Page 5 of Capture My Heart

Amy watched the detective leave but pricks of awareness signaled her to Ryan’s stare.

“Do you want company when you do the interview?” The empathic tone of Daniels’ voice made her fingers flex. “He is the guy who hit your—”

“No thanks, Daniels. I got this.” Amy shoved the folder into her bag and swiveled towards the door. The last thing she wanted to talk to him about today of all days was her father’s death. She flipped a wave over her shoulder as she left. “See ya later.”

Down the hall, she stopped in front of the vending machine and perused her options. The Ashwood Police station had the worst selection of snacks in the city. The vending machine guy must hate cops. She’d have to look him up. Amy bet he had a record.

Her gaze scanned the rows. Salty or sugary?

Jackpot. She hit the chocolate-covered peanut butter cups and thanked her guardian angel. She knew it had to be her father’s doing, to find her favorite snack on today of all days. Scooping up her treat, she ripped the wrapper off, stuck a whole cup into her mouth, and waited for the sugar rush to hit.

Amy turned the corner on Pleasant Lane. What an oxymoron. There was nothing pleasant about this part of town. Unless someone was looking for a score. Hell, they had access to their drug of choice faster than a Big Mac.

Amy glanced at the address on the file in her passenger seat. Not that she needed to. She’d committed it to memory along with the name of the man who killed her father.

August West, Gus for short. He did a three-year stint after his six-pack of Coors turned into a hit-and-run.

She pushed the thoughts aside as she pulled her patrol car to the curb. Grabbing her notebook, she stepped from the vehicle. Sweat rolled down her spine. The sticky feeling could have been from the unusually hot June evening, or the layers of uniform that were meant to save her life, but it wasn’t.

The house sat on a corner lot. A patchy lawn looked like it hadn’t seen a drop of water in over a month. Amy blew out a breath. Her uniform clung to her back as the sun beat down.

It was hot that day, too. Four years ago, and she still remembered the heat coming off the road when she got the call about an officer down. She hadn’t known it was her father at the time. But deep inside, she knew it would change her life.

Canvassing the house, she steadied her nerves. One huff and Amy stepped on the porch.

The screen door swung open.

“I remember you.” Gus West stood in the doorway in a pair of tan work pants and a white wifebeater tank. “You’re the cop’s daughter. You came to the trial.”

“Mr. West, I’m Officer Larson. We spoke on the phone.” A silent prayer ran through her head. Please don’t let him slam the door in my face.

“Come on in.” He stepped back and let her enter. The house was marginally cooler than the outdoors. He led her to the kitchen table. “I don’t have no ice but I got water if you want.”

“I’m good. Thank you for the offer.” Amy flipped open her notebook and jumped right in. “Mr. West, on the phone you indicated you remembered something from that night.”

He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Yeah. First off, I want to say how very sorry I am for what happened to your pop. I was a mess back then and, well, I didn’t think about how my actions affected anyone else.”

Amy blinked back the emotion. She should have readied herself for an apology. The man just spent the better part of three years in a prison AA program. “Thank you, Mr. West. Now about that night.”

“Yeah, I, uh.” He took a swig of water then wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Did you know my wife left me?”

Amy nodded. The man seemed to sweat enough for two people. Her cop senses jumped.

He wiped his hand on his pants.

Warning bells chimed in her brain. This wasn’t normal. Something had old Gus nervous. She wanted to push but knew not to rush him. Let him talk, then ask questions.

“It was for the best but I miss my kids. They moved to her sister’s in Ohio.”

If he didn’t get to the point soon, she would have to take control of the interview.

“I would do anything for my kids.” His eyes dropped to the table where he shredded the label on the water bottle. “Even kill for them.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Mr. West?”

“Nothing.” He jumped from the table and paced the tiny kitchen. “I gotta get ready for work.”

Amy stood. “Okay, would you like to reschedule?”