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The
perfect career became the perfect nightmare. Now the only solution isfor Colton Paine to leave his life behind to enter the Witness
Security Program. Though he has many regrets, abandoning Savana
Wyler, just as she’s entering remission from cancer—and before he
has a chance to tell her he loves her—rips his heart out. But
Colton will do whatever it takes to protect her, even leave
forever.

Relocated
to a tiny northern Washington tourist town, Colton fights to regain
his footing in a new life constructed of lies. Haunted by thoughts of
Savana, he breaks the rules and keeps track of her. When the same
people who want him dead appear on Savana’s news broadcasts, it
becomes clear leaving wasn’t the answer.

Convinced
Savana is left unprotected, Colton abandons WitSec in a desperate
attempt to save her. But did his impetuous actions endanger them
both?

Tomorrow
was never more uncertain.

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RM
Alexander is an author of romantic suspense. With driven characters
who suffer the worst kinds of betrayals, RM’s novels promise a good
read with unexpected twists and turns. 

When
she’s not writing, RM spends time with her husband and two children.
She loves to travel, especially to Walt Disney World, and is addicted
to orange juice and Ghiradelli chocolate. She is often found on
Twitter and Facebook chatting with other authors and readers.

NEVER AGAIN:
Rush hour. Why did it have to be rush hour?
Ken Shepherd groaned as he darted and zagged through the Denver traffic, horn blaring as he screeched
by passing cars. Nearby drivers swerved in a panic as he tore past, but they didn’t have a reason to be
afraid. Specialized training taught him how to drive, and how to stay cool under pressure.
He zipped in between a gray sedan and navy van. No problem with the driving although he felt anything
but cool. Instead, perspiration beaded his forehead as Ken checked the time. It’d been ten minutes since
the call came through, and every passing second could be the difference between life and death for the
witness.
How things got so out of control… Local patrol had been assigned to keep Nate Dunnican safe. If he died,
someone would have to answer for the failure.
Ken’s eyes narrowed, questions playing over in his mind. Why he got the call was a mystery, and how
Nate got the private number a bigger one. Ken wasn’t the man’s attorney or his protector. As an FBI agent,
Ken’s job had been arresting Nate, bringing him in to face the charges. From there, Nate’s case had been
turned over to other agents who arranged for him to rat on his organized crime buddies. So why would he
come back to Ken?
Ken’s jaw set in a cold, hard line. It didn’t matter. The call didn’t bother him nearly as much as the fear in
Nate’s voice.
“I’m going to die,” he had said, “I’ll die if you don’t come here now.”
Something in the words screamed of truth: the desperate, raw kind that ripped at a man’s core and stripped
him bare. The chill clung to his bones and, though Ken knew he shouldn’t care, no one would ignore that
kind of terror.
Ken sped through the last red light, gritted his teeth, glanced at the clock again. Fifteen minutes since the
call. Nate hadn’t said if anyone else was in the house, or where the threat was coming from, but fifteen
minutes was long if someone wanted to kill him. The turn of a dime, a single second, and the key witness
would be dead. If he made it time, Ken thought, the plan was to get Nate through the night. After the trial,
Nate would leave the city for good. Ken gripped the steering wheel. Agents thought the substantial risk of
bringing him back to New York could be managed. Clearly, they were wrong.
A mixer truck barreled into the intersection and Ken tore at the wheel as he swerved and narrowly missed
a collision. He grumbled and stomped the gas pedal as he glanced in the rearview mirror. The truck
skidded to a stop behind him and avoided hitting another car by a fraction of an inch. Any other time, Ken
would have stopped and checked on everyone, but there was no time for that now. Nate waited.
Ken pulled into the post-war neighborhood. For the most part, a quiet suburb with little crime. A decent
place to hide a safe house where witnesses could feel a sense of security. But there were always
exceptions to every rule, and Ken searched for hints of those exceptions as he raced past two blocks of
homes.
The car jolted forward as Ken threw it into park in front of a tiny brick bungalow. He glanced around. No
one on the streets, no apparent threat. He pulled the sidearm from his holster and stepped onto the
sidewalk. The small brick home appeared quiet enough. Maybe Nate panicked with what he was about to
do the next day in coming face-to-face with men who would rather he was dead than ever see the inside of
a courtroom. It was a possibility.
Ken headed up the walkway, careful, gun in hand. His long legs took the two concrete steps in one stride
to a small, open porch. Back against the brick exterior, Ken peeked through one window into a small
living room furnished sparsely with a couple of lawn chairs and a small television. No people. He
shimmied a few inches to another window. Empty dining room littered with clothes, garbage, no
furniture, no people.
Ken knocked on the door, “FBI. Open the door.” No answer. “Nate, open the door or I’m coming in.”
He waited for an answer, then kicked open the door, the molding splintering from around the deadbolt.
Passing the two front rooms he viewed through the front windows, Ken rounded the corner into a galley
kitchen as a gun fired. Nate Dunnican dropped to the floor at Ken’s feet, gray matter and blood spraying
the kitchen. Ken fell back behind the wall. “FBI, drop the weapon!”
No response.
Ken eased around the corner and met the even gaze of a man in his early twenties, far older and meaner in
street years. Dressed in sagging jeans and a black shirt, he was nothing more than a street runner doing
the dirty work for an organization he didn’t understand. “Drop the weapon!”The man responded with narrowed eyes and an icy grin, then raised the gun level with Ken’s chest.
Ken opened fire and the man sunk to the floor with a vacant stare.
He raced to Nate’s side. There was no reason to think the witness may be alive, but Ken knelt and pressed
two fingers against the carotid artery. No pulse. He sunk to the floor next to the body and shook his head.
The young man was dead. All hope for a better future stolen by a single bullet and a lifestyle the average
American fought hard to bury under the carpet.
Sirens blared outside the home and Ken stood, backed away from the body and returned to the sparse
living room. With hands in his pockets, Ken shook his head. He should have waited for backup. Not that
additional man power would have saved Nate, but protocol was protocol for a reason. The boss was going
to have a good firm slap on the wrist ready when he returned to the office.
He glanced down at Nate’s body, and then at the man lying opposite of the witness. Two young lives,
extinguished. Now the first responders would take over, sort through the why’s and how’s, and what
happened next.
For his part, he’d go to court and testify the witness died. With Nate gone, the mafia would slink back into
the shadows, pull more young, impressionable children into a life of guns and money and death. Trapped.
Ken provided the customary statement and left the house in time for the coroner to carry out two body
bags.
A slow ride back to the office gave Ken a chance to think. Reflect. Nate Dunnican could have been better
protected than the services provided by local police. Witness Security would have been a far better option,
one no one ever brought to the table.
But, as he pulled into the U.S. Marshal parking lot, Ken’s mind shifted from Nate to a decision he’d toyed
with in the past. Investigating and arresting criminals was a challenge but not as fulfilling as he’d thought
it would have been when he entered the bureau ten years earlier. He yearned to make a difference, to see
witnesses like Nate Dunnican have a fighting chance to start over. To have better options.
Maybe it was time for a career change.

