As I lock up my laptop and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder, I catch sight of the single photo on my desk, half-obscured by coffee mugs and granola bar wrappers.
I can’t leave like this. Sweeping the trash into the bin and gathering up the mugs, I trudge into the small office kitchen, load the dishwasher, and make sure there’s nothing out of place. Only then do I return to my office and brush my fingers over the silver frame.
“I miss you, Zion.” My baby brother smiles in the photo…his arms around me, full of promise with his basketball team crowding around us, celebrating their championship. Before everything went to hell. Before he discovered heroin. Before he disappeared. Before…
Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ve cried so much for him these past few years. If I start again, a part of me fears I’ll never stop. And tonight…tonight is a good night. I did my job. Stopped a bad man from hurting a little girl. “You’d be impressed, Z,” I say as I straighten the frame. “Big sis did good.”
2
Wren
Abouquet of daisies sits on my desk when I trudge into the office the next day, with an effusive note from our client thanking me—us—for finding her daughter. Her husband is in jail now, and by some small miracle, he didn’t do more than scare the kid a little.
“S’up, Wren?” Ford says as I stop at the coffee machine. “Nectar of the gods?”
I stare longingly at the pot and inhale deeply. The rich brew beckons, but between the late night and the fitful dreams that plagued me during the few hours I managed to sleep…I’m already on the edge of an anxiety attack. Instead, I reach for a bag of herbal tea. “Trying to cut back.”
“You?” He snorts. “Pretty sure you went through four pots last night.” His hazel eyes crinkle around the edges, a lopsided grin curving his full lips. “I heard all about how you saved the day. Good job.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks flush, the all-too-familiar deflection coiling on my tongue. “I got lucky.”
“Hardly. You’re a badass.” Ford’s our resident weapons specialist and the vice president of Second Sight. He’s also pushing fifty but has more in common with a body-builder than someone who’s not too far away from getting an AARP card.
With a congratulatory slap to my shoulder, he lumbers back to his office, and I fill my mug with hot water. I hate tea. But my therapist insists giving up caffeine will help. Of course, she doesn’t have to pull fifteen-hour days tracking down the worst of humanity. Or live with the aftermath when we fail.
Once I’m at my desk, I close my eyes and let the light, floral scent fill the small space. I don’t have a window. The walls are bare. Somewhere between cream and white. I could paint. Hang art. Bring in a plant. But when I’m here, my entire focus is on my screens. And the criminals I track down for Dax and his crew.
I flop back in my chair. My eyes burn after so little sleep, and I regret not taking Dax up on his offer of a day off.
Three times in the middle of the night, I woke up crying, dreaming of Zion as I saw him exactly six weeks ago. His bright blue eyes clear, hair washed and combed, clean-shaven, with an excited edge to his voice as he told me all about his new job—janitor at the Presbyterian Church down in Somerville.
“I know it’s a shit gig, Wren, but when I told them about the drug charge, they didn’t even blink. Asked me if I was clean, and as soon as I said they could drug test me every fucking day if they wanted—” his cheeks flush pink, “—I apologized for the swearing. Anyway, they hired me on the spot. Even gave me the day off for court next week. I start tomorrow.”
“That’s great, kiddo. I’m really proud of you.” I ruffle his hair, despite knowing how much he hates it. “And you’re going to keep going to meetings, right?”
“Every day.” His eyes darken, and he takes my hands. When did he get so tall? So…adult? I half-raised him after our mom split when I was twenty-one and Zion only thirteen. I still think he should be this wiry, athletic kid, but he has a foot on me now, and though his recovery left him painfully thin, his hands dwarf mine. “I’m never going back to that life, Wren. I promise.”
Tears line my eyes as I pull him into a tight embrace. “I’m going to hold you to that. I need you around, Z.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Except…a week later, when I went to pick him up for his court date, he was gone.
“Wren.” Dax raps sharply on my door, and I jerk, spilling the tea all over my jeans.
“Cracker Jacks,” I swear. Mom would be proud. Three years working for former SEALs, Special Forces, and Rangers, and I still haven’t given up my…uniquespin on profanity. Courtesy of her job as a preschool teacher and her off-beat sense of humor. At least with all the time I spent lost in my memories, the chamomile had time to cool.
I fumble for a stack of napkins in my top drawer as Dax takes a step forward, his brows knitting together. “Wren?”
Times like these, he looks a little like a lost puppy. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m…edgy today. Spilled my tea. What’s up?”
Reaching into his back pocket, he offers me a handkerchief, and the expression on his face makes me shudder as our fingers brush. “What is it, boss?”
“You…uh…got a call a few minutes ago. They couldn’t reach you on your cell, so they rang the office. Marjorie didn’t think you were in.” His voice roughens as I try to mop up the spilled tea, and he takes a step forward, fumbling for the edge of my desk chair. “Wren…the city’s knocking down a bunch of buildings on the edge of the waterfront. The cops got tired of raiding the drug dens a few years ago and just let them be until…yesterday. Down in the basement of the old cannery…they found a body.”
I can’t breathe. My entire world slows, then slams to a halt as a dull roar in my ears competes with Dax’s deep voice.
“It’s Zion.”
