Page 10 of In the Dark of the Past

Everyone nodded slowly, but the discomfort in the room was palpable. No one looked at one another. Everyone found something, somewhere, endlessly fascinating.

I sat back in my chair, every muscle tight, and knew one thing for certain.

This case would likely rip open every wound I thought had healed.

And all because of River Bennett. She was the scalpel.

A couple of hours later, multiple theories had been tossed around, tasks were divvied, and the side war between River and me had cooled to a simmer. We’d demolished the pizza we ordered, but the whiskey still flowed. I hadn’t even noticed the bottle when Atlas arrived.

Libby checked her phone and nudged the tablet forward. “Eryn’s on. Behave.”

“I make no promises,” Cade muttered, peeling the label off his beer. “She still hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Autumn said, sounding a bit unsure.

The screen lit up, and Eryn Sutton appeared, monochrome lab, pale-green tile, chaos in order. Her black hair was in a functional bun with a messy edge, and a silver cartilage cuff glinted beside jet-black eyeliner. She wore a fitted black lab coat with metal-tipped collar pins and the don’t-fuck-with-me energy of someone who’d seen your insides and judged them unworthy.

“Evening,” she said. Flat. Crisp. Controlled. “Nice to see you all surviving.”

“Just barely,” Libby said. “We’re deep into Jenkins. Thought we’d clue you in.”

“Nothing says leisure like a probable homicide and a missing file trail. Even if you don’t have what I need—i.e., a body,” she deadpanned.

Then her gaze landed on Cade. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks, Sutton. I live to be negged by women with scalpels.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Plus, I’ve upgraded to bone saws.”

Laughter and some choking rose around the table, and Cade grinned.

Libby gestured wildly. “Oh! River Bennett, meet Eryn Sutton. River’s our new profiling lead, and my best friend from high school. She just moved back to Maple Ridge and opened a psych practice.”

Eryn looked at River, and Libby continued. “Eryn’s our bones girl. Forensic anthropologist. Hence the body snark.”

River leaned in. “Very nice to meet you.”

Eryn blinked. “Wait. Bennett? As in…?” Her face lit up slightly. “I read your piece in the Journal of Forensic Psychiatry. Trauma responses in adolescent offenders. It was excellent.”

River laughed softly. “I didn’t think anyone actually read those.”

“I do. Did. Whatever.” She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “I even underlined things.”

River’s answering smile was genuine. And I saw it. Felt it.

“Well. Thanks.” A faint blush creeped up River’s neck and flooded her cheeks. I remembered when I used to⁠—

Get it together, Callahan!

“You’re welcome,” Eryn said, her voice warmer than I’d heard it in a while.

Libby clapped. “Okay, now that we’re all besties…”

I leaned forward. “You remember Jenkins, E?”

Eryn nodded. “Vaguely. I was fifteen, but my dad worked the case. Said it stank. Never gave details.” Her face flickered. “Said someone might be listening.”

“Eryn’s dad disappeared, too,” Autumn added softly for River’s benefit.