Page 16 of The Psychic

It was completely dark as she drove through the rain-washed streets, precipitation splattering her windshield in deep, persistent plops.

It had felt interminable at the Langdorfs’ and then she’d had to hem and haw, much to Marian’s displeasure, before she’d been allowed to leave.

Now she was heading to the River Glen Police Department.

Maybe a fool’s errand, but she needed to unburden herself, especially if there was any chance the woman in the clearing was alive.

She hoped she still had time to catch Detective Verbena at work, though at this hour that particular hope was slim.

She was fighting with the desire to just head home.

She could be settling in for the night, nibbling on cheese and crackers and apple slices, her go-to makeshift meal when she wasn’t interested in picking something up or using a delivery service.

Maybe even some television, and if she were particularly energetic, popcorn.

Her appearance at River Glen P.D. would not be appreciated. The last time she’d approached them she’d been quietly laughed at, and even though she’d eventually been proved right, it didn’t mean they really believed or trusted her. She was having enough trouble trusting herself.

As she pulled in to the station lot it felt like the tan brick, squat, one-story building was malevolently watching her, which really didn’t help her confidence.

She sat for a moment, wondering if she should go through the main doors and battle with the front desk, or try to sneak in through the back where most of the department’s employees entered.

That would turn a few heads, for sure, however, and she didn’t need any more scrutiny.

Stepping into the rain once more, she tiptoed around a deep puddle in the tarmac, remotely locking her car.

The last twenty-four hours had been leading to this moment ever since that first message about the woman in the clearing.

And then Shana’s appearance at her doorstep with divorce papers, the car accident, the trip to the hospital to see Shana, the battle with Galen, running into Detective Cooper Haynes and then Marian and Carlton Langdorf and everything …

seeing Brandy, however briefly. The argument with her father …

issues at work … No wonder she was starting to feel really tired, damn near bone weary.

She needed to get this meeting with the police over with, pass the baton.

She hurried through the rain and pushed inside.

“I’d like to see Detective Verbena, is she here?” she asked the female officer behind the plexiglass at the front desk. Her name tag read Dennison .

“I’m sorry, she’s not. Is there someone else you want to see, or could I help you?”

She waited a moment. Ronnie vacillated in her mind.

Maybe she should find Detective Haynes. Paula Prescott, an attorney at the office, had his information.

That would mean waiting till tomorrow, however, unless she could get hold of Paula tonight and she would be willing to help Ronnie out, which would require all kinds of questions, no doubt.

So, maybe Officer Dennison was the one to talk to, but she was working the front desk and Ronnie would really prefer somewhere less public than reception.

While she mentally dithered, the door to the inner sanctum buzzed open and a man stepped out.

Ronnie half glanced his way but was still processing.

“Maybe,” she began, but Officer Dennison said brightly, “Looks like Detective Hart is still here. Right here, in fact.” She smiled in the direction of the newcomer.

Ronnie felt the woman’s words slip into her brain, electrifying her synapses. Detective Hart? Sloan Hart? Was there another Detective Hart in the area? Couldn’t be. Jesus. Sloan … ! My God … old home week … it was a conspiracy!

She was afraid to turn and look his way. She hadn’t dropped her hood, so she felt somewhat protected. Slowly, feeling like she was in a farce, she pivoted ninety degrees to see his face. Her heart was jumping all over her rib cage. Yes. Damn … damn … damn.

Sloan. Hart.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

Dark hair. Gray eyes. Strong jaw. More handsome than she remembered. Scarier than she remembered. Sterner. He wore a gray overcoat over a dark blue suit coat, silver tie.

She couldn’t find her voice. Had to clear her throat … then still couldn’t answer. It would be hard enough to say to Detective Verbena: I’m having a psychic vision of a woman dying or dead and I need you to find her and help her.

But to Sloan?

“I’m … looking for someone,” she managed to finally say in a strangled voice.

He thought a moment, then shrugged. “Buzz us back through,” he told Officer Dennison.

