Forever Blue. Suzanne Brockmann

said. “I thought I could, but I can’t.” She opened her eyes and looked at Blue. “I can’t be a substitute for Jenny Lee.”

      Blue laughed, a flare of impatience in his eyes. “You’re not—”

      “Look, McCoy, I’ve got to go—”

      “Why don’t we go get a beer and talk about this?” he suggested. “Is that roadhouse—what’s it called? The Rebel Yell. Is it still around? Why don’t we go there?”

      “No. Believe it or not, I’m actually on duty now. I’ve got to go back to the station and file a report.”

      “You know damn well you could do that in the morning.”

      “Yeah,” Lucy said. “But I want to do it now.”

      Silence. Lucy stared out the front windshield, hoping and wishing that Blue would just open the door and climb out of the truck’s cab. She heard him sigh.

      “Damn Gerry to hell,” he said tiredly. “I should have wrung his neck while I had the chance.”

      He opened the door and climbed out of the truck. “It was a genuine pleasure seeing you again, Lucy Tait,” he said in his soft drawl. “I’ve got to tell you—I wish it could have been an even bigger pleasure. If you’re ever in California, give me a call.”

      She turned to look at him—she couldn’t help it. “Are you leaving town?”

      His blond hair glistened in the cab’s overhead light as he nodded. “I’m heading out on the next bus. I don’t care where it goes, as long as it’s a city big enough to have an airport.”

      He was leaving as soon as he could. Lucy looked away from him, afraid that he’d see the disappointment that surely crossed her face.

      “Bye, Lucy,” Blue whispered. He closed the cab door and was gone.

      * * *

      Lucy’s phone rang well before dawn, waking her from a restless sleep.

      It was Annabella Sawyer, the police dispatcher. “You better get down to the station,” she said in her raspy voice, without any words of greeting. “All hell has broken loose. The chief is calling in all available manpower.”

      Lucy rolled over and looked at her clock. It was a few minutes after 4 a.m. “What’s going on?”

      “It started as a 10-65,” Annabella said. “Jenny Beaumont called in at 2:11 a.m., reporting Gerry McCoy missing. He hadn’t come home. Fifteen minutes ago, Tom Harper came across Gerry’s motor vehicle by the side of Gate’s Hill Road. Shortly after that, the 10-65 became a 10-54. At 3:56, Doc Harrington verified it. We’ve got ourselves a 187.”

      Lucy tiredly closed her eyes. “You mind translating that for me, Annabella?”

      “The missing person became a report of a dead body,” Annabella said. “We’ve got a homicide on our hands.”

      Lucy sat up. “What?”

      “Gerry McCoy is dead,” Annabella intoned. “He’s been murdered.”