Linda Castillo: Breaking Silence

Noisily, Rasmussen clears his throat. “I just remembered I have something to do.”

“You sure you won’t stay for a drink?” Tomasetti asks.

“You asshole.” Grinning, the sheriff slides out of the booth.

Tomasetti rises and the two men shake hands. “Agent Tomasetti, it was a pleasure meeting you. Can’t thank you enough for your help.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he says, and I wonder if Rasmussen knows he’s referring to me.

The sheriff glances my way, and I think I see a smile in his eyes as he turns and heads toward the door.

Tomasetti settles in across from me. “You think he got the message?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. You were pretty subtle.”

We grin at each other across the table. I know he’s leaving tonight. And even though he’s so close that I can reach out and touch him, I already feel him slipping away. Already I miss him.

“How are you?” he asks after a moment.

“I’m okay.”

McNarie interrupts, setting two icy highball glasses on the table between us. When the barkeep leaves, Tomasetti says, “I’ve got to be back in Cleveland tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” My heart beats a little too fast. “I wish you could stay.”

“Me, too.”

We sip our tonic and listen to an old Chris Isaak song. Tomasetti breaks the silence. “If you’re not okay, I won’t leave. I’ll find a way to stay.”

Before realizing I’m going to do it, I reach across the table and set my hand over his. I meet his gaze. “I’m okay. I mean it.” Sighing, I add, “This was just a really sad case.”

“Salome played us all.” He shrugs. “We should have seen it coming.”

That makes me feel better, because he has the best instincts of anyone I know. “Sometimes the most difficult things to see are the ones right in front of us.”

“Hindsight sucks, doesn’t it?”

I nod, let the silence ride a moment. “How was Salome?”

He studies me, his eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable with. But I’m learning to let him see all of me—the good right along with the bad, and all the stuff in between—and I make no effort to hide the fact that, despite everything, I still care.

“We put her in a cell for her own safety while we did the paperwork and got a rep from the detention center en route. She calmed down after a few minutes. Started working Rasmussen and me.” He shakes his head. “I swear, if I hadn’t seen her go after you, I never would have believed she was capable of that kind of violence.”

“It’s ironic,” I say. “Of all the people who were hurt or killed in the course of this case, the one who is most guilty is the one I can’t stop thinking about. Not Mose. Not the parents or the uncle. But Salome.”

“You were a young Amish girl once, Kate.”

“I think that blinded me to the things I should have seen.”

“You’re nothing like her,” he says after a moment.

I look away, take a sip of tonic. “Where did they take her?”

“Lucas County.”

I nod. I’m familiar with the juvenile facility. “It’s a good one. She’ll get help and won’t get lost in the system.”

His gaze cuts to mine. “Bullshit aside, if she’s dangerous, they’ll find a way to keep her.”

“What do you think will happen to her baby?”

“It’ll go through the courts. If she’s tried as an adult, I suspect the child will go to foster parents and eventually be adopted permanently.”

“Probably the best thing.”

“If you hadn’t done what you did, she would have gotten away with murdering her entire family.” He frowns at me. “Think about that while you’re beating yourself up tonight.”

“I’m not planning on beating myself up.” I smile. “Promise.”

“How long until you’re reinstated?”

“A few days. Maybe a week.”

He nods. Chris Isaak fades into an old Goo Goo Dolls song that makes me think about how small our lives are in the scope of things.

“What time do you have to be at the office tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’ve got a deposition at seven.” He glances at his watch, sighs.

“You’d better get going if you want to get any sleep.”

“I should.” But he makes no move to get up.

Instead, he stares at me so long, I have to resist the urge to squirm. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” I say.

“I was just thinking sleep’s way overrated.” Sliding out of the booth, he takes my hand, pulls me out, and we head toward the door.

ALSO BY LINDA CASTILLO

Pray for Silence

Sworn to Silence

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

BREAKING SILENCE. Copyright © 2011 by Linda Castillo. All rights reserved.