Lawson shot him a grin. “Never.”
“Abel,” I said in a stage whisper. “You’re not allowed to criticize theboss.”
Lawson chuckled. “Everyone knows it’s really Abel who runs the show.”
“Damn straight, and don’t you ever forget it.”
His voice was the same as it had always been, that even tone with just a bit of grit that had seen me through what I’d thought were my darkest moments. And he’d never given up on me. He’d gotten me help as soon as he could and had given me asense of purpose that I’d desperately needed when my world had crumbled around me.
Lawson gave Abel a salute. “Keep manning the ship. I’ll go push some paper around.”
Abel harrumphed, which only made Lawson grin wider as he headed to his office.
“Give me the lay of the land.”
“Pretty quiet today.” Day shifts were either silent as a mouse or total bedlam. As more and more tourists descended, it would tend toward the latter. Teenagers being stupid. Boaters having too much to drink and thinking a DWI only applied to cars. Lost hikers.
Abel lowered himself into the chair at the cubicle next to mine. “I’ll cover you when you leave for lunch.”
“Thanks. I’ve still got a bit.”
Two officers passed our desks. Clint Anderson lifted his chin. “You in for poker this weekend, Williams?”
“Only if you’re ready to get cleaned out.”
He shook his head, glancing at his partner. “She’s brutal. Shows no mercy.”
Amber Raymond smiled in my direction, but it was forced—and it always would be. I didn’t blame her. On a night we’d all seen the face of evil, her younger brother had died, and I hadn’t. My wounds should’ve meant me being in the ground, too, but something had kept me holding on.
Not something. Holt.
Invisible claws dug into my chest, ones of grief and rage. But I’d mastered not letting that show. I could be in agony on the inside, and no one would know.
“Hey, Amber.” I smiled, but it was strained. I didn’t want to be a reminder of all she’d lost. But I wouldn’t look away from her grief either.
“Hi, Wren.”
My phone rang, and I instantly swiveled toward my computer monitors as I positioned my headset. “Cedar Ridge police, fire, and medical. What’s your emergency?”
“T-there’s someone here. I think they’re trying to break in.”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my breathing in check as I glanced at the computer readout. “Is this Marion Simpson at five-two-two Huckleberry Court?”
“It’s me, Wren. They’re scratching at the door like they’re trying to pick the lock. Please send someone.”
“Stay on the line. I’m going to get someone out to you right now.” I clicked over to our radio system. “Reported 10-62 at 522 Huckleberry Court. Possible B and E in progress. Requesting officer response.”
A familiar voice cut across the line. “Officers Hartley and Vera responding. Let us know what we’re walking into.”
I switched back over to the call. “Ms. Simpson, are you home alone?”
“Y-yes.”
“Can you see who’s at your door?”
“No. I’m in my bedroom. I didn’t want to go down there.”
A loud banging sounded across the line, and my stomach twisted. “Stay where you are. I have two officers en route. They should be there momentarily.” If Nash was driving, they’d be there in under two minutes. But this was one circumstance where I didn’t mind his daredevil ways.