Bzzzzzzzz filled Ronnie’s head as Dennison pressed the button to allow entry and Sloan held the door open for her. She preceded him into the squad room on rubber legs. Sinking into the chair beside his desk, the one he kindly told her she should sit in.

He didn’t take off his overcoat as he sat down at his desk, wheeling the chair back a bit so that he could get a look at her. “Let’s start with your name and then get to who you’re looking for.”

Detective Sloan Hart had only been with the River Glen P.D.

scant weeks. Initially he hadn’t really considered a position in his hometown, more because he didn’t think there was an opening than because he didn’t want the job.

But he had been hired by the Colvin County Sheriff’s Department, where they had been looking for someone to take the place of a recently retired detective.

When Sloan had walked in, he’d been greeted by an old school buddy, Abel Townsend, who was delighted Sloan was interested in the job.

“Goddamn,” Townsend said, grinning. He shook his hand and slapped him hard on the back. “Welcome.”

But almost before he’d settled in, Detective Cooper Haynes had been put on administrative leave at RGPD for pissing off the mayor, the city council and his own chief, a situation that was total bullshit according to the rank and file, political high jingo, the kind of thing that makes good officers want to quit.

Sloan hadn’t really wanted to step into that mess, but Haynes was too good a cop to be let go and from all he’d heard, was planning to return.

So, in a deal between the sheriff’s department and RGPD, Sloan had temporarily moved over, one foot here, one foot there, a man without a country so to speak.

Townsend had been reluctant to let him go, but had chosen to approve the transfer and Chief Duncan’s good favor, so voilà … Sloan was currently with the RGPD.

Which left him a short-timer, and that was fine.

He’d chosen law enforcement because he found it interesting and was good at it, not because it was going to make him rich, but he was thinking about the next phase of his life and wondering if he should try to find a more lucrative career path.

His father had pushed hard, encouraging Sloan, but then his parents had always dreamed their son would work on Wall Street or become some sort of multimillionaire/billionaire, and Sloan just wasn’t made that way.

His friend, Evan Caldwell, another River Glen grad, was the man who was amassing a fortune, from a wheelchair, in front of an array of monitors that kept track of whatever financial wizards like Evan kept track of.

But that was not Sloan.

His desk was several rows back from Detective Elena Verbena’s, Haynes’s partner, though he was directly in her line of sight.

He hadn’t been foolish enough to sit at Detective Haynes’s desk, which butted up to hers.

He didn’t need to ruffle more feathers than had already been ruffled by Chief Marcus Duncan hiring him practically as the door was still shutting on Haynes.

Verbena was still a tad tetchy with him, so it was wise to tread carefully, although she was absent a lot herself, looking after her ailing mother.

Sloan had been in Seattle, after a stint in both Los Angeles and Oakland.

His relationship with his ex-wife, Tara, hadn’t survived the shifting moves.

She’d wanted him out of police business entirely and hadn’t been shy about saying so.

He’d had to keep his own seesawing thoughts about law enforcement to himself, or she would have pounced on his indecision and made future plans for him …

for them. They’d split while in Seattle and she’d been so angry that she’d hooked up with a friend of his, expecting, apparently, for him to be consumed with jealousy and anger and …

what? Take her back? Change his mind? All it had served to do was make the break permanent.

The irony was that Tara worked for a vacation rental company that competed with Airbnb, whose headquarters happened to be in Portland, and each move had brought her closer to the mother-ship and, well …

Portland, or specifically, River Glen, which was where he wanted to be, too.

She’d called him the other day, wanting to get together for a drink, or dinner, or just a talk, and he’d eased out of that.

But she clearly thought being in the same locale was some kind of sign for the future.

But … it wasn’t. The marriage was over. He and Tara had different interests and time had eroded that first blush of excitement.

If they’d been able to settle into a real friendship they might have had a chance, but as time went on, things went the other way.

The fissure between them grew to a chasm and though she’d dragged her feet a bit about getting the divorce, she’d eventually capitulated.

If she had other ideas concerning that decision now, Sloan wasn’t interested.

Another bit of irony: He was temporarily staying in a You+Me Homes, one he’d booked through Tara’s company.