Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

We came together, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, my inner muscles pulsing in little aftershocks around Michael every time he murmured the words “I love you” against my skin.

Striding into the sheriff’s department, Michael was in a good mood. Beyond good. Phenomenal. Memories of that morning kept playing over and over in his head, and he knew he was sporting a stupid-ass smile on his face.

When Bridget told him Jeff wanted to see him first thing, her expression grim, he inwardly cursed.

Something was up.

Dammit.

It was always when you were in a tremendous fuckin’ mood.

Sighing, Michael nodded to his colleagues who were in the office and made his way to Jeff’s. Everything between him and his boss was settled. There had been a bit of tension when Michael moved in with Dahlia, but Jeff was a solid guy. Seeing how happy Dahlia was, he let it go. Not surprisingly, he let it go enough to pursue a friendship outside of work. Michael considered Jeff a good friend now.

If he was calling him into his office first thing, that wasn’t a good sign.

Before he could get there, Jeff appeared in the corridor. He nodded at Michael as he approached, his whole countenance heavy with gravity.

“What’s going on?”

“I need you in Interview Room One.” Jeff kept his voice lowered. “We had a walk-in this morning. A confession of murder.”

Michael’s lips parted in shock. “Stu Devlin?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, Freddie’s confession still stands.” He motioned for Michael to follow him. As they crossed to the interview room, Michael’s mind raced. No murders in Hartwell in twelve years and now there were two? So much for the quiet life.

Jeff led him into the interview room, and Michael’s eyes alighted on the person sitting alone at the table.

A young woman.

He and Jeff took their seats opposite her, and she looked at them with big blue-gray eyes. Her dark blond hair was cut short, skimming her narrow jawline. Michael studied her. Pretty, but much too thin. Her cheekbones were prominent, her eyes hollow. She looked like a stiff wind would blow her over.

Her expression was nothing short of haunted.

Michael felt uneasiness settle in his gut.

“Rebecca, this is Detective Michael Sullivan. He’ll be sitting in on the interview.”

She flicked a nervous glance at Michael and squeezed her small hands together in front of her. She nodded.

Jeff switched on a digital recorder and placed it in the middle of the table.

“Please state your name for the record,” Jeff said.

She licked her dry, chapped lips. “I’m Rebecca Rosalie Devlin.”

Surprise rooted Michael to the spot. What the fuck?

“I have advised you, Rebecca, not to do this interview without a lawyer present but you have chosen to proceed without a lawyer, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Please tell us in your own words why you’re here, Rebecca.”

Her gaze moved between Michael and Jeff, and any color that was in her cheeks drained out. “I’m here to confess to a murder that my brother, Stuart Devlin, and I covered up four years ago.”

Always the professional, Michael kept his face blank but he reeled inside.

Well … fuck, he thought, I did not see that coming.