Page 20 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Eighteen

Quinten parked the car next to his brother’s faded-red clunker and turned off the ignition.

In the quiet that followed, a series of faint pings and ticks began to rise from the engine as the metal cooled and contracted.

He let the noises fade into the background, his focus shifting to Raisa.

She hadn’t moved, her hands resting tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale against the dark fabric of her coat.

“You ready?” He forced himself to keep his voice light.

Her hand tightened on her purse strap, the leather creaking under the pressure. “Let’s get this over with.”

Not exactly reassuring. He reached over and gave her knee a gentle squeeze, surprised at the tension coiled there. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t relax either. He let his hand linger a moment longer before stepping out into the biting January air that smelled faintly of salt and ozone.

Raisa climbed out after him, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

Quinten adjusted his coat and waited for her to join him on the sidewalk.

She didn’t look at him as they headed to the entrance, her boots tapping sharply against the concrete.

Above them, the precinct’s security light buzzed faintly, haloing her in its cold glow.

Her movements were too mechanical and stiff.

She fumbled with her scarf, as if trying to buy herself time, then moved the strap of her purse an inch higher on her shoulder.

Once they reached the frosted glass doors, he discerned the faint outlines of two figures on the waiting benches.

As he let Raisa in, he didn’t miss how she stiffened at the sight of Gavin and Corbin.

He should have warned her that Gavin had called him earlier, telling him he would be there to support them.

And Corbin… well, he was always solid. Still, his brother’s and cousin’s presence might add more pressure on Raisa, and he should have taken that into account.

Raisa slowed, and her brows drew together.

Quinten settled a hand at the small of her back and tried to ignore how good her ass looked in the dark blue denim jeans.

He failed. A rush of heated air blasted against his face, providing the distraction he needed.

The chemical scent of cleaning detergent and pine air freshener battled against the scent of stale coffee, old sweat, and something sour he didn’t try to put a name to it.

“Hey.” Gavin gave them an easy smile, his tone light and breezy, as always. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, giving Quinten a nod before shifting his attention to Raisa. “Thought we’d come check in. Big moment and all that.”

Raisa gave him a cursory glance and pressed her lips into a tight smile. “Something like that.”

Gavin didn’t miss a beat, his smirk deepening. “Don’t worry too much. You’re not on trial here.”

“Yet,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Quinten to hear. He frowned but didn’t comment, instead nodding a greeting to Corbin, who gave him a firm clap on the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Quinten said, steering Raisa gently toward the receptionist’s desk, where a bored-looking officer motioned them through. Gavin and Corbin followed at a respectful distance. Raisa kept her head high, but tension radiated off her.

They were ushered into a small room with plain white walls, a steel table, and a flickering fluorescent light overhead. Detective Maloney stood waiting, a clipboard in hand.

Her short silver hair was neatly styled, and her angular features gave her an androgynous look that leaned toward the masculine.

Dressed in a sharp navy blazer over a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks, she looked professional and efficient, with no extra frills.

Her athletic build and confident posture showed she took care of herself, and the fine lines around her eyes suggested she had plenty of experience—both in life and on the job.

Her gaze was sharp and steady, the kind that would make people think twice before lying, yet there was an approachable quality to her as well.

Despite her no-nonsense demeanor, there was something about her calm, self-assured appearance that put Quinten at ease, like she’d seen it all and wasn’t easily rattled.

She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly who they were and what they were doing.

She nodded to them as they entered, then glanced over Raisa with what Quinten could only describe as quiet curiosity. Detective Zanetti joined a moment later, balancing a notebook and a laptop and setting them on the table before sitting down.

Detective Zanetti was the picture of polished femininity, in stark contrast to her partner’s no-nonsense edge.

Her honey-blond hair was swept into a sleek ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her soft, heart-shaped face.

She wore a tailored gray blazer over a blush-pink blouse that hinted at a floral pattern, paired with slim trousers and heels that clicked softly against the floor when she walked.

Her warm smile made her more like a friendly neighbor than a cop.

While Maloney came across as tough and unyielding, Zanetti exuded patience and understanding, but both broadcasted an undeniable air of authority.

