For the first time, I’m thinking more about the man across from me than the case or my own woes. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that we haven’t been together for two months, but I want to spend the night with him. I want to forget about everything else for just a little while.

“I’ve missed you, too.” I reach across the table and take his hand. “We’re going to be okay.”

“In that case,” he says, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

CHAPTER 22

Tomasetti’s gone when I wake. That surprises me because I’m a light sleeper. But having gone without any measurable sleep for the last few days, I was exhausted. Or maybe I just sleep better when he’s beside me. The thought scares me a little bit.

He never says good-bye when he spends the night. The first couple of times it bothered me. Then I came to realize he doesn’t linger because neither of us is very good at the morning-after thing. We’re too cautious about revealing too much, laying too much of ourselves on the line, keeping all those dark secrets safe from a lover’s prying eyes.

He always seems to leave a small piece of himself behind. I still feel his presence in my bed, in the house, on my body, in my mind. The echo of his voice. His rare laugh. The lingering scent of his aftershave. The softness of his mouth. The urgent touch of a lonely man. This imprint of him stays with me for days sometimes. At first it was disconcerting, but I’ve grown to like it. Already, I find myself wondering when I’ll see him again.

Though it’s only six A.M., I quickly shower and dress. Thoughts of the Plank family don’t creep into my mind until I’m driving to the station. Even then, the hard edges are gone this morning. It’s a step in the right direction.

I arrive at the station to find Mona’s Escort parked in its usual spot. Skid’s cruiser is parked next to it, and I know he’s probably finishing up his reports before he calls it a day. Glock will arrive in an hour or so toting either bagels or doughnuts from the Butterhorn Bakery. Mona will complain about the calories. Lois, T.J. and Pickles will arrive and another typical day will begin. We’ll talk about the murders and deal with the media. I’ll call Auggie and officially close the case. My small department and I will go back to refereeing domestic quarrels, bar fights and corralling wayward livestock. Usually the normalcy, the routine of that would be a comfort to me. This morning, it makes me feel as if I’ve swept something smelly under the rug.