Chapter 5

The cold clink of my badge landing on the reception desk at Brevard County Jail resonated like an accusation. The woman behind the counter gave me a look.

"I need to speak with Sarah Chapman," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions whirling inside me.

I was still cursing at Detective Ryan, who didn"t want me to help on the case. Who did he think he was? Weren"t two heads better than one? Wouldn"t my expertise in solving murder cases benefit him? I knew he just wanted to take the honor for himself. I knew his type. And he definitely didn"t want me around to question his evidence or conclusions.

"Right this way," the officer replied with a nod, leading me to a sterile room smelling faintly of bleach and despair. The walls were a stark white, and the furniture was bolted to the floor. It was hard to imagine Sarah in this place. She was such a sweet girl, around five or six years younger than me. She had lost her dad in the line of duty as a police officer, and that's why she was in the support group. She was also in AA. It was court-ordered after her last DUI, but they hadn't taken her driver's license just yet. I knew she could beat this addiction to alcohol. She had been so strong and so adamant about it. She was always so neatly dressed, matching her earrings with her shirts and sometimes even shoes. She had been doing so well and had not been drinking for months. What had happened? I wondered what had sent her over the edge.

I was left alone, seated on a hard plastic chair that chafed against my back—minutes stretched into what felt like hours, punctuated only by the distant echoes of clanging doors and muffled voices. My mind drifted, unbidden, to Matt—the sharp words we exchanged still hanging heavy in the air between us.

Guilt gnawed at me, the memory of his defeated eyes more than I could bear. Was I too harsh? I wondered, tracing patterns on the cool metal table before me. I should have been his solace, not another source of strife. But he seemed so lost, and I—I just wanted him to find that spark again, to kindle the fire that made him a great detective… that made him my Matt.

"Fight, damn it," I had urged him in the car on the way to rehabilitation this same morning, forcing cheer into my voice. "For yourself, for us."

My plea had sounded hollow, and now I felt awful. I wasn"t doing enough to motivate him. But months had passed. Shouldn"t he be getting better by now? Was it depression over the fact that he was injured and that he faced maybe never coming back to being a detective again? Why wouldn"t he even try? Why not fight for it? I couldn"t just let him lose hope, could I?

Suddenly, the door swung open, shattering my reverie. Two guards ushered in Sarah Chapman, her hands cuffed in front of her. Her hair was a mess, and it was the first time I had seen her without makeup, but when she lifted her head and our gazes locked, there was a flicker of recognition, a glint of the friend I knew and loved.

"Eva Rae," she breathed out, her voice cracking. Tears welled in her eyes, brimming with relief, remorse, and a thousand unsaid apologies. "I"m so glad to see you. You won"t believe how glad I am."

Her words hung suspended, a fragile bridge across the chasm her actions had wrought.

"Sarah," I replied, my voice thick with a cocktail of empathy and duty. "Let"s talk."