Page 91 of Silent Bones

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Do you care about the truth, Rivera?”

“We are not in the business of truth. You of all people should know that. We are in the business of appearances. How do you want this to appear?”

Everything she was saying screamed cover-up. This wasn't about making a traffic ticket disappear—this was a murder case. Noah wanted to ask if she was on Luther's payroll, but that would have sealed his fate. It would have made sense, though. After the last sheriff was put away, they would have wanted someone else in their pocket. Was she just as corrupt as the last one?

“Back off, Noah. Five teens are dead. You have Mack. It’s clearly connected with a package found at the scene. Tie it together and close this case.”

“And if I don’t?”

She sat back down, folded her hands, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Then I won’t be able to protect you anymore.”

The words landed like a door closing.

Rivera wasn’t angry. She wasn’t rattled. She was precise. She wasn’t making a threat, she was delivering a message that had already been written. Just like the note. Just like the silence in the hallway.

“Um. Let me sit with that for a second.” He paused. “I think you forget, I don’t work for you. I work for State.”

“We work together and as long as we do, how you operate affects us. So decide how you want this to play out.”

Noah stood slowly. “Is that official message?”

“No. That’s personal.” She hesitated. “But the pressure behind it? That’s institutional.”

He nodded once. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

As he turned to leave, she said, “This isn’t about you, Noah. You think it is. You think you’re the one who’s going to bring light to something long buried. But it’s not about you. This place runs on shadows and hard decisions. And sometimes…Some things are better left alone.”

He paused at the door.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, without turning.

Then he stepped out and let the door shut behind him.

The house wasdark when Noah pulled in.

No porch light, no motion sensor flickering on. Just the soft metallic tick of his vehicle cooling and the wind brushing the trees. He stood there for a second longer than usual, hand on the door, eyes narrowing at the cabin.

He hadn’t left it that way.

Inside, the faint smell of beer and wood smoke carried throughout the home. The floor creaked under his boots as hestepped into the kitchen, reaching for the switch. Light spilled across the room, and there he was.

Hugh.

Sitting at the small table, one leg crossed over the other, a half-drained bottle of Genesee in front of him, the other one still sweating on the table.

“Shit, dad,” Noah muttered, stopping in the doorway. “You ever think of knocking?”

“I used a key.”

“Yes, the one that I want back.”

Hugh didn’t answer. He just picked at the label on the bottle with his thumb, eyes not quite meeting Noah’s.