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After
the death of her parents, Sloan Egan left their Montana ranch
determined to make a difference in the world. Now a prominent surgeon
with an exceptional career in her future, life has turned out exactlyas she expected. Until a government summons arrives with an order to
report to Fort Hood for a top-secret weekend retreat.

Major
Lee Archer’s reassignment as head of military operations at The
Bunker felt more like a prison sentence than a promotion. To make
matters worse, he’s been assigned to babysitting detail, as a group
of the country’s most brilliant young minds come together to test
the vitality of the cutting-edge fallout shelter he commands.

But
the retreat was nothing more than a ploy. One devised to safeguard
the future of humanity, as a catastrophic event renders the world
above uninhabitable.

Or
so they’ve been led to believe.

Those
in charge have a secret. One so horrifying they would do anything to
keep it concealed. Because what lurks beyond The Bunker is deadlier
than anyone could have ever imagined.

And
it’s only a matter of time before it finds a way in.

The room fell silent. President Edward Patterson sat behind a small desk in a make-
shift office with an unnatural stillness. An American Flag hung on the cavern wall behind
him. It took Sloan a moment to realize he too was in The Bunker.
His expression was grave and his normal youthful demeanor was replaced with an
unsmiling, unfocused stare that could only mean one thing: the announcement wasn’t
good.
“My fellow Americans,” President Patterson began, “first, on behalf of our great
country, I would like to personally thank every one of you for joining us this weekend.”
He dropped his head and swallowed so hard the sound echoed off his microphone. Whenhe raised his head, his eyes were wet and bloodshot. “Secondly, I owe each of you an
apology. I’ve always considered myself an honorable man. My word is as important to
me as the air I breathe.” Another extended pause. “It’s with a heavy heart I share with
you my deception.”
The sound of Sloan’s heartbeat thrashed in her ears.
“We brought you here under false pretenses, not out of malice but out of fear. Fear
that without each of you the world as we know it would be lost. I will spare you the
tedious details and get straight to the point.” He lifted his wrist to check the time.
“Approximately five minutes ago, an asteroid close to six miles wide struck the earth. An
asteroid this size is known as a global killer. Over the course of the next few months,
billions of lives will be lost, as will most of the animals and vegetation.”
The room erupted in a mixture of cries and gasps. Sloan couldn’t think. She couldn’t
breathe. This couldn’t be happening.
The room fell silent. President Edward Patterson sat behind a small desk in a make-
shift office with an unnatural stillness. An American Flag hung on the cavern wall behind
him. It took Sloan a moment to realize he too was in The Bunker.
His expression was grave and his normal youthful demeanor was replaced with an
unsmiling, unfocused stare that could only mean one thing: the announcement wasn’t
good.
“My fellow Americans,” President Patterson began, “first, on behalf of our great
country, I would like to personally thank every one of you for joining us this weekend.”
He dropped his head and swallowed so hard the sound echoed off his microphone. When
he raised his head, his eyes were wet and bloodshot. “Secondly, I owe each of you an
apology. I’ve always considered myself an honorable man. My word is as important to
me as the air I breathe.” Another extended pause. “It’s with a heavy heart I share with
you my deception.”
The sound of Sloan’s heartbeat thrashed in her ears.
“We brought you here under false pretenses, not out of malice but out of fear. Fear
that without each of you the world as we know it would be lost. I will spare you the
tedious details and get straight to the point.” He lifted his wrist to check the time.
“Approximately five minutes ago, an asteroid close to six miles wide struck the earth. An
asteroid this size is known as a global killer. Over the course of the next few months,
billions of lives will be lost, as will most of the animals and vegetation.”
The room erupted in a mixture of cries and gasps. Sloan couldn’t think. She couldn’t
breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

