “I figured you knew what you were doing.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in me, under the circumstances.”

“Of course I do,” he says, not taking his eyes off mine. We both fall silent. Then, “How’s it going with Carson?”

My fiancé and I are through, of course. Tim knows that, and he cares about how I’m taking it. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, upending my former life and starting over. But easy isn’t something I expect from upstate New York anymore.

I study Tim’s gray eyes, the strong angle of his jaw. His face is the face of a good man. I can’t believe I ever doubted him. “If it wasn’t for you, if you hadn’t told me how Carson treated you back then . . .” My voice trails off. “Just . . . thanks. You were right. I talked to McIntyre. After Carson called her, she took it upon herself to do some research on him. All this time I thought he left New York for me, to help me heal, but that wasn’t it. Carson was fired. The NYPD psych division was getting complaints about him from the people he counseled. All of them women.”