He would get in her way when she was working her cases. Carl followed her around, dismissing the clues she found and the conclusions she drew. Then, after it had all hit the fan and she’d caught the bad guys, he’d stand by her in the pictures for the paper and take the credit.

When Carrie’s dad was fired, after the events on New Year’s Eve — what the national media called “A Horror in the Heartland,” or in the New York Post, “New Year’s Evil” — Carl got the chief’s job. It was the mayor’s way of telling the community that there would be change, but not too much change. And somehow he’s managed to avoid stepping on his dick in the twenty years since.

He goes to hug her, and realizes he’s still holding his gun. He holsters it, and she shakes his hand to avoid the embrace.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“The house had been broken into,” Carrie says. “I thought maybe Hailey was in danger.”

“Oh. So. Are you in town for the reunion?”

“Carl, maybe we should clear the house first, before we catch up.”

“Oh. Right.” He pulls his gun again. Carrie does the same, and they work their way up the stairs and into the bedrooms.

They check the little girl’s bedroom first. It’s painted with rainbows and there are stuffed animals all over the place, including the floor. They clear the hallway bathroom before heading into the master suite.

There’s a California king bed, and a massive framed portrait of Hailey and Regan that takes up most of one wall. An open door leads to a walk-in closet. Carl checks the bathroom. Carrie takes the closet.

The overhead light clicks on automatically when Carrie enters. It’s very bright.

Nothing. Just rows and rows of outfits.

Carl appears behind her. “Nothing in the bathroom,” he says. “Place is clean. We should probably go. She’s probably at work.”

“She’s not,” Carrie says. “I called.”

“Oh. Well. Either way. I’m going to have to get a locksmith over here to fix that door.”

Carrie isn’t paying attention. She looks down.

She kneels. She examines the thick pile of the carpet very closely, running her fingers over it and rubbing them together.

Carl sounds annoyed. “Hey. What are you doing there? You know, I’m not sure you should be here. This isn’t exactly your jurisdiction…”

Carrie pops up again. “You’re right,” she says.

“I am?”

“We shouldn’t be here.” She leaves the closet, walking right past him. “You coming?” she asks at the doorway.

He looks confused again. Then he follows her.

On the front step, he stares at her openly. “You look great,” he says. “Just like a real FBI agent.”