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The sun was setting, and a cool breeze had begun to blow. Frank awoke to see Yuto and Soo Mi staring at
the sea, then splashing their faces with seawater. Helen’s head was lying in Frank’s
lap, the back of her head blood-caked. He soaked a rag with water and attempted to moisten the blood to
remove it. She tried to open her eyes, but the seawater mist had evaporated, and a salty crust
covered her eyelids. Frank dabbed the rag on her eyes gently.
“Thanks. Any signs of…?” Helen whispered.
“No. They’ll be here soon.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Hey, this is the twenty-first century. Technology and all that stuff. They know we’re down. They will
search for us,” Frank said authoritatively.
“It’s been quite a while, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, but only a day,” he said, panning the sky. Noticing more water at his feet than just a few
minutes ago, he grabbed one of the plastic cups retrieved from the plane and bent over
and bailed water out of his area of the raft and passing it on to Yuto, motioning that he do the same and
pass it on. “This will be an ongoing thing unless we can stop it,” he said to Yuto.
The others also seemed to understand.
Feeling a bit refreshed, Frank stood carefully, inspecting the nooks and crannies of the raft hoping to find
something new. The tip of a red strap peeked out under Otto. Kneeling down and
crawling to him, Frank pointed down. Otto reacted and rolled to his left, and Frank pulled on the rubbery
material attached to the strap. Whatever it was, it was huge and bright red.
“That’s a cover for this raft. This will stop the water from soaking us, and if it rains, it sure will be a
Godsend,” Kimberly said softly while replacing the rag on her bloody head.
Frank wondered why she hadn’t offered this information before. He guessed she was injured more than
she or he suspected. She, indeed, was acting unusual.
That gash is pretty big. Did she suffer a concussion, too?
The cover was spread out, the edges lying on each passenger’s lap. Each connection on the cover fit
raised areas on the top of the sides of the raft, and the cover was soon being attached in anorganized fashion. Once raised by two inflatable poles in the middle and to the sides, window flaps could
be lowered to allow the breeze, if any, to ventilate the inside yet keep out the penetrating sun and
exhausting heat. A silent celebration of sips from liter bottles of water followed.
Flairs, a beacon, water, food, a flashlight, and now a cover. Christ, this is incredible. Kate would be proud
that we found them. Now, I have to be sure we don’t lose them. We really need food.
“What about food?” Otto asked.
A mind reader, now?
“There’s a two-day supply of food rations in all rafts, uh, and, I think, saltwater desalting kits. I’m getting
sort of goofy so let me think here. There is also a little, uh, fishing kit, I think. Yeah,
there is. What else? Uh, a knife somewhere, and, geez, I can’t seem to remember everything.”
“We have some unused platters from last night’s dinner, too—not many of them, mind you. Have to go
slow with them just like the water,” Frank said, considering the request spooky,
especially right after he’d thought of food.
“I’m damn hungry. Break one of those suckers open now,” Otto said, raising his voice.
Frank viewed the other’s affirmation of Otto’s request and opened two dinners. The food was devoured in
no time. Frank reminded them not to drink too much water, but his pleas were being
ignored, especially by Otto and Homer.
Better get found soon. The water and food will be gone shortly if these fools don’t heed the warnings.
Shit, the more that fat bastard drinks, the more the others will drink to keep up.
“Listen up, folks. I’m not kidding. I know you all think we are going to get rescued soon, but what if we
were way off course, and they’re searching elsewhere? We have to conserve food and
water for the worst possible scenario.”
No one seemed to hear his voice.
Finally, Helen spoke up. “Listen to the man, you assholes. Stop drinking all the fucking water and eating
the food. Before you know it, we’ll be destitute out here. Get real. We’re survivors of
