Dyson had always had a soft spot for Nate’s wife, ever since she’d caught his granddaughter’s diabetes and probably saved her life.

Nate smiled, thinking of Emma this morning, the way her dark hair swirled around her shoulders, her thighs peeking out from the hem of the T-shirt she’d borrowed from him. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved Emma. And now Josh, of course. This morning he’d watched as she rinsed their son’s cereal bowl in the sink and been completely hypnotized. Even doing the most mundane things, his wife was exquisite. She’d turned and caught him staring and had bent for a lingering kiss, filling him with warmth. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a love like this, but he sure as shit was grateful.

“She’s good,” Nate replied.

“Good. Listen, I got a call from Seattle this morning.” Dyson smoothed nicotine-stained fingers down his mustache. “One of their informants was making noises about a fentanyl deal going down out here, but he’s gone quiet. They asked us to do a welfare check.” Dyson tossed a file at Nate. “Name and address are there. Let me know what you find.”

“No problem.” Nate picked up the folder and handed Dyson the baggie of pills. “I need this filed from an overdose earlier. I’ll get you the report later.”

“Sure. Tell Kia to come in. I need her to give the D.A.R.E. talk at the elementary school.”

Nate strode out of the office, smirking as he told Kia what Dyson had planned for her day, and headed for his cruiser. He drove past the library, the flower shop, the bank, and the hospital, turning into the Mill Creek neighborhood for the second time today.

The gloomy, tattered building before him was the worst excuse for a house he’d ever seen. Cracked windows, chipped and peeling paint, white long since dulled to gray. Overgrown bushes choked with weeds almost obscured the sagging front porch.

The wooden steps groaned under Nate’s weight. He shielded his eyes to peer through the cracked front window, but it was too dark to see inside.

Nate knocked on the door. “Hello?” he called. “Mr. Martinez?”

No answer.

Nate knocked again. “I’m Detective Sweeney from the Skamania Police Department. Can you come outside for a moment?”

Nate waited, listening. Silence. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling eyes crawling over his back. He knew he shouldn’t try the handle, but he wasn’t going back to Dyson with no news. He was surprised to find the door unlatched. He nudged it open with his boot, convincing himself he had probable cause to enter. Besides, his Spidey sense was going all kinds of crazy.