Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Trace

T race woke up to an empty bed, the cool sheets beside him a stark reminder that Annika was no longer there. For a moment, he lay still, his heart sinking as he reached out to the vacant space where she had been. The warmth of their shared night lingered in his memory, but now, in the morning light, that warmth was quickly replaced by an unsettling chill.

Anger and unease surged through him as he sat up and reached for his phone on the nightstand. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Why would she leave without saying anything? He quickly dialed her number. The phone rang on the other end, but there was no answer. His texts went unanswered too, the silence on the other end gnawing at him.

A growl of frustration rumbled in his chest, his dragon instincts flaring up. He had let his guard down, let her slip away after they had finally begun to reconnect. He wasn’t about to let her go now. She was his fated mate, and damn it, he was going to bring her back and claim her. So much for being an enlightened dragon-shifter. The thought of Annika out there alone, possibly in danger, fueled his determination as he pulled on his clothes and headed for the door.

But when Trace reached his Range Rover, he noticed a small piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. He snatched it up, his eyes scanning the note hastily scrawled in Annika’s familiar handwriting.

Trace, headed back to the cottage to pack up my things. Meet me at the Blackbear Diner for breakfast. Love you, Annika

He let out a long breath, his tension easing slightly as he read her words. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Trust Annika to slip away quietly and then leave him a note as if she hadn’t just left him in a cold sweat. But the humor didn’t completely dispel the lingering concern in the back of his mind. He crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it onto the passenger seat before climbing into his vehicle.

As he drove into town, the early morning sun rising over the rugged Alaskan landscape, Trace’s thoughts drifted back to the investigation. The complexities of the case weighed heavily on him, pulling his mind in several directions at once. The revelations from yesterday had opened up more questions than they had answered, and now they were faced with the possibility that the web of lies and cover-ups might reach deeper into the town than they had ever imagined.

His duty to the town was clear—protect the people, uphold the law, and maintain order. But the truth was equally important and finding justice for Carl Hansen’s family had become a personal mission for him. The tension between those two duties gnawed at him as he drove, the weight of his responsibilities growing heavier with each passing mile.

As he passed the police station, Trace’s attention was drawn to a small group of protesters gathered outside. They held signs, their faces a mix of anger and frustration as they shouted about wasted resources and the reopening of old wounds. Trace’s jaw tightened as he watched them. He knew that not everyone in town supported the investigation. Some people wanted to let the past remain buried, but Trace couldn’t let that happen. Not when the truth was so close, just out of reach.

He slowed his truck as he passed the protesters, his eyes narrowing as he recognized a few of the faces in the crowd. They were familiar—people he had grown up with, people he had known for years. It hurt to see them standing on the other side, but he pushed those feelings down, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

The Blackbear Diner came into view, the small, rustic building a staple in the town, known for its hearty breakfasts and strong coffee. Trace parked his Range Rover in the gravel lot and walked inside, the bell above the door jingling as he entered. The scent of bacon and coffee greeted him, the cozy warmth of the diner a welcome contrast to the turmoil in his mind.

Annika was already seated at a booth near the window, her face lit by the soft morning light. She looked up as he approached, a small smile playing on her lips as she waved him over. Trace felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he slid into the booth across from her, the familiar comfort of her presence a balm to his frayed nerves.

"Morning," she said, her voice soft but warm. "Sorry I left so early. I wanted to get a head start on packing."

"No need to apologize," Trace replied, his tone gruff but affectionate. "You had me worried for a minute there, though."

Annika’s smile widened, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "You worry too much, Trace. But I guess I should have left a better note."

He chuckled, the sound easing the last of his anxiety. "I don’t know; the important part was there, especially the ‘love you.’”

“I thought you might like that.”

“You knew I would. I love you, too. Let’s have breakfast and talk about our next steps."

They ordered their food, the conversation flowing easily between them as they discussed the new leads they had uncovered. The prospect of connecting the Kodiak murder to the series of unsolved murders along the West Coast had breathed new life into the investigation, and they both felt the urgency of the task ahead. But beneath the surface, Trace could feel the connection between them—an unspoken understanding that the case was only part of what brought them together.

As they finished their meal and paid the bill, Trace noticed a familiar figure across the street, the sight stopping him in his tracks. His father, John Gallagher, was unlocking the doors to the family pub, his movements slow and deliberate. Trace hadn’t spoken to his father in years, their relationship strained by a series of misunderstandings and unresolved tensions that had only deepened over time.

“Trace?” Annika’s voice pulled him back to the present, her eyes following his gaze. “Isn’t that your dad?”

“Yeah,” Trace said, his voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I should… I should go talk to him.”

Annika placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. “Go. I’ll be at the station if you need me.”

Trace nodded; his heart heavy as he watched her walk away. When she was out of sight, he turned back to the pub and made his way across the street. His father didn’t notice him approach until Trace was standing just a few feet away, the tension between them palpable.

