Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(46)

“I’m not sure. A young woman was killed yesterday. Strangled,” Sawyer told him. “Found naked and tied to a tree.”

“Horrible. Did Palmer ask you to stay and cover the murder?”

“No. It was the other way around, actually.”

“I guess I’m not too surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“You’ve always made it clear that it’s been your dream to work the beat.”

Sawyer was taken aback. They had rarely talked about private matters over the years, and yet it seemed he was so tuned in to her.

“I’m being presumptuous.”

“You’re not,” she said. “I asked you a question, and you answered it. And you’re right on both accounts. I called to let you know because I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested.”

“In me or in dinner?” he asked.

“Dinner,” she said. “Of course.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m happy to hear that. Now I’m left to assume that this means you are interested.”

Her insides quivered. She couldn’t let him spend the next week thinking she might be someone she wasn’t. “I have to be honest with you.”

“Please,” he said.

“I feel a need to warn you that I’m sort of a mess. I was sexually abused, and I’ve been seeing a therapist for years, and we’ve pretty much gotten nowhere. I was living with a guy named Connor up until last week, when I caught him in bed with another woman. I don’t know about you, but I find it strange that I haven’t given him a first or second thought since. I have an aversion to being touched. I have panic attacks from time to time, I don’t trust anyone, and I’m often paranoid. For instance, since arriving in River Rock, I’m certain I’m being watched.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. It’s not that I try to hide who I am from people, but I don’t usually just spout all my flaws on a whim.” Her heart raced. She felt nauseated. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Get back to your family. I never should have called.”

“Please don’t hang up,” he said.

How did he know she was about to do just that?

“I leave the toilet seat up more times than not,” he told her. “I hardly ever finish a book once I’ve started. I’ve been known to make sound effects when I’m driving. I have a nervous twitch, and my leg bounces whenever I sit down for too long. I also talk to myself while cooking. I could go on, but then you’d never talk to me again, so I think I’ll stop right there and leave it at that.”

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Well, thank you. Really. Can I hang up now?”

“Goodbye, Sawyer. We’ll talk when you get back. Stay safe.”

She was mortified by everything she’d just shared and considered apologizing again, but instead she said, “Goodbye.” After disconnecting the call, she let out all the bad air in one long exhalation. How was it possible that she’d worked with the man for all those years and never once stopped to wonder about him? And why had she felt the need to share so much of herself with him?

A loud knock on her car window made her jump.

Shit.

It was Oliver. Make that Melanie. She pushed the button to open the window. She inwardly repeated her new name, not wanting to offend by calling her Oliver. Melanie wore thick eyeliner, and her hair was in a long fishtail braid that swept naturally over one shoulder.

“Sorry,” Melanie said, leaning down so they were face-to-face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw you sitting in your car for a while, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t lost or anything.”

“I’m not lost,” Sawyer said, her heart still beating rapidly. “I was talking to someone on the phone.”

Melanie straightened. Smiled. “Oh, good. Just making sure.”

Before she could walk away, Sawyer said, “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Amanda Harrington, would you?”

Her nose crinkled. “What in the world do you want with Amanda Harrington?” Melanie’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, this has something to do with Isabella Estrada and your job, doesn’t it?”

Sawyer nodded. “I want to talk to people, see what I can find out about the murder.”

“Well, then Amanda isn’t the person you want to talk to. You need to go see her boyfriend.”

“Isabella’s brother told me she didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Melanie frowned. “The brother lives in another state, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then he probably never knew what Isabella was up to. Secrets . . . ,” Melanie said. “This town has more secrets than mosquitoes, and that’s saying something.”

An image of the tiny bites all over Isabella’s pale skin came to mind. “Any idea how long Isabella had been seeing this person?”

Melanie appeared to think about it. “Close to a year is my guess.”

“And she didn’t tell her brother?”

“Probably because her boyfriend is—was—her math teacher.”