Page 43 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)
Campbell
“ I call driving,” I say, shoving Hayes’s face and taking off toward the patrol car before he has time to recover.
The world is bright today, like I woke up and the sun started shining for the first time in a long time.
I feel—well, I just feel—and I never thought that would happen again.
I thought I would be numb until the day I finally decided to end it all, but I’m not.
I can’t describe how freeing that feels.
I turn my head over my shoulder in time to see Hayes scrambling to his feet while he glares at me, and I throw my head back, laughing. It’s loud and obnoxious, but I don’t care. It’s real, and that’s freeing, too.
I make it to the car and jump in the driver’s side, slamming and locking the door behind me. A couple of seconds later, Hayes joins me, climbing into the passenger seat and crossing his arms over his chest as he stares out the front windshield.
“Oh, Hayesie-poo, don’t pout,” I say, reaching over and tugging the corner of his lip into a smile. “You can drive next time.”
Hayes smacks my hand away and turns toward me, narrowing his eyes.
“You are annoyingly happy today,” he says with a pause and a sigh. “I’m glad.”
I snort because that last part nearly killed him to admit, even though I know he means it. “Me too, H. Me too.”
Turning the key, I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading across town to grab lunch before we go on patrol.
The drive will take less than five minutes, but it’s one of my favorites, especially this time of year.
The colors of the leaves are changing, making Benton Falls feel like something out of a movie.
Residents walk down the sidewalks, stopping one another just to talk—and probably gossip.
I can’t imagine living somewhere else, but I’d forgotten the magic this place holds over the years. I’m starting to find it again, though.
“So,” Hayes says, interrupting my musings, “Want to tell me what has you in such a good mood? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad, but I have a feeling it’s more than just getting on the right medicine. Did something finally happen with you and Ivy?”
I keep my eyes on the road, but can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Hayes chuckles. “Yeah, but that stupid grin on your face just did.”
I shrug, unashamed, and continue our drive with it still on my face.
The buildings on Main Street come into view, and I take my time rolling by them, soaking in the scene.
They’re all older with brick exteriors and picture windows, but in good condition, considering their age.
The town has spent a lot of money keeping them up, but as we drive further down the street, I notice that some of the buildings look different than when I was here three days ago.
Colorful paint is tagged on the sides, and not like the kind Ivy is painting.
Hers is a mural—commissioned because the town wants it to be there—this is just plain vandalism.
I guess some people would argue that graffiti is a form of art, but in my book, it’s the destruction of property, no matter how talented the artist may be.
And there’s no doubt that whoever tagged these buildings was talented.
The painting is a mix of colors, forming a heart being ripped in two.
It’s both beautiful and disturbing, but also illegal.
“Have you heard anything about this?” I ask Hayes, who has sat forward in his seat to get a better look.
“Not a word. It must have happened overnight because I was here yesterday, and it wasn’t like this.”
I stick my tongue in my cheek, thinking as I study the art and the area around it.
Many businesses further down the street have cameras, but this end doesn’t.
The buildings on this side of the old train depot haven’t been used for a couple of years.
They’ve just been maintained as part of a beautification project funded by the Benton Birdies, a group of elderly women in this town who like to have a hand in everything—including my mom.
I’ll have to call her to let her know what’s happened, and maybe convince her to have the Birdies install some security cameras.
“I’ll make some calls after we grab lunch,” I say to Hayes, continuing past the graffiti toward dinner. See if anyone saw or heard anything.”
“Sounds good. Maybe I can ask around there, too. You know Gail won’t have our food ready yet.”
I grunt in agreement because he’s right and then drive a few more blocks down the street, parallel parking right in front of the diner.
The Diner—which is actually its name—has the best food in town, but it’s also infamous for how long it takes to get your food.
Gail Hannings could give two flips less about time management.
She says it puts a damper on her cooking.
She has a new menu every day, cooking whatever her heart desires, instead of what the customer wants, but in all honesty, it’s always what the customer wants because Gail’s food is just that good.
It doesn’t matter what it is; it will make your mouth water.
