“Hawk.”
“Hell of a shot you didn’t let me take.”
“You said the risk was too high.”
“It was.” Hawk leaned against the vehicle. “So you went in.”
“Had to.”
“Yeah.” Hawk was quiet for a moment. “For what it’s worth? You did the right thing—going in and taking that bastard down. I know you wanted me to take that shot and kill him, but you also wanted Agent Dawson to get her day in court.” He jutted his chin toward where Claire was. “Now, she will, thanks to you.”
The two of them had only worked together for a few days, and already the man seemed to know him. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“Never does.” Hawk stared at the station. “She’ll come around. Realize what you did for her.”
“You sound like Vivi.”
“Doc’s smart. You should listen to her.”
Garrett said nothing.
They stood there as the sun set over Blackridge. He’d saved Claire and lost her anyway.
Inside the station, she finished her statement, then walked out with Special Agent Hendricks. She saw Garrett standing by the vehicle. For a moment, their eyes met. Then Claire looked away. She got in the FBI vehicle and drove away.
Garrett watched until the taillights disappeared.
“Commander,” Lynx called from the station door. “They need your statement.”
Blowing out a breath, Garrett walked inside. He gave his report.
Name: Garrett Cross. Commander, Shadow Point Security.
Formerly known as Bobby Anderson. Half-brother of Lily Harper.
The man who’d saved Claire Dawson.
And the man who’d broken her heart.
CHAPTER 15
Three months later
Virginia
The Virginia cemeterywas quiet and peaceful. More park-like than graveyard. Lily would have loved the view.
Garrett stood in front of her headstone, holding yellow tulips—her favorite. Damned impossible to come by in winter, but he had a standing order with a florist. He came here every year on her birthday. Sometimes on the anniversary of her death, too, though that was harder. Heavier.
Today, she would have been twenty-nine. A woman instead of the fourteen-year-old girl frozen in his memory. He tried to imagine her grown up—working, maybe married, definitely still making terrible puns and laughing at her own jokes.
He couldn’t. The image wouldn’t form.
Lily was forever fourteen. Forever lost. Forever his failure.
“Hey, Lily-bean,” he said quietly. The old nickname felt strange on his lips after so many years. “Happy birthday.”
The headstone didn’t answer. It never did. But Garrett talked anyway, like he always did on these visits.
