Page 21 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

E verything about the moment was disturbing. The apartment was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that buzzed under the skin. The weight of everything unsaid pressed on the air like humidity before a storm.

Jake was in the bedroom, zipping up a duffel bag with the kind of practiced calm that made Callie want to scream. The sound of the zipper was too loud in the silence, a straight-line scratch through her chest. She sat on the armrest of the couch, arms folded across her stomach, jaw locked tight.

She could hear the clink of his belt buckle as he reached for it, looped it through his jeans. A window was open, letting in the faint scent of rain off the street. One of those nights where the world felt like it was holding its breath.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at the floor.

Jake stepped into the living room. His uniform was civilian, plain jeans, gray shirt, scuffed boots, but he wore it like armor. The duffel hung from his shoulder, heavy in all the ways it didn’t look.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

Not at first.

But then she did. “So that’s it?”

He stopped near the doorway, exhaled slowly, and looked over at her with a familiar mixture of weariness and resignation.

“It’s not punishment, Cal.”

She huffed, more air than sound. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jake set the bag down with care, as if letting it drop would somehow make everything worse. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

“You’re leaving.”

“I need something different.”

“You mean someone different?”

His mouth pressed into a line. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe.” She stood, arms still crossed tight like she was holding herself in place. “I just know you didn’t even try to talk to me. You applied for the transfer without even saying a word.”

He nodded once. “Because I knew what you’d say.”

“That’s not how this works. You don’t just, decide for both of us.”

“I didn’t decide for you,” he said. “I made a decision for me. That’s different.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Long Island? That’s your fresh start?”

Jake shrugged. “Cleaner cases. Fewer ghosts. Less of… this.”

“This?” she repeated.

“The mess,” he said. “The overlapping cases, the politics, the weirdness around this whole area. You. Me. Noah. It’s not healthy.

” She flinched at the last word, but Jake didn’t stop.

“Listen, I’ve been sitting with this for a while.

After you told me about Luke Sutherland.

About how you felt. How you never really got over that.

I started to put the pieces together. The way you look at Noah.

Luke doesn’t have to be alive to see things haven’t changed.

When you see Noah, you see Luke. I can’t compete with that. ”

“That’s not fair.”

He nodded, gently. “No, it’s not. But it’s true. Tell me there isn’t something going on inside you when you look at Noah.”

Callie blinked. “Don’t?—”

“Don’t what?” Jake said, voice still even. “Don’t say something real? You’re in denial, Callie. But I’m not blind. I’m simply honoring your decision and respecting my values.”

She turned away, walked to the window. Outside, the streetlamps had clicked on, casting amber light through the storm-streaked glass. Two teens biked past on the sidewalk, laughing like the world hadn’t collapsed.

“It’s not like that,” she said quietly.

Jake didn’t move. “It’s not not like that.”

“We work together. He’s complicated. I don’t—” Her voice cracked, but she forced it steady. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You don’t have to want it,” he said. “But it’s happening. I can’t stay here and pretend I’m not the third wheel in my own relationship.”

She turned sharply. “Noah and I… that’s nothing.”

Jake gave a sad smile. “It’s something to you.”

He let that sit there a beat, heavy and calm, then looked around the apartment like it had already been someone else’s place for a while.

“I appreciate what we had,” he said. “Truly. It mattered. You mattered.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m being thrown away?”

“You’re not. This isn’t rejection. It’s release.”

She scoffed. “You always were good at pretty phrasing.”

He winced, but didn’t argue. “I’m leaving tonight. I’ll call about the rest of my stuff next week.”

That made it real in a way nothing else had.

She crossed her arms again, teeth digging into the inside of her cheek.

He stepped toward the door, hesitated, and turned back.

“For what it’s worth,” he said softly, “I still think you’re one of the best cops I’ve ever worked with. And maybe one day, when all this is behind you, you’ll see it too. But maybe for your sake, it’s time to be true to yourself.”

“You don’t think I am?”

“Do you, Cal?”

Then he opened the door, slung the bag back over his shoulder, and stepped out into the night. The door shut with a gentle click.

And Callie was alone.

She stood in the middle of the apartment like something had been surgically removed from her chest. Her breathing was shallow. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t yell.

She just stood there, letting the stillness settle.

But it wasn’t peace. It was shame. Frustration. The bitter taste of not being chosen, even though, deep down, she knew Jake wasn’t wrong.

