Feet crunched on the gravel path, and I looked to see Sylvie, her arms crossed over her chest in defense against the cold. She didn’t say anything, her solemn eyes taking in the tears on my face. I raised a hand to wipe them away. She came to my side and slid her arm around my waist.
“I’ll go if you want to be alone,” she said.
I suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of being alone anymore and wrapped my arm around her, taking strength from the feel of her body pressed to mine.
From across the cemetery, sitting in the car, she’d felt my pain and come to ease it. She didn’t try to make me talk or tell me it would get easier, or any bullshit like that. She just stayed, her arms around me, her cheek pressed to my chest, and I held her there.
“I miss them,” I said finally. “It’s been thirteen years, and when I let myself think about it, I miss them as much as I did the day they died.”
Sylvie sniffled, but didn’t say anything, just tightened her arms and held me.
It was exactly what I needed. We stood there in the cold, watching the shadows flicker across the gravestones as the breeze tossed the leaves of the trees.
“I should have brought something,” I said. “Flowers or—I don’t know.”
Sylvie shifted, laying her hand over my heart. She looked up, her eyes wet with tears, lashes dark spikes.
“If you want to,” she said, “we can. But they’re not here.” She echoed my own thoughts. “These places—they’re for the people left behind, not for the people who are gone. You don’t have to be here to be close to them, unless that’s what works for you. And you don’t need to leave them anything unless it makes you feel better.”
I squeezed my arm tight around her shoulders. Somehow, she had known exactly what I needed to hear. I was learning that wasn’t a surprise when it came to Sylvie Calloway. As much as I hadn’t wanted anything to do with her when she’d shown up at Sinclair Security, I was starting to think?—
I cut off that thought before I finished, dropped my head to kiss the top of hers, the green apple scent of her shampoo teasing me. Familiar, fresh, and sweet, and everything that was Sylvie.
“I’m ready to go,” I said.
“Okay.” She turned, sliding her hand into mine, and tugged me back to the path.
We walked in silence to the SUV. Before she got in, Sylvie glanced at the plastic bin of mail on the back seat.
“Anything I need to look for in there?” she asked.
I shook my head, getting in, fastening my seat belt. “We should probably spread it all out in the conference room and double-check that we’re not missing anything, but I’m pretty sure I found what I was supposed to find.”
“The envelope you pulled out?” she asked, her eyebrows going up.
I nodded, reversing out of the parking space and heading for the road to the highway.
“You know who set up that postoffice box?”
I nodded again. Everything was too raw and tangled in my head. I was almost afraid to answer her questions. Normally, I could filter what someone needed to know, craft my responses perfectly to hold back or reveal information to get what I wanted. I hadn’t told Sylvie about Silas. She still thought we were after Emily Shaw for a client, though she’d begun to suspect it was more than that. But I hadn’t told her, which felt uncomfortably like a lie?—
Because it is a lie, my conscience reminded me.A lie of omission is still a lie.
Fresh off seeing the house I’d grown up in, my family’s graves, Sylvie giving me her strength and care when I needed it most, my instinct was to spill everything. But I had to be smarter than that. I had to think before I talked. There was a reason we were keeping our tie to Emily Shaw from Sylvie. This affected more than just me, and I didn’t trust my urge to tell her everything. It was too tangled up with my desire to hold her close. To see what that rosebud mouth really tasted like.
Sylvie was my partner in figuring out what had happened to Emily Shaw. We should leave it at that. This was neither the time nor the place to get involved with anyone. No one had to tell me that. I wanted Sylvie, but I couldn’t let my attraction to her sway me into sharing information she didn’t need to have. I needed to keep everything on lockdown until I could get my head straight.
Instead of coming clean, I just said, “I have a pretty good idea who set up the box.”
“But you’re not going to tell me,” she said flatly.
I shot a glance at her, wondering if I’d see irritation or anger. Instead, she looked amused and only slightly annoyed. I thought about pushing her off with a flat denialor teasing her. Instead, I went for honesty—or as much honesty as I could give her.
“You and I are working together,” I said, “but I answer to my team, and to Cooper. For now, all I can tell you is I think I know who set up that post office box, and I did find a clue.”
“But you’re not going to show me the clue.”
“No, not yet,” I said. “Later. It wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway. I think it’s an internal code.”
