“I’ve notified Investigator Meyer of the situation. You’ll want to find a time when you can fill her in on your current cases; she’s gonna take them over.”

Hudson couldn’t help it. He sighed with relief. But then he looked at the box filled with two decades’ worth of questions, and his heart sank. “Sir?”

“Yes, Detective.”

“Why me?”

“Because if anyone was going to finish what Garrison started, he’d want it to be you. And because I’m saving you, Hudson. From yourself.” He looked up, noting the consternation written all over Hudson’s face. “Listen. I know you want to hunt down the guy who killed Garrison. There isn’t a soul within these walls who doesn’t. But we can’t. Not only did Garrison work for this department, he was your friend. The second you get involved, you taint the whole investigation. I know it sucks, but we have to let Wesson PD handle it.”

Hudson chewed the inside of his cheek. He knew Kole was right, and yet, what had Garrison been doing with that ticket? “This is a diversion, then.”

Kole slid the box toward him so that a sliver of it hung off the edge of the desk. “Figure out what happened to Clive Reynolds, Hudson, and you’ll never have to work a Sensitive Crimes case again.”

5 MORGAN

There was an attraction between them. She was sure of that, and yet, Bennett Reynolds had not tried to kiss her when they’d said goodbye on the curb, their skin illuminated by a single streetlamp, shadows elongated and stretching into the street. Although now that she was removed from the situation, perhaps his lips had brushed the soft spot beneath her jaw when he’d hugged her. She pressed two fingers to her neck, as though feeling for a pulse. Her skin tingled in response to her icy fingertips.

Would she have let him kiss her, she wondered. If he’d leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, would the alcohol in her blood have persuaded her to kiss him back? She could do—and had certainly done—much worse than Bennett Reynolds.

But those memories were behind her now. Overwritten like all the others.

Houses zipped by on the road that would lead her back to her parents. Aside from a wind-beaten wreath clinging to every other door and the occasional string of multicolored lights hanging from gutters, the residents of Black Harbor had put very little effort into their holiday decorations. Eleanor Reynolds had more Christmas spirit in her backyard than the entire city combined.

Morgan was buzzed; she definitely shouldn’t have been driving. Which was probably why she suddenly had the courage to turn left onto Winslow Street, a road she’d avoided for as long as she could remember.