“Dad,” Trace said, his voice rough as he forced the word out.

John Gallagher looked up, surprise flashing across his weathered face before it was replaced by something more guarded. “Trace. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Trace admitted, the words heavy with years of unspoken grievances. “But I need to ask you something.”

John’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If this is about the investigation, I’ve already said everything I have to say—years ago.”

Trace shook his head, the frustration bubbling up inside him. “This isn’t just about the investigation, Dad. It’s about the night of the murder. I need to know what you were doing that night.”

His father’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he turned away from Trace, busying himself with unlocking the door. “I’ve already told the police everything I know. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because I can’t,” Trace shot back, his voice rising. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it. I know you weren’t at home.”

John paused, his hand on the door handle, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the years had finally caught up with him. “There are some things that are better left buried, Trace. You, of all people, should understand that.”

Trace’s frustration boiled over, the years of unresolved tension between them finally spilling out. “I’m tired of secrets, Dad. I’m tired of feeling like I’m in the dark. If there’s something you know—something that could help us solve this case—you need to tell me.”

John was silent for a long moment, the only sound the creak of the pub’s door as it opened. Finally, he turned back to Trace, his expression one of resignation and pain. “You’re right; I wasn’t at home that night. I wasn’t at the pub either. I was… I was with your mother.”

Trace frowned, confusion cutting through his anger. “With Mom? But you two?—”

John cut him off with a shake of his head. “We were still married then, Trace. But things were bad between us, and I’d been staying at the pub to give us some space. That night… we had an argument. A bad one. She left the pub in a rage; I drove around town for hours trying to cool off. I didn’t come back until late, after… after it had already happened.”

The weight of his father’s confession settled heavily on Trace’s shoulders. He hadn’t known the full extent of his parents’ troubles back then, hadn’t understood just how close they had come to falling apart. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything,” John said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t see anything, didn’t know anything that could help. And after everything… I didn’t want to bring up old wounds.”

Trace felt a pang of guilt as he looked at his father, the anger that had fueled him moments before draining away, leaving only a deep sadness in its wake. “Dad, I’m just trying to do my job. To find the truth.”

John’s expression softened, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I know, son. And I’m proud of you for that. But sometimes… sometimes the truth isn’t what we want it to be. Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Trace nodded; his heart heavy with the weight of his father’s words. There was nothing more to be said, nothing that could bridge the gap between them in this moment. But at least now he knew the truth or at least part of it.

“Thanks for telling me, Dad,” he said quietly, turning to leave.

As he walked away from the pub, Trace couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was right—there were some things that were better left buried. But he also knew that he couldn’t walk away from the investigation, not now. He had a duty to the town, to the victim’s family, and to himself to see this through, no matter the cost.

When Trace returned to the police station, he found Annika in the break room, a cup of coffee in her hand as she stared thoughtfully out the window. She looked up as he entered, her expression curious but concerned.

“Everything okay with your dad?” she asked.

Trace nodded, though his mind was still reeling from the conversation. “Yeah, we talked. There were… things I didn’t know. But I’m glad we spoke.”

Annika gave him a sympathetic smile, but before she could say more, Dr. Trevor Billingsly entered the room, a folder clutched in his hands and a serious look on his face.

“I’ve been going over the autopsy reports again,” Dr. Billingsly said without preamble, his tone grim. “And I found something that doesn’t add up.” He glanced around nervously. “We might want to discuss this in your office, Chief.”

Trace felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach as he took the folder from the doctor, walking down the hall, flipping it open. Inside were copies of the original autopsy report for Carl Hansen, along with a new report that Dr. Billingsly had compiled after reexamining the evidence.

Once inside his office, Annika asked, “What did you find?” leaning in to read over Trace’s shoulder.

“The original autopsy report was tampered with,” Dr. Billingsly said, his voice tense. “There are discrepancies between the initial findings and the actual evidence. The cause of death was altered to make it look like a straightforward murder, but the real cause… it’s more complicated. And the only way this could have happened is if someone within the department was involved.”

Trace’s heart sank as he absorbed the doctor’s words. A cover-up within the police department? The implications were staggering, and the realization that someone on his own team might be involved sent a wave of anger and betrayal through him.

“We need to figure out who did this,” Trace said, his voice cold and determined. “And we need to do it quietly. If there’s a mole in the department, we can’t let them know we’re onto them.”

Annika nodded, her expression hardening as the weight of their new discovery settled over her. “Agreed. We need to be careful. If they’ve gone to these lengths to cover up the truth, they won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to keep it buried.”

The three of them stood there in silence, the enormity of their task pressing down on them. The investigation had just taken a dark turn, and the stakes were higher than ever. But Trace knew one thing for certain—he and Annika were in this together, and they wouldn’t stop until they uncovered the truth, no matter how deep the conspiracy ran.