desertion

178

LYDIA

Working in the field always brought a mixed bag of emotions. On one hand, it was the best way to get answers-to see the pieces of the puzzle firsthand. On the other, it was unpredictable, and for someone like me who thrived on having control, that unpredictability was unnerving.

Today was no exception. Mason and I had been assigned to a breaking case involving a missing woman, one with way too many loose ends and not nearly enough leads. We stood in front of the woman's house, which was swarmed with officers and crime scene techs. The hum of chatter and the flashing lights of patrol cars created a tense atmosphere.

"Ready?" Mason asked, glancing at me as he adjusted his belt.

I nodded, even though I didn't feel ready. "Let's do it."

As we stepped past the caution tape, Mason gave me a quick pat on the back. "You've got this, Lyds."

I managed a small smile. "I know."

The interior of the house was eerily quiet. Every sound we made seemed amplified, from the soft creak of the floorboards to the rustling of papers as we sifted through evidence. The missing woman's name was Carla Evans, a single mom who worked two jobs to support her teenage son. She hadn't been seen in three days, and her disappearance was beginning to look less like a case of someone walking away and more like foul play.

"Where do you want to start?" Mason asked, glancing around the living room.

I pulled out my notepad, scanning the space. "I'll take the kitchen. You check the bedrooms?"

"Deal," he said, heading down the hallway.

The kitchen was spotless-almost too clean. The sink was empty, the counters wiped down, and there wasn't a single dish out of place. It felt staged, like someone had gone out of their way to erase any signs of life.

I opened the cabinets, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Most were filled with the usual items-plates, glasses, canned goods. But one drawer caught my attention. It was packed with receipts, all neatly folded and organized by date.

Grabbing a pair of gloves from my pocket, I carefully pulled the receipts out, flipping through them. Groceries, gas, takeout-it all seemed normal until I noticed a pattern. The last few receipts were all from a convenience store on the other side of town, a place that didn't match her usual routine.

"Mason," I called out, my voice echoing through the house.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his brows furrowed. "Find something?"

"Maybe," I said, holding up the receipts. "Look at these. She was going to a store way out of her way almost every night last week."

He leaned closer, scanning the receipts. "That's weird. Why would she go all the way over there?"

"I don't know," I admitted, jotting down the store's address. "But it's worth checking out."

"Good catch," he said, giving me an approving nod. "You're a bloodhound for clues, you know that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Flattery won't get you out of doing the paperwork later."

"Noted," he said with a grin.

We regrouped with Officer Darden in the living room, sharing what we'd found so far.

"There's no sign of forced entry," Darden said, flipping through his notes. "Whoever took her either had a key or she let them in."

"Or they staged it," I added. "The whole house feels off. Too clean, too perfect."

Mason nodded in agreement. "Lydia found a lead-receipts from a convenience store on the other side of town. It doesn't fit her usual routine."

Darden raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. I'll get someone to pull surveillance footage from the store. Anything else?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "Not yet. But I'm still going through the kitchen."

An hour later, I was crouched on the floor, rifling through a stack of unopened mail. My knees ached, and the fluorescent lights overhead were giving me a headache, but I couldn't stop. Every piece of mail was another potential clue, another thread to follow.

"Lydia," Mason said softly, crouching beside me. "You've been at this for a while. Take a break."

"I'm fine," I said automatically, though my body disagreed.

He frowned, his dark eyes scanning my face. "You don't look fine."

"I can rest later," I said, brushing him off. "I need to finish this."

"Lyds-"

"Mason," I interrupted, my tone sharper than I intended. "Please. Just let me do this."

He sighed, clearly wanting to push back, but he didn't. "Okay. But if you pass out, I'm carrying you out of here."

"Noted," I muttered, turning back to the mail.

It wasn't until I found a crumpled piece of paper shoved behind a stack of envelopes that I finally felt like I was getting somewhere. The paper was a handwritten note, the ink smudged but still legible.

Meet me at the docks. Midnight. Don't tell anyone.

My heart raced as I read the note, the implications sinking in.

"Mason," I called, my voice trembling slightly.

He was at my side in an instant. "What is it?"

I handed him the note, watching as his expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

"This changes everything," he said quietly.

I nodded, my mind racing. "We need to figure out who wrote this."

"And fast," he added, slipping the note into an evidence bag.

By the time we left the house, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the yard. My body was exhausted, but my mind was still buzzing, replaying every detail of the case over and over.

"You did good today," Mason said as we walked to the car.

I glanced at him, surprised. "Thanks."

He smiled, his hand brushing against mine for a brief moment. "Seriously, Lyds. You're amazing at this."

I felt a small flicker of pride, even though I was too tired to fully process it. "We make a good team."

"That we do," he said, holding the car door open for me.

As we drove back to the station, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. The case was far from solved, but we were getting closer. And for now, that was enough