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“She’s clearly not a party girl,” Sawyer replies.
“Either way, it’s not our problem.” Clearing my throat, I lean forward. “Thanks for looking into it, but it’s probably best to let the authorities handle it.”
Sawyer arches a brow. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Thanks for looking into it,” I repeat.
Sawyer stares at me a moment. “Tank, the girl was likely beaten, drugged, and dumped into a river right before a hurricane was projected to hit.”
I meet his gaze. “So?”
“And you just want to drop it?”
“The police are investigating, and right now, every piece of evidence points back to her taking those meds and driving herself in because she was too high not to.”
“And the bruises?”
“Maybe she tried to sell some.” I take a drink of my coffee, not believing a single one of the words even as they come out of my mouth. But the fear of failure weighs a lot heavier on my shoulders than the concern that I’m wrong.
Sawyer studies me. “You don’t believe that.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Your expression. My question is, why are you trying to convince yourself it’s the truth?”
“I’m not a cop, which means I don’t need to get involved.”
“Since when has that ever stopped us before?”
I glare at him. “We don’t have orders.”
“We didn’t with Tessa, either. Or Katelyn, or Anastasia, or Reese. Yet we still got involved.”
“Because they were family. Zane knew Tessa from childhood, same with Weston and Reese. Anastasia is Zane’s little sister, and Katelyn was Garrison’s neighbor. Not getting involved wasn’t a possibility. Dahlia lives in Charleston. Let them handle it.” I toss a few bills down on the table and get to my feet.
“Tank, you don’t quit on people.”
“I can’t quit something I didn’t really start. Look, I asked you to dig, and you did. Nothing significant popped up. People go off the rails all the time, sometimes without any warning. If there is more to it, there are cops looking into it.”
“And if someone put her in that river?”
It’s that one simple question that’s been eating me alive since I saw those bruises. What if someone did try to kill her? What if she really is in real danger?
Once upon a time, I did trust my gut. And then everything went wrong. There’s a reason I never wanted to call the shots when we were on missions. Because I can’t trust myself to think logically when emotions are involved.
That frantic fear as I fought to pull Dahlia from the water lodged itself deep in my chest, and now I can’t seem to reconcile the woman I pulled from the water with a Valium-stealing nurse.
Is it because there really is something wrong here?
Or because, once again, I’m letting my emotions cloud my judgement?
“Then I guess we need to pray she remembers who it was before they try again.”
Chapter 5
Dahlia
“Good morning.” A pretty blonde strolls into the hospital room with a baby in a carrier attached to her chest and a wide smile on her face. She’s humming as she sets the tray of coffees on the bedside table, then walks over to open the curtains.
