The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(19)

“Who knew you could be so empathetic? Maybe if you showed this much emotion when we were together, I wouldn’t have left.”

“Thank God for small favors,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just, please, think about Emmy.”

“I do, Ryan. She’s my daughter. I love her, and she knows that. She’s probably playing it up to manipulate you and your mother. And speaking of your mom, make sure she isn’t poisoning Emmy against me.”

For the love of God. Only someone manipulative herself could dream up that scenario. “She wouldn’t do that, Valerie.”

“She never thought I was good enough for you. Until you get your own place, she’s got unsupervised access to Emmy. I don’t need her planting ideas about me in our daughter’s head. I’m still her mother.”

“Then act like one.” He hung up without another word. He’d been so determined to succeed at love after his failed relationship with Steffi that he’d ignored all the signs that had doomed his marriage to Val.

Steffi. Their interactions this past week had him all turned around. He hadn’t discovered any open criminal cases in which she was named as the victim. The cops mustn’t have had enough evidence to make any arrests. Why he cared, he couldn’t say.

She hadn’t been part of his life for a decade. Well, no part of his real life. She’d always been lurking just beneath the surface of his memories, though. The ones he’d tried to bury deeper than a coffin. If he’d found an open case, seen who was handling it, maybe . . . maybe what? Nothing, actually. The damn divorce uncertainty had him reeling so badly that he’d grasp at any straw to think about something else.

He was staring into space when a young investigator, Billy Friday, stopped at his desk. “Hey, Ryan. Here’s the report I worked up on the Haney assault case.”

“Great.” Ryan took it from Billy, who looked to be about twenty-five—wiry frame, with a tattoo poking out of his left sleeve. His black hair was a few shades darker than his eyes. He might look a little threatening if not for the toothy grin. “How’s it going so far?”

“Pretty good.” Billy crossed his arms and leaned his hip against a chair. “The only bad part is the shit my brother gives me. He’s a narco. Got my mom convinced I put scum back on the street.”

Ryan whistled. “I’d like to be at one of those family dinners.”

“Some of the stuff I’ve heard around here lately makes it harder to brush that off. There’s a shit-ton of repeat offenders and outright liars.”

“There are also shitty cops—not your brother, of course—and lawyers out there bending the rules or outright breaking them. And rich dicks who rob the public blind but pay lawyers and bribes to get away with it. We make sure the average Joe gets a fair trial without going bankrupt.”

“Truth.” Billy nodded. “So I’ll keep digging on that aggravated-assault case, too. See if I can find another witness to counter the prosecution’s main witness.”

“Great.”

“See you later.”

Ryan waved Billy off and tossed the file on his desk. He didn’t need more work today, but he’d have to keep on top of a bunch of open cases now. If that meant taking some files home tonight, then so be it. Not like he had better plans.



Ryan’s mother had left an earlier message telling him that she was taking his dad to the doctor and leaving Emmy at the house to do homework while Steffi worked. When he arrived at home, he noticed Steffi’s van still parked in front of the house, while his mother’s car was nowhere to be seen.

He killed the engine and let his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes to draw a breath. Guess that trip to urgent care this afternoon wasn’t an overreaction on his dad’s part.

He called his mother as he exited the car, then stood in the driveway. “What’s wrong with Dad?”

“Gout!” she replied, sounding shocked. “We’re at the pharmacy waiting for a prescription. Be home soon, but dinner will be late.”

“I can pick up fried chicken or something.”

“Good idea. Let me get it on our way home. It’s just around the corner from here.”

“Okay, see you soon. Tell Dad I’m sorry. I hear that’s pretty painful.”

“I’m the one you should feel sorry for. He’s such a baby when he’s sick.” She clicked off the phone.

He couldn’t remember a day when his mother hadn’t been a frank, no-nonsense kind of woman. She’d been the “cool” mom, thanks to her open-minded attitude about teen sex and other things that drove most parents around the bend. She’d also taught his older sister, Miranda, to be savvy and assertive, take control of her sexuality, and have a healthy no-BS meter. Miranda became a wedding planner after moving to New York City with her lover, Linda. He admired his sister, although they weren’t as close as he’d like. She was five years older than he was, and they hadn’t lived under the same roof since he was thirteen.

His father, on the other hand, had been a bit reclusive—drinking his nightly glass of whiskey, quietly tinkering away at his hobbies, keeping largely out of view except at meals. Still, the man got a kick out of his wife’s spunky attitude and took pride in both Ryan and Miranda. His mom would be able to handle life on her own, but his dad might wither if left to his own devices. It was almost as if he needed to borrow from his wife’s energy to engage with others.