Hayes gets out of the car, and I follow. He reaches the diner door first and is about to reach for the door handle when it flies open, forcing him a few steps back so it doesn’t hit him in the face.
A teenage boy walks out, a sneer curling his nose when he sees us standing in front of him. “Yo, the donut shop is down the street.” He snorts, slapping his knee and finding himself funny.
The kid isn’t from Benton Falls. That much I know.
The town is small enough that I would notice him because he makes himself stick out like a sore thumb.
His jeans hang below his butt, and they are torn to pieces in the intentional kind of way.
He’s tall and lanky, like he hasn’t quite grown into it yet, and his long hair has been bleached, hanging into his eyes.
Dark smudges of eyeliner circle his narrow eyes, and one of his thin brows is cocked, as if waiting for us to laugh at his joke.
The splotches of paint on his clothes hold my attention, though.
Hayes and I glance at one another, years of practice and friendship allowing us to have a conversation without speaking. His eyes are telling me to take the lead on this one, having obviously noticed the same thing I did, and I nod my confirmation, turning my attention back to the suspect.
“What’s your name, kid?” I ask, shoving my hands beneath my vest and taking a pose that makes it seem like I’m just striking up a conversation.
“Don’t got one,” he says, holding the front waistband of his pants, which is probably a good idea because I’m afraid if he lets them go, they’ll fall around his ankles.
It will make it easier to catch him if he runs, though.
“Fine. Let me ask you another question. How did you get all that paint on you?”
I don’t expect him to answer with the truth, but it’s at least worth a try because it seems suspicious that a new kid would show up in town with paint splatters all over him at the same time vandalism starts popping up.
“My girl likes to paint. It gets on me when we hang out—if you know what I mean.” He says it with a wink, and I have to grit my teeth to prevent myself from knocking some manners into the kid.
“And who’s this girl?” I ask, but the question is answered for me when the door to the diner opens again—and Willow walks out.
Her eyes widen when she sees me, bouncing between me and the kid, still sneering in my direction. If I were to guess, I’d bet anything that she had no intention of running into me today.
So why is she in Benton Falls?
“Willow, what are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring the kid I now know is the boyfriend Willow isn’t supposed to have.
“Ah, crap,” Hayes says, putting two and two together with Willow’s name, but I ignore him, too, keeping my attention on my daughter, who looks guilty as sin.
“Oh—you know—I just wanted to show Cameron around town.”
“Babe,” Cameron says, interrupting her, “do you know these clowns?”
Willow winces, and my glare turns icy. “Uh—yeah. He’s my—uh—he’s my—”
“Her dad.” I try not to let the fact that she can’t say it pierce my skin—we’re still getting to know each other. I get it, but it still makes the tiniest of knicks anyway—and the problem with that is that no matter how small a cut is, sometimes it festers.
“Yo, no way, dude. You don’t look like Mr. B. You aren’t tricking me, Willow.”
Willow grits her teeth, her jaw set in an angry twist, and I stare at him blankly, wondering if he’s really that dumb or just likes to play that way.
My bet is the second one because there’s a cunning intelligence in his eyes that’s only recognizable when you’ve spent years studying narcissists and the tactics they use to manipulate people.
John and Jackie were right. Willow needs to get far away from this kid.
Hayes, who has always been good about sensing tension in the air, steps forward and sticks his hand out toward Willow.
“Hi, I’m Hayes, your dad’s—” I cut him off with a sharp look, not wanting to press Willow on the matter, and he recovers, “I mean, Campbell’s partner in the force. Outside of it, I’m his only friend.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but freeze when Willow laughs. It’s one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard, and I’d pay a million dollars to hear it again.
“I was kind of betting on him having no friends. Is he like your community service project or something?” She gives me a side eye, and Hayes chuckles. I roll my eyes, secretly soaking this up.
“I like her already, Campbell,” Hayes admits.
“I’m sure you do. Anyway,” I say, steering the conversation back on topic. “Cameron, here, says you have been painting? Were you working on the mural again?”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.
I hold my breath and wait for her answer, hoping with everything in me that she didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism down the street.