a shitty crash. How often does that happen? Now, we need to rely on each other and get out of this
shithole in one piece. Do you jerks want to live or die of stupidity?”
All eyes were upon Helen as she spoke about how cooperation must exist in this floating cosmos. Frank’s
pleas had been rejected, but the faces of the others showed understanding,
reasoning, and concern.
Swearing at these idiots got their attention. I’ve told Kate this multiple times. She always scoffed at my
justification for cussing. Wait until I tell her this one!
Cussing at times was a serious contention between Kate and Frank. Frank had been brought up with a
bunch of boys in the neighborhood, and cursing was the way they made themselves feel
like adults and all grown up. The more you cursed, the more the others thought of you as ‘cool.’
However, Kate was not a fan of it. Her father did a lot of it, and it turned her off and embarrassed her for
as long as she could remember. She loved her father, but his constant repetition of these words deflated
his effect as a father figure in her eyes, and she didn’t want that to happen to their children so she
always showed some obvious disappointment when he cursed, often saying, “You don’t want your little
girl to grow up cussing, do you?”
But it was so difficult to stop cold turkey. It was as if the cursing was automatic, ingrained, so to speak.
The words just blurted out without him thinking, often before he even knew he’d said
them. He thought Helen’s screaming and using the ‘F’ word proved his point. The people who weren’t
listening were shocked into listening for sure. Wasn’t that a good thing?
“What’s that in the water?” Irving said, pointing out of his portal in the cover.
Everyone leaned toward him, and the raft shifted, throwing several of them into the middle, crushing
some of the dinners. Some continued to try to view what Irving had seen while others
salvaged the food.
“Where?” Maxine asked.
“There,” he said.
“Shit. It’s a fin, a fucking shark’s fin. He’s going to attack. He’s a Great White. Jesus Christ, get us out of
here,” shrieked Homer.
“Shut up, Homer. Stop making noise. It will only make him more suspicious. Sharks don’t attack just to
attack,” said Irving.
“They do if they are hungry,” Homer blurted.
“Contrary to your stupid beliefs, they don’t, especially rafts and boats,” Irving replied in a sarcastic tone.
“Yeah, I saw Jaws,” Homer said with authority.“That was Hollywood, not real life. Calm down. Keep quiet. Just watch the thing for now,” Frank
suggested.
For the next few hours, they remained fixated on the shark. It flowed through the water effortlessly while
the front end searched and the back end guided the head to and fro. Its movements
were repetitive and deliberate, and it certainly was not in a hurry and wasn’t acting agitated. At times, it
seemed the shark actually was looking up at the passengers and then glancing down as it turned.
The gray leathery covering of its body was quite mesmerizing, and the dorsal fin was the central point,
allowing them to follow it wherever it went. Occasionally, the shark dipped below the water, and
the fin of the tail replaced it, but shortly after that, the dorsal fin reappeared and moved slowly past the
raft. There were other sharks nearby, but this one was the closest and for the longest time.
Then, it was gone. They were all gone. Rain in the form of a warm shower began. Frank and Yuto, with
the help from Kimberly, fashioned the cover’s top into a funnel to direct the rainwater
into some empty bottles. Others scooped up any extra rainwater they could and drank it. It was considered
a blessing from above, for sure. Otto seemed to be a dying animal trying to suck up and
swallow any water near him. He couldn’t use his right hand, but he licked his shirt and pulled it up to his
lips with the left hand, all the while jerking his body around to lick the raft’s edge where the
raindrops were so obvious as they hit. Kimberly used a gentler technique, cupping her hands and sipping
from the heels of them as water fell onto her fingertips. Others just leaned back with open
mouths, and others placed their hands in a circle around their mouths as funnels.