“Now we’re all here.” Maloney gestured for them to sit. “Let’s get started.”

Quinten pulled out a chair for Raisa, but she hesitated before sitting, smoothing the wrinkle-free fabric of her sweater. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and hunched her shoulders. He took the seat beside her, cradling his hands in his lap to keep from reaching out to her again.

“We’ve made some progress,” Maloney began, flipping open her clipboard. “We located Vanessa’s car.”

Raisa inhaled sharply, and Quinten glanced at her. Her eyes widened a bit, though her expression stayed neutral. If only she’d look at him—give him something—but she kept her gaze locked on Maloney.

“Abandoned on a back road about six miles outside of town. Tests on the car revealed a large amount of blood in the trunk. The blood type matches Vanessa’s.”

Raisa stiffened beside him, and Quinten’s chest tightened. He glanced at Gavin and Corbin across the table. Gavin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Corbin’s brows drew together in what looked like concern.

“But you can’t confirm it’s hers?” Although Raisa’s question had come out steady, there was a faint tremor at the edges of her voice.

“Not yet,” Zanetti said, her tone measured. “We need DNA to be certain, but her mother refused to cooperate.”

Quinten frowned. “Refused? Vanessa’s mother is always so…” He struggled to find the right word. “Soft-spoken and sweet. Not someone who would go against the police or wouldn’t want to help find her daughter.”

Maloney gave a grim nod. “Her behavior’s likely a result of her Alzheimer’s. Advanced cases can lead to significant personality changes—agitation, hostility.”

Zanetti pushed a laptop toward the center of the table and opened a video file. “This is from the day before the car was found,” she said, hitting play. “Raisa and Quinten, you have already seen it.” The grainy footage showed a woman stepping out of a vehicle, her movements clipped and deliberate.

“Vanessa,” Maloney said simply, folding her arms. “Clearly alive and well at that moment.”

Quinten glanced at Raisa. She was leaning forward, her eyes narrowing as the footage played. “That’s the footage the technician showed us. That’s not her.”

Maloney arched a brow. “Her best friends, Beth Ashford and Devaney Martin, both identified her. Recognized the coat and the car.”

Raisa parted her lips as if to argue, but she hesitated, pressing them into a firm line. Her shoulders squared, and she pointed at the screen. “Pause it. Right there.”

Zanetti obliged, freezing the frame. Raisa leaned closer, her voice steadier now. “Look at the angle of her arm. It’s stiff and unnatural. Vanessa walks with an enviable grace. And look at the shoes. She was always in heels because she’s so, uhm, height challenged.”

Quinten bit back a laugh. You can call her just short, baby!

Maloney exchanged a glance with Zanetti, who tapped her pen against the table.

“We are unconsciously biased or have selective perception. It refers to the tendency to perceive and interpret information in a way that aligns with our existing beliefs, experiences, and expectations,” Raisa added, turning back to the detectives.

“It’s like how magicians trick the eye. People see what they expect to see, not what’s actually there.

Our brains are wired to take shortcuts, and while it helps us make quick decisions, it also means we don’t question the first impression we form.

Think about it—our brains process an overwhelming amount of information every second, but we’re only consciously aware of a tiny fraction of it.

To manage that overload, we rely on patterns, assumptions, and experiences, most of which operate on autopilot. ”

She paused, glancing at the frozen image on the screen.

“When you expect Vanessa to be there—when you combine her car, and you recognize her coat—your mind fills in the gaps. It’s not deliberate; it is how our mind works.

But it’s why eyewitness testimonies are often unreliable and why we have to double-check the facts.

What we see isn’t always the truth—it’s what we’ve been conditioned to believe. ”

Stunned once again by her intelligence, Quinten could stare open-mouthed at his woman.

Fucking brilliant.

He checked the others. The detectives exchanged a glance before staring at Raisa, and they were clearly impressed. As they should be!

Corbin was gnawing on his bottom lip while nodding. Next to Corbin, Gavin sat frozen in his chair—his eyes fixed on the stilted person in the footage as all the color drained from his face.