Hackett didn’t know what to say or how to feel. Every day that he remained quiet potentially made things worse, but there she was. Alive. It hurt a little to face her blank stare, like they were strangers, but at least she was okay. Be objective. Solve the case. That was the mantra he’d been silently repeating since he found Cahill’s body and he saw the photo of Grace—smiling, arm in arm with the dead man—covered in shattered glass, the frame cracked. They sat in the car, letting the engine warm up for a minute. “Well, that was interesting,” Bishop said, rubbing his hands together in front of the heating vents. “I’d say that was a good enough reason to call me on my day off.” “Yeah, I figured as much. Why’d you pretend we didn’t know about the accident?” “I wanted to see if her story would match what we had learned.” Hackett was just glad to finally see her.