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Genre: Mystery/Thriller

“Sergeant, in my office, please.” Captain Shamus McGuire stood at attention in his doorway, all six-feet-four
inches of him. His steel-gray hair cut to military precision focused one’s attention on his matching gray eyes.
Homicide Sergeant Jake Carrington of the Wilkesbury Police Department looked across his joined desk to his
partner, and lifelong friend Louie Romanelli and shrugged. Louie threw him a questioning look as he adjusted
his tie and started to rise from his chair.
“Just Jake, Louie,” the captain said as he turned into his office.
Jake picked up their latest case file to update the captain and walked in to join McGuire.
“Take a seat, Jake.” The captain pointed to one of the two institutional-gray ones in front of his desk. He took
off his glasses and massaged his forehead.
Though Jake preferred to stand, he took the less beat-up seat on the right. The room was a monument to the
man, all spit and polish. Sparse furnishing with a few awards and medals hung on the walls. Paperwork in
precise piles, a picture of his family, the standard computer and phone were all he had on his desk. McGuire’s
appearance and stance spoke of his military background and warned his cops he took no crap from them. It
wasn’t like him to stall but that’s exactly what he was doing at the moment.
McGuire turned his smoky eyes on him. Jake went on alert. Something was up, something big.
“Captain?” Instincts had Jake bracing for what came next.
“Spaulding’s coming up for parole again. And this time he’s requesting a DNA test before he comes before the
board.” Jake’s stomach curdled. McGuire continued, “He’s also requesting the DNA samples from your
sister’s crime scene be tested against his sample.”
“What bullshit, Shamus.”
Jake jumped up, roamed the office. His mouth went dry. Deep down he was afraid the old samples somehow
wouldn’t match and would set Eva’s killer free. This new development would split his attention. What could
Spaulding gain from this maneuver? To catch a killer, you had to get inside his head. Did Spaulding assume
the system would release him if he got a new trial?
He looked out the window and studied the downtown area as he ran every scenario through his mind. This
was his town, though imperfect as it was. He and Eva had been born here of immigrant parents. Its one
hundred thousand residents depended on him and those who had come before him to protect it.
Outside of his tour of military duty overseas he didn’t venture far from it, a good city, though down on its luck
since all the manufacturing jobs went overseas. Wilkesbury recently had the distinguished honor to be named
one of the top five saddest rust belt cities. And it’s the one that was farthest south of the belt. In its glory days,
nothing could touch
Wilkesbury. Most of the crime in the city came from the twenty percent of the Wilkesburians living under the
national poverty level. The city had its mix of people, businesses, homeless, shoppers, and kids. More kids
claimed the downtown area since UConn had put a branch right across the street from the station. Today
some of the kids wore shorts to celebrate the hot weather. Last week it was in the forties. Today the
temperatures hit the seventies. New England, you gotta love it, he thought.
Clearing his mind, he focused on The Palace Marquee. Next month Johnny Mathis would be here for two
days. He thought it a monument to the citizens of Wilkesbury when private citizens and businesses raised the
money to save the Palace. It had been closed for eighteen years. The last performer had been Tony Bennett
in 1987. Bennett had opened the newly restored theater in 2004 and it was still going strong. Jake loved the
old theater. It brought back good memories from his childhood. The grand old theater done in the tradition of
the Met was a step back in time. Since it had been refurbished it drew some big-name performers and plays.
It’s about time we got something decent in the downtown area, he thought. Murders were down in recent
years but overall crime continued. Eva’s death was the
reason he became a cop instead of going on to play pro ball after college.
Turning from the window, he walked back to stand in front of Shamus’s desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the last
part,” Jake said.
“The sperm gathered at the time of the autopsy was preserved, and with new technology he has the right to
ask for the testing.”
“When will it happen? I want to be there through the whole process from collection to testing to make sure
there aren’t any switch-ups.” What a way to start a Monday.
