“Well, that was uncalled for.” The coughing attack slowly subsided.
“Actually, I’m packing it in.” Gathering up her keys and purse, Alvarez pushed her chair away from the desk. Her leg, from her most recent injury, pained a little, but she fought through it, barely wincing. Though she hated to admit it, Watershed was right, the digital readout on her computer monitor registered 1:16 a.m. She should have left the office over an hour earlier, but, of course, she’d put off going home. Again. A habit she’d tried hard to break. For years her job had been her life, and she’d seen nothing wrong with being known as a workaholic. It had suited her just fine until Dylan O’Keefe had barreled back into her life a little over a month ago. They’d been together ever since, and though their relationship was far from smooth, she was hopeful that it could develop into something permanent. Tonight, O’Keefe was with his family in Helena, so she was alone.
“Good, because I’m already on overtime and the department can’t afford us both.”
He wasn’t kidding. The sheriff’s department’s budget was stretched to the max. In early December there had been an intense, seemingly unending blizzard that had required extra man hours for road closures, electrical outages, and evacuations of the elderly. The recent serial killer’s rampage had added an extra strain to the resources of the department.
“If you’re so worried about the budget, why’re you still here?”
“Finishing up a report.” His eyes darkened a bit and he rubbed the beard stubble evident on his jaw. “Single-car accident out by Horsebrier Ridge.” Shaking his head, he added, “Nineteen-year-old kid.”
“Dead?” She felt a sudden chill deep inside.
“Nearly. Helluva thing for his parents to hear on Christmas Eve.”
“Or anytime,” she said, thinking of her own son in Helena, a boy being raised by another family as she’d given him up for adoption at his birth. Her heart twisted a little when she thought of Gabriel, the sixteen-year-old who had so recently come bursting back into her life.
Watershed asked, “So why are you still here?”
Slipping into her jacket, she decided to duck the question; the answer was just too personal. Since O’Keefe wasn’t returning to Grizzly Falls until the morning, she was avoiding her town house and all the ghosts of Christmases past. “Just tying up some loose ends.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
With a shrug, she wrapped a scarf around her neck and pocketed her keys.
“I thought you were on restricted hours or half time, or something.” He pointed at her leg.
At the thought of her struggle, how she’d nearly lost her life during her encounter with Grizzly Falls’s latest serial killer, she shuddered inwardly but forced a smile she didn’t feel. “The doc says I’m good to go.”
“And the sheriff?”
“Grayson knows.”
“Sure.” Obviously he thought her explanation was bogus, but he didn’t press it. “Okay, I gotta run. So, Merry Christmas, Alvarez. Have a good one, well, what’s left of it.”
“Got a whole day, Watershed. Or at least twenty-three hours left.” And it was going to feel like forever. She already wished the holiday was over.
Watershed didn’t hear her remark as he was already walking toward the area of the offices where the restrooms were located.
Usually the department was a bustle of activity, phones jangling, footsteps in the hallways, voices of officers and witnesses, keyboards clicking, the occasional burst of laughter or clink of chains on shackles, but tonight, with most of the lights dimmed and only a skeleton crew tucked inside, the offices were eerily quiet.
“Silent night,” she muttered under her breath as she slid her pistol into her holster and snapped off the lights.
Quickly, she zipped her jacket and headed toward the back of the building. Hopefully she wouldn’t meet anyone else and have to again dodge why she was here so late, why she had such an aversion to the holidays.
For the first half of her life, growing up in Woodburn, Oregon, in a large Hispanic family, she’d felt that special electricity that seemed to surround Christmas. Midnight mass with her family, the smell of tamales her grandmother created, the laughter and anticipation of her siblings as they decorated the tree, the anticipation of Christmas morning; it had been a magical, special time in an outgoing girl’s life.
And it had been stolen from her in an instant.
Her stomach soured when she thought of her cousin and how she’d been violated, how her innocence had been stripped from her.
“Get over it,” she whispered under her breath as she walked through the deserted lunchroom, but she knew she never would. There weren’t enough psychologists or antidepressants or kind, consoling thoughts to erase that particular pain. It would always be there, a scar that was just only lightly healed.
But she’d learned to deal and cope and now . . . even love again.
Maybe.
In contrast to the muted lights of the offices, the lunchroom was ablaze, fluorescent bulbs burning brightly overhead, while white Formica-topped tables seemed to reflect that very light. And everywhere, of course, shiny, silver snowflakes and gold wreaths, suspended from the ceiling and plastered to the walls, created weird mirrors.