Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

tug my hand from his, but he doesn’t let me. He’s so close, I feel the warmth of his breath against my face. His dark eyes are level on mine, and for an instant it’s as if there’s nothing between us. Not my secrets. Not his baggage.
    That’s when the reality of what I’ve let happen strikes me. The realization staggers me. Terrifies me. A rise of panic is like a steel clamp around both lungs. I feel my mouth open, but I don’t dare utter the words. But I feel the tangled mess of them piled up in my chest.
    I wonder if the truth is pasted all over my face. I wonder if he can see it in my eyes, in the way my hand is tight and wet within his.
    “Tomasetti . . .” I begin, but I run out of breath and my voice trails off.
    “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

 
CHAPTER 26
     
    No matter where I travel, how long I’ve been gone, whether it’s for business or plea sure or something in between, there’s something special about coming home. It’s midmorning by the time I pull into my parking space at the Painters Mill police station and shut down the engine. For a moment, I sit there, taking in the facade of the building—the ugly red brick and the circa 1970s glass door. I see my office window with its cracked pane and bent miniblinds, and a few leaves from the ficus tree I’ve been nursing back to health sticking through.
    It’s not the visual that grants me such a powerful sense of homecoming, but knowing what lies beyond those doors—and my utter certainty that I’m part of it. Lois’s Cadillac is parked a few spaces down and, as usual, I can tell her husband spent much of the weekend detailing it. Glock’s car sits a few feet away, waxed and lined up within the parking stripes with military precision. Mona’s still here—four hours after the end of her shift—and not for the first time I wonder if she’s got a life outside her job. There’s no sign of Pickles or Skid, but I know they’re on their way. T.J. has already gone for the day, but I’ll see him tomorrow. That’s something else I can count on.
    Tomasetti was gone when I woke at just after seven this morning. There was no note. No good-bye. In typical Tomasetti fashion, he slipped out the door without waking me. He’s good at that, leaving without so much as a kiss.
    God knows, I’m no expert on relationships, but I do know when something’s good. And this thing we’ve created between us is precious and rare. I only hope it’s not fleeting, because for the first time in my adult life, I’ve given someone the power to hurt me.
    I get out of the Explorer and start toward the front door. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get inside. I want to talk to my team and get caught up, not only on any police matters but on the small pieces of their lives they occasionally share. I want to sit in my office and listen to Mona and Lois argue over something mundane. I want to fret over that stupid ficus and procrastinate when it comes to archiving those old files that have been sitting on the floor in boxes for the last three months. I want to talk to my sister and brother and find a way to repair all the broken things between us, things I’ve let the past and my own pride destroy. I want to call Tomasetti and say the words I couldn’t say last night.
    The smells of coffee and old building laced with the redolence of something that smells suspiciously like lemon wax greet me when I walk in. Tracy Chapman belts out a bluesy tune from Mona’s radio. There’s no one in sight, but I hear Lois and Mona talking somewhere nearby. I cross to the reception desk and look over the top of the hutch. The switchboard has been shoved aside and a can of Pledge with a dirty white cloth draped over the top sits next to it.
    Lois is on her knees beneath the desk, a power cord in her hand. “I don’t know where it goes,” she snaps.
    “Plug it in to the surge protector.” I see Mona’s red stilettos sticking out from beneath the desk, and I realize she’s on her hands and knees. As usual, her skirt barely covers her equipment.
    “What if it starts smoking again?”
    “Do I look like a freaking electrician?”
    I clear my throat. “Do you guys want me to have the fire department stand by?”
    “Oh. Crap.” Lois crawls out from beneath the desk and gives me a sheepish look.
    “Oh, hey, Chief.” Mona backs out from beneath the desk, a Swiffer duster in one hand, a power cord in the other.
    “Phones up and running?” I ask, only mildly