“It hasn’t been granted yet. His lawyer is working on the request,” McGuire stated.
“When will it happen?” Jake rubbed his temples where a headache was forming.
“The board acts in their own time. I’d say toward the end of the month. I’m behind you, as is the entire
department, Jake, to make sure Eva gets justice.”
Jake paced the room. Seventeen years and it seemed like yesterday.
“When they took him out after the trial, Spaulding whispered to me he’d done it and enjoyed every moment of
it,” Jake said. It was a moment in time he would never forget.
There were nights after the trial he dreamed up ways of killing Spaulding, making him suffer as much, if notmore, than Eva had. Even today, when his moral code screamed there was no justification for taking a life, he
understood deep down in his soul that, if given the chance, he’d remove George Spaulding from the face of
this Earth and not look back. Captain McGuire’s voice floated back into his head. Jake felt shame standing in
front of Shamus with thoughts of murder in his head. If he did kill, what would separate him from the ones he
hunted every day of his life?
“As a cop, you and I both understand the evidence is what convicts, along with a smart prosecutor.
Spaulding’s lawyer has petitioned the court. Even if the DNA isn’t a match, it wouldn’t get him an immediate
release. There was other evidence putting him at the crime scene. And there was an eyewitness who saw him
push Eva into his car. All it will get him is a new trial. If I remember this right, all of the evidence pointed to
him. Have faith, Jake.”
“Faith? Is that what I should tell Eva? Oh wait. I can’t. Because she’s dead!”
The captain ignored his outburst. “If he goes to trial I promise we’ll reopen the case and work it along with our
current files. But, you can’t touch the file when we do.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, it’s not. If we want the chain of evidence to remain pure you can’t touch it. I’ll respect and appoint
whoever you want to work it,” McGuire said.
“Louie.”
“It can’t be him either.” McGuire held up his hands before Jake could interrupt him. “He’s too close to you.”
“What’s not to say any of the men in my department aren’t too close to me?”
“Whoever you pick will have a state trooper working with him.”
“You don’t trust your own men?” Aggrieved, Jake threw up his hands.
“Do you want answers?”
“Shamus, I already got my answer. I’ve no doubt Spaulding is guilty,” Jake said.
“Then this is the best way to handle it. When we catch the killer, it will ensure a conviction,” Shamus said.
Jake pushed a hand through his hair. The air thinned, cutting off his next breath. “I need to get out of here.”
He rushed from McGuire’s office. At his desk Jake grabbed his car keys and ignored Louie’s questions. He
didn’t trust himself to speak. The pit of his stomach burned. What if the DNA didn’t match Spaulding’s?
Damn, he wanted to punch something. No, not something. He wanted to punch out Spaulding.
I swear if they release him—I’ll—I’ll kill him.
“Jake, wait up.” Louie Romanelli followed him out of the bullpen.
“Not now.” Jake kept walking.
Louie caught up to him and grabbed his arm as he would a suspect and twirled him around. If he wanted to,
Jake could’ve decked him. They were evenly matched in height and weight. Instead, he stood rigid. “Talk to
me,” Louie said.
“Give me a couple of hours to pull myself together. We’ll meet at my house later if you can. In the meantime,
work the Wagner case. I’d hate not to give the Wagners the answers they need.” He didn’t bother to mention
the case was similar to Eva’s that, he too needed the closure.
“Tell me what’s wrong. Did McGuire fire you?” Louie’s olive complexion whitened as he asked the question.
His dark eyes searched Jake’s face for an answer.
Leave it to Louie. For the first time in over a half hour, he laughed. “No, I’m not fired. Spaulding’s up for parole
again and has requested new testing.”
He stared down his friend as Louie processed the information. If it wasn’t for Louie and his family during the
weeks and months that followed Eva’s death, he wouldn’t be standing here today.
How different we are, Jake thought. Louie, married for seventeen years to his grade-school sweetheart, now
had three kids. He, on the other hand, liked being single. Side by side, though they matched each other in
height, his skin tone paled next to Louie’s dark Italian coloring.
“Shit.”
“Go back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jake walked away with his head down and his mind spinning out in every direction. No matter what Shamus
said, he owed it to Eva to find the answers.
It’s my fault she died.