Page 256 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Forty-Six

Nate stirred in bed and wrapped his arms tighter around Callie’s waist. He moved his head, nestling closer to her soft hair before Winston’s deep, quiet growling registered in his foggy brain. He sat up with a start, squinting in the dark, realizing that Winston had moved from the pile of blankets they’d folded for him in the corner of the room to the doorway. Nate rushed off the mattress, yanking on the boxers Callie had thrown to the floor several hours ago, and reached for his pistol on the nightstand.

“What is it?” Callie sat up. “What’s going on?”

There was a noise downstairs, and Winston barked.

“Stay here,” Nate whispered, walking toward the hallway.

Callie stood on her knees. “Nate—”

“Stay here,” he repeated, closing Callie and Winston inside. Lifting his weapon, he strained his ears as he moved closer to the stairs.

“Nate,” someone yelled as they started pounding on the front door.

Frowning, he ran down the steps and peeked out the window, spotting one of the cruisers half-parked in the driveway. He flipped on the lights and yanked open the door, staring at Mac’s ghostly pale complexion.

“Oh, Jesus, Nate—”

He opened the door wider. “Come in. What’s going on?”

Mac stepped inside, rubbing at his face with unsteady hands. “It’s Captain Bob. He’s—he’s dead, man.”

“What?”

“Some shots were fired out by his place. James Larsen called it in. Denny and I went to check it out. Suicide, Nate. Blew his damn brains out in the garage.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nate said as he jammed his hand through his hair. “Did you call fire and rescue?

Mac shook his head. “There’s no need. He’s a mess—blood and tissue everywhere.”

Callie came downstairs, wrapped in her robe, looking from Mac to Nate. “What’s wrong?”

Nate held her gaze. “Captain Bob’s dead.”

Callie’s eyes went huge as she pressed her hand to her heart. “Oh, my God.”

He gave his attention back to Mac. “You secured the scene?”

Mac nodded. “We just found him. Ten minutes ago maybe. I tried getting you on the radio and your phone. Lucky’s dead too.”

Nate closed his eyes as he clenched his jaw. Turning off the radio and silencing his ringer had seemed like a good idea when he’d taken Callie back to bed after dinner. “Let’s call in Shawn.”

“I already did. Denny’s got the driveway blocked off. He’s sitting in his cruiser until you get there. We didn’t want to do much of anything without you—thought that was best.”

His deputies had never worked a scene. It had been years since Nate had watched the detectives in Boston and DC do their thing. This didn’t happen on Carter Island. They didn’t respond to calls for shots fired and find fellow community members dead. “Why don’t you head on back? Let’s get a logbook started but keep everyone out of there for now. No one goes in.”

“Sure thing.”

Nate looked at Callie. “I’ve gotta go.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He hurried upstairs, realizing that he’d put his boxers on inside out as he pulled jeans and a long-sleeve shirt from his drawers and got dressed, struggling to believe that this was really happening. He’d just talked to the guy. Not even eight hours ago he’d petted Lucky. He sat down to put on fresh socks and remembered the blue paint in the back of Bob’s truck. “Fuck,” he murmured as he holstered his gun and grabbed his radio, then hurried back downstairs, breathing in the scent of freshly brewing coffee.

Callie handed Nate a to-go mug. “Mac left.”

“Thanks.” He hooked his arm around her waist and kissed her. “I have no idea how long I’ll be.” He eased back and sighed as Callie’s eyes swam with tears.