THE MOON had been busy carving light into shadow with beams of silver, painting every corner, nook and cranny with its wispy rays, and Reece, in her secluded spot, had been busy sipping her vino, alone for the moment, when a bell jangled — the one above the café door.
The entrance door swung open, ushering in a draft that disturbed the air pockets and wafted scents.
Reece glanced up, her eyes resting on a man standing as rigid as the rules of time, scanning the room. His gaze settled on Reece. Then he promptly began weaving through the tables towards her. His stride was firm, purposeful, yet his eyes held a flicker of doubt, maybe even a hint of anxiety, contradicting his outward calm. Dusty raised his head, sniffing the air with a soft whine.
As the man’s shadow fell across her table, she found herself looking into a face she didn’t fully recognize, yet felt a spark, a distant sense of recognition.
He extended his hand. “Reece, it’s been a long time,” he said, his voice carrying a professional warmth. “I’m Jeff Prestwood, your old Captain from Pima County. And… I’m sorry to hear about your condition.”
He didn’t sit, just stood there looming over her. 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘑𝘦𝘧𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥. The name echoed in the recesses of her mind but the connection remained elusive, lost in the fog of her amnesia. She had no idea who he was.
She straightened but remained silent, her gaze steady, inviting him to continue.
“I need to talk to you,” Jeff said. “A woman’s body was found in the desert near here yesterday.”
Reece glanced down at her wine. It looked ready for another sip. “Still with the Sheriff’s Department?” she asked, picking up the glass and downing the rest.
“FBI now.”
Reece’s pulse quickened, not from fear but from a deeply ingrained professional instinct. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺… 𝘋𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴… 𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴… 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵?
She masked her reaction, maintaining a calm exterior. “I don’t know how I can help, Jeff. Why come to me?”
His gaze held hers, probing, searching for something. “Just thought you might know something, given your… experience. You were a detective, Reece —”
“— was,” she interjected. “I was a detective. That’s in the past.” Her face remained impassive.
Reece had caught the subtle shift in his posture, the faint narrowing of his eyes. It was a dance she still recognized, the delicate balance of questioning, where every word could be a step forward or a misstep into accusation. Dusty sensed the tension, his ears perking up.
But the real conflict lay within Reece’s own mind. A part of her yearned to dive into the mystery, to unravel the threads of the unknown. Another part of her knew the danger of delving too deep. She was a free agent now, not under any agency’s thumb, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦, whatever. And she liked that.
“I just wanted to talk, see if you knew anything,” he said casually, slipping down into the chair opposite Reece’s.
𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰.
Reece leaned back, her fingers wrapped around her empty wine glass. “I wish I could help, Jeff, but I’m just figuring things out, one day at a time.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, searching for something she wouldn’t give him. Then, with a nod, he stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He seemed about to walk away… yet wasn’t walking.
The moment stretched, filled with unspoken questions and veiled suspicions. Then, a child’s laughter rang out, oddly breaking the tension, a reminder of the world beyond this conversation, beyond the past.
Reece clearly met Jeff’s gaze, her decision firm. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
His expression softened slightly. “I know, I know. It’s just that — well, this case, it’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
He hesitated, then leaned in closer, his voice a whisper. “We think it might be connected to… something bigger.”
“And you think — what? That I might be involved?”
“No, no, not like that,” Jeff hurried to clarify. “It’s just, your experience, your instincts — they could be invaluable.”
She sighed, looking away. “I’ve left all that behind. I can’t —”
“Just hear me out,” he pleaded, gesturing with his hands as though he had something to offer. “I could really use your help, Reece. Listen, let’s cut to the chase. There’s a group called the Keepers of the Holy Flame. They’re bad news, branched off from the Sons of HUHI; I know you know those bastards. Anyway, I’ve got intel on these new Keepers.”
“Intel? What kind of intel?”
“I intercepted a message. It’s coded, but I managed to crack part of it. It’s something about a plan.”
“A ‘plan.’ You cracked the code about a… plan. That’s a big word there.” Reece shrugged. “I’m quaking in my boots.”
“Funny. Listen, it is big. The message mentioned specific locations, dates, names. High-profile targets.”
“Targets? So they’re planning something… big?”
“Can you be serious for a second? — they are. And that’s not all… There’s talk of an inside man, someone with real power.”
“A man with real power… Great, just what we need. More swinging dicks.”
“Right.” He didn’t seem fazed anymore by her quips. He continued, “But here’s the kicker: the message was signed ‘Crescent.’ Ever heard of him?”
“Crescent? — no, why would I?”
“I think this body in the desert… it’s connected to this person. Maybe a message or a warning.”
“A warning, huh? This is starting to sound like one of those thriller novels.”
“Except we’re living it. I need your help, Reece. You’ve got intel I don’t, especially after…”
He paused, the corners of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk. “Especially after I saw pictures — FBI ones — of Chance Rizzo. Nice disguise, Reece.”
Reece’s hand instinctively moved to smooth her hair. “Jeff… let me stop you there. That’s all way above your pay grade.”
“I wouldn’t be here groveling if this wasn’t serious. We need to stop them, before more people get hurt.”
“Groveling? I didn’t exactly catch that vibe when you first walked in here.”
“It’s real. Groveling is a real thing. I need you, Reece. I need Reece Cannon. Is that transparent enough?”
Her gaze drifted towards the café’s open window, out at the saguaro silhouettes faintly glowing under the moon, her mind distant.
She replied, “I’ll think about it.”
