Page 45 of Nowhere Good

He didn’t sound sarcastic, but Claire rolled her eyes anyway. “Yeah, riveting.”

Her nosy side won as she inspected what he had going on up here. This car was old enough to have an ashtray in the console, but it only had one cigarette butt in it. A scent diffuser attached to the vents was responsible for that sea breezy smell she was getting. Tucked between her seat and the cupholders, there was a piece of paper of some kind, flattened in a clear plastic bag. She picked it up. It was some sort of hand-drawn map of a road around a cornfield, leading into a forest. The Bursells’ fields, it said.

“This is the cabin you were talking about?”

“Ah, shit.” Winslow gently took it from her and tossed it in the backseat. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Could’ve said ‘hands off,’ you know.” She grinned, amused by his politeness. “Don’t worry, it didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Fell through, anyway. I should be sleeping right now, but here I am.”

“So should I.”

The rumble of the road filled the space between them, but Claire didn’t mind. Maybe she was just exhausted from the drama, but she found it surprisingly easy to relax next to Winslow. He had a calm way about him. When she wasn’t on the other side of his interrogation table, that is.

Clementine’s words wormed back into her mind.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Claire realized it was this.

It was seeing this detective look at her life—really look. It was the first time she’d ever seen someone sniff around her family like that. It was the first time she’d seen her dad something like nervous.

And maybe that alone had given her that first breath of hope that maybe, somehow, someway, there could be a way out of this.

Devil-you-know, my ass, she wanted to say, but it was too early for that. Police only operated on proof, and Claire had none. Hell, even if she did, there was no guarantee the cops here would give a damn, since they seemed to think the sun shone out her dad’s ass. But someone like Winslow might be able to help, if she could figure out how.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“That stuff I said about Dillon maybe being a drug dealer. What if I thought it could be bigger than that?”

“Bigger how? Like a bigger operation?”

“Yeah. What kind of proof do you need to expose something like that?”

Winslow thought on it. “Well, it’s not always easy. I worked narcotics in New York—it can require some serious undercover work. The little guys, you can get to, but the big guys are a lot harder. You have to hope you can follow the trail and catch them in the same room as their supply, ideally making a deal go down. You want the case to be iron-clad, because once your cover’s blown, it’s over. You can guarantee the evidence will be destroyed the moment they smell a cop around them.”

He glanced at her, but she turned away, realizing she’d been staring at his profile, at the delicate line of his straight nose. He had a nice face—handsome and all, but it was more than that. She’d never actually known a man with dimples before, slight as they were. While he usually kept himself clean-shaven, a shadow of dark stubble now lined his square jaw. It looked good on him.

And he had so much knowledge in that brain of his. Claire wished she could trust him, tell him everything, but if he let even one thing slip up to Chief Wells or anyone else, it could get back to her dad. She needed more first. Like he said—an iron-clad case.

“Other times, it’s less complicated,” Winslow added. “Finding a massive stash on someone’s property never hurts.”

“If I did find that kind of thing… is that something I could report?”

“Would you want to?”

“I don’t know.” She heaved out a sigh. “I just want the truth. I shouldn’t even be saying this to you, you’re a cop. For the record, no, I have not actually found anything.”

“Honestly, dealers, suppliers, all that, not my job anymore. So if Dillon is dealing or if your whole family is, it’s not really my concern unless it’s tied to the murders.”

“And is it? I mean, could it be?”

“Between us, I’m pretty sure the killer stole the heroin supply he’s using on the victims from another addict. So…” He briefly looked at her. “Probably not.”

“That’s a relief.” I guess.