She walked to the window again and stared out across the wet street, watching the reflections of taillights streak across the pavement. Her own reflection stared back at her in the glass. Her mouth was tight, eyes darker than usual.

“Noah and I… that’s nothing,” she said again to no one, and even she didn’t believe it.

Anger bloomed in her throat, but it wasn’t directed at Jake.

Not really. It was aimed inward. At the mess she’d made.

At the walls she couldn’t seem to climb over.

At the stupid kiss she’d imagined more than once and never dared to act on.

At Noah’s calm eyes and quiet concern. At the way she sometimes felt seen around him in ways that scared her.

She grabbed her keys from the hook by the fridge, yanked on her jacket, and slammed the door behind her.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But her hands were already turning a wheel toward High Peaks Lake.

Noah stood at his kitchen counter, sleeves pushed to the elbows, crime scene photos and reports spread across the surface. A notepad sat open beside his tea, filled with scribbled observations and arrows connecting theories that didn’t quite land.

Outside, the sky had turned a smudged gray-blue. A soft rain had begun tapping at the windows, not a downpour, just enough to remind him that night was coming in heavy.

He was reaching for a folder when someone knocked. Not a polite tap either, a fast, sharp knock that said now.

He paused, frowning. A second knock followed, louder this time.

He walked to the door and opened it.

Callie was standing on his porch, damp hair clinging to her jaw, eyes lit with something wild and unfiltered. She didn’t wait for him to say anything. She pushed past him into the house like she had every right to be there.

“You said something in your report,” she said. “About the meth bag.”

Noah closed the door slowly. “Okay…”

“You said it wasn’t weathered. That it looked fresh. Plastic wasn’t degraded.”

He nodded. “Correct.”

“So someone,” she said, spinning to face him, “before or after the murders, planted it or dropped it.”

He took a breath. “That's what I think, yeah.”

She looked around like she was searching for something to throw or break but settled on pacing a tight circle in his kitchen.

“I’m confused. You drove here to say that?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Callie didn’t answer right away. She pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead and exhaled like it hurt.

“I just needed to say it out loud.”

Noah nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“I also needed to get out of my apartment,” she added.

He leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. “What happened?”

“Jake’s gone,” she said. “The commander was right. He took the transfer. Downstate. He leaves at the end of the month but he left my place tonight.”

A beat passed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

She laughed once, no joy in it. “Are you?”

Noah didn’t answer, he could see she was angry.

Callie paced again, more agitated now. “He said he needed something simpler. Cleaner. Fewer ghosts. Fewer complications.”

“Complications?” Noah waited.

“With this area,” she added. “With me.”

Still, he said nothing.

Callie moved toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s okay, you can stay,” he said, quietly. “You’re allowed to not have it all together. Hell, I’ve dumped my fair share of personal crap on you.”

“Don’t do that,” she snapped.

“Do what?”

“Be the calm one. Be the guy who always says the right thing in the right tone. It makes me feel insane.”

“I wasn’t trying to be anything,” Noah said.

“Well, you are,” she said, voice sharp. “You always are. And I never know what you’re thinking, and it makes me want to scream sometimes.”

He folded his arms, steady. “Then scream.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Instead, she stood there, trembling slightly, fingers clenched at her sides. Callie turned to leave, placing a hand on the door. She paused for a moment.

And then, suddenly, turned back and walked forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t slow or delicate. It wasn’t practiced. It was hard and full of passion. It was impulsive and searching, like trying to answer a question without asking it.

For a second, Noah didn’t move. Then she pulled back, just a few inches, close enough to still feel his breath.

His voice was low. “What was that about?”

Callie let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “I just wanted to see.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? And what did you learn?”

She looked at him for a moment, really looked. Her eyes studying him like some lab experiment. Something passed across her face, vulnerability, maybe regret, maybe something more tangled than both.

“That I’m still a mess,” she said.

She stepped back, gave him a nod like that was all she’d come for, and turned toward the door.

Noah didn’t stop her.

She opened it, stepped into the drizzle, and let the screen door close behind her with a soft thud. A few seconds later, he heard her car start and back out of the driveway.

He stood in the doorway, watching the taillights disappear through the misty rain, red blurs swallowed by the trees. The house felt quiet again, but in a different way now. Like it had witnessed something it wasn’t meant to see.

Noah leaned one hand against the doorframe and stared into the dark.

His reflection in the window looked older than he remembered. Worn down by things he couldn’t name.

He said softly, “Yeah. Me too.”