A better person than I would have remembered that this was a woman whose husband had been missing for almost a week. That this was a woman who’d been obliged to call in her rival to try to find her husband. That this was a woman who looked like she hadn’t slept much in the past several days, and who was gaunter than she’d been last I’d seen her.
I was by definition not that person. I snarled, “Yeah, actually, I am serious. Maybe the good guys should wear white hats, Sara. Maybe it makes them better target practice, but maybe it’s more reassuring than a bunch of grim-faced mooks in black jackets muttering, ‘We’re the FB freaking I.’ Jesus Christ, Lucas and my dad are missing and you’re worried about my fashion choices? I got here as fast as I damned well could. I don’t have an unlimited budget for international travel.” In fact, having maxed out my credit card buying a last-minute ticket to Ireland and then the leather coat, I’d had to borrow the ticket-change fee from my friend Gary, who I’d then left in Ireland to keep an eye on my cousin, the new Irish Mage.
“What the hell were you doing in Ireland anyway?”
“I was burying my mother, okay?”
Sara’s jaw snapped shut so definitively I heard the click. She had the grace to flush an attractive dusky red, and after a moment said in a much less antagonistic tone, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even, um...” and decided she should stop there.
I finished for her, out of something I’d like to call the goodness of my heart and which I suspected was more like a gleeful willingness to twist the knife. “I didn’t know her. Not well, anyway, and not at all until the very end. So I got here as fast as I could, Sara, and if you’d told me Lucas had gone missing almost a week ago I might have tried getting here that much sooner.”
She stiffened all the way from her heels to the top of her head. I swear if it could have, all that honey-blond hair would have stood straight out like an angry cat’s. “I didn’t know it was—”
“‘My kind of thing’?” I asked when she broke off, then couldn’t help relenting a bit, palms turned up in something like apology. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Look, do we have to do this, Sara? Didn’t we get it out of the way in December?”
From her expression, no, we hadn’t. Or rather, we had, but only when Lucas wasn’t actually part of the physical scenario. Reintroducing him and me added a whole new level to the emotional mess we’d created in high school, or at least it apparently did in Sara’s mind. “I don’t,” I said to the ceiling, since I figured it was more inclined to listen than Sara was, “have designs on your man.”
“How do you know? You haven’t seen him in thirteen years.”
I reversed my gaze to peer at Sara. “You really think he and I are going to, what, Sara? Fall into each other’s arms in a fit of storybook love? He never even liked me, you idiot.”
“He got you pregnant!”
“And then he turned tail and ran. Sara, I don’t think liking somebody has much to do with sex for your average teenage boy. Opportunity, yes, fondness, not so much.”
Les, whom I’d more or less forgotten about, cleared his throat. Sara and I both looked at him accusingly and he said, “Don’t paint all of us with the same brush.”
I wrinkled my face. “I don’t need you being the voice of reason in the middle of my rant, Les.”
He shrugged expressively. “I’m just saying some things are more worth doing if you like the person.”
“So he did like you,” Sara said, which was such a wild extrapolation from Les’s statement that I flung my hands up in exasperation.
“Did or didn’t, it was half a lifetime ago, Sara. Get over it. Or would you rather I tried really hard not to find Lucas while I’m looking for my dad?”
She turned ever-more scarlet, spun on her heel and stalked out of the sheriff’s office. I stood there a moment, watching sunlight eat her silhouette, then turned to Les. “Is this what it’s like for people who never leave their hometowns? Does everybody get permanently stuck in high school?”
“Sara left,” he pointed out, but gave another shrug, this time one of agreement. “I think coming back makes us revert to form, maybe. Everybody knew who we were then. It’s pretty easy to fall right back into those expectations. Try being the stoner who comes home a cop. That’ll mess you right up.”
“You ever tempted to slide?”
Les looked thoughtful, but shook his head. “Not really. Feels better to be part of the community, to be useful and make a difference in people’s lives. It took some getting used to, but I wouldn’t want to go back.”
I glanced after Sara and sighed. “Yeah, I hear you. Guess I should try to remember that. Look, if I find anything useful, I’ll...”
“You’ll bring it to the elders,” Les said, which made a lot more sense than anything I’d have suggested. “Don’t forget you’re not alone on the path here, Joanne.”
I had, in fact, forgotten that, and for a moment it was far more interesting than chasing after Sara Isaac. I came back to the desk, half-curious and half-worried. “So why haven’t they already solved it?”
“You’ll see when you get up on the mountain.” Les shook his head. “I’m not screwing with you. I think it’s just better for you to see for yourself. I don’t have the eyes for it.”
Self-conscious, I touched my cheekbone just under the eye. They weren’t gold right now because I wasn’t drawing down power, but I felt a little like a marked man anyway. Then my fingertips brushed the scar on my right cheekbone, the one I’d gotten the day my shamanic powers had awakened, and I guessed maybe I was a marked man. “All right. Anything else I should know before I go up there?”
“Yeah.” Les’s grin flashed. “Sara drives like an old woman on those mountain roads.”
I laughed and dug my keys from my pocket on the way out the door.
Sara was in her own rental, a Toyota Avalon. I laughed again, shook my head, and dangled my keys. She shook her head. I sat on the Impala’s hood and waited. It only took about forty seconds for her to throw her door open, stand up in it and snap, “I’m not letting you drive me up there, Joanne. I remember how you drive. And what were you laughing at?”
“My, um. My, uh...” I crinkled my face. Captain Michael Morrison of the Seattle Police Department, less than a week ago my boss, and now featuring as the romantic lead in the movie of my life, was thirty-eight years old. That seemed a little long in the tooth for the word boyfriend. And since I’d jetted off to Ireland within minutes of us finally mentioning the elephant in the room that were our feelings toward one another, we hadn’t really discussed different terminology. Significant other was a mouthful. Partner connoted long-term commitments, which I was kind of hoping for myself, but didn’t think seemed appropriate under the current circumstances. I cleared my throat and finally said, “Morrison. Captain Morrison, the guy who gave you my number in Ireland? He drives an Avalon. Highest safety rating in its class. That’s very FBI of you, or something. Get in the Impala.”
“I am not driving anywhere with you in that thing.”
She sounded like Morrison. I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Sara. It’s a brand-new car, not a classic roadster. It has seat belts. I promise not to drive over the speed limit.”
She closed her car door and took two wary steps toward me. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” I actually did, and Sara, still suspicious, came and got in the Impala. I got in, buckled up, waved at Les as I started the engine, and gunned it.
Dust kicked up, Sara screamed like a little girl and I laughed until the tears came as we zoomed toward the mountains. I slowed down, too, because