Dead End

“You didn’t have to sit there all night and be part of the wake. It looked to me that you fit right in.”

“I did not know what else to do, Evan. I did not know how to gracefully walk away. They see me as a link to him. Especially Thomas. Dylan loved me; they have to love me, too. If he hadn’t died when he did, I’d have been one of them.”

“You are one of them.”

“This is a family that has been shattered by a death they believe wasn’t supposed to happen. It makes it all the more difficult for them to accept because they still don’t really know what happened that night. That wound is still festering. That one of their own was murdered, and none of them-none of the big bad FBI Shieldses-has been able to bring his killer to justice.”

“Someone else said something like that, someone I was talking to near the bar. He said that the FBI still didn’t know what went wrong.”

“True. And it haunts everyone, everyone who knew him.”

“Are you haunted by him, Annie?”

“Not by him, maybe, but for him, I guess. I wish I did know what happened that night. I wish I did know who killed him, and why. I wish there could be justice for him. It was set up to look like it was part of that undercover drug deal, but no one ever thought that felt right, and no one has been able to come up with an alternative that makes any sense, either.”

“What didn’t feel right? It’s not unusual to have an undercover op go bad.”

“The dealers Dylan and Aidan were meeting didn’t arrive until after Dylan had been shot. They pulled into the alley just after, and of course, the agents in the building across the alley opened fire, and-”

“So you’re thinking if the dealers had been onto the op, they wouldn’t have shown up at all. If anything, they’d have sent their henchmen to kill Dylan and Aidan and simply disappeared.”

“Exactly. But these men came to the buy, just like they’d planned. And they all denied having known that Dylan and Aidan were law. They all swore they had no clue.”

“Of course they’d deny it. No one in his right mind admits to setting up the FBI.”

“True. But no way, if they’d shot an FBI agent minutes before, would they have shown up at all. That’s just plain stupid, and these guys have been at this a long time. They’re far from stupid.” She shrugged. “And that’s what’s so hard to accept for everyone. Dylan’s killer got away with murder, and no one has the slightest idea who he is. That’s what keeps it raw, keeps it stuck in everyone’s craw. Not knowing why, or who.”

“Does anyone really think they’ll ever answer those questions?”

“Realistically, no. But they’ll never stop asking, never stop talking about it.”

Evan shook his head somewhat vaguely.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for what happened to him, I swear I am. But I can’t fight them for the rest of my life, Annie. There are just too damned many of them. Your sister married into the family; they’re always going to be around.” He took a deep breath. “I’m always going to feel as if I’m sleeping in a dead man’s bed. I’m just not sure how long I can go on doing that.”

“Oh God, Evan, I had no idea you felt that way. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t change the situation,” she said softly. “But I can’t change what was or what is. I’m so sorry, for both of us. I was hoping that you and I…”

Her voice trailed off and she made a gesture-a sort of “I give up” flutter of her hands-before going up the steps and directly to the front door. Once in her car, she sat quietly for a few moments, trying to compose herself, fighting back the tears that had been threatening to fall, trying to stop the hollow feeling inside her from spreading, but it soon engulfed her. With a sense of sorrow and regret, she put the car in gear and headed toward the airport. It was going to be a long trip back to Virginia.

Evan sat on his back steps, his forearms resting on his thighs, mindlessly peeling the label from his bottle of beer, dropping the little scraps of paper at his feet. The deck he’d started building in the spring was just as he’d left it two months ago, mostly frame, some little bit of floorboard. Incomplete, like the basement.

Like his life.

Well, he’d almost had it all, hadn’t he? The girl, the job, the future he’d always dreamed of. Then, of course, he had to go and let that green-eyed monster take over his intellect, had to go and open his big mouth. Well, that was the end of that. Shit, he must have sounded like a bratty adolescent who’d caught his girl walking with another guy to her locker.

He blew out a long breath that was filled with exasperation and self-doubt. He had some big decisions to make, and he’d have to make them now, before things between Annie and him got any worse.

Like they could get worse.

He went inside, dropped the empty beer bottle into the glass recycling bin, and got himself another, then went back outside. He walked the deck frame, balancing carefully as he followed the narrow supports that would eventually be covered with flooring.

If I get that far.

He stood at one end, the end where he’d planned on building steps that would go into the narrow backyard. A few months ago, back in the early spring, he and Annie had stood out here and discussed flower beds. She’d been excited about the prospect, and they’d spent an afternoon talking about how he would go about digging beds around the entire perimeter of the yard so that she could plant her favorites-roses, peonies, hollyhocks. All the staples of an old-fashioned garden, she’d told him, just like the one her mother had planted in the tiny yard of their twin home in Philadelphia ’s University City back when her father was a professor at Drexel. Annie’s cheeks had flushed with the joy of that memory, and her eyes had sparkled at the prospect of re-creating her mother’s garden.

Evan had dug up one section that weekend, a short piece across the back face, and the following day, Annie had gone to the nursery and bought three peonies, which they’d planted together.

“The man at the nursery said that they won’t bloom for a few years, but that’s okay.” She’d smiled up at him. “We can wait them out together. Just think how much we’ll appreciate those first flowers when they finally bloom…”

That had been the last time they’d worked on it. The responsibilities that came with both their jobs had intervened. Now Annie’s garden lay before him, just one more loose end in his life. Just one more thing he’d started, but never got around to finishing.

Evan put the beer down on the back-porch steps and went into his garage. He emerged a minute later, carrying a shovel. He went straight to one side of the fence, walked off a depth of three feet, and began to dig. When he finished with one side, he began to dig along the other, until the entire fence was framed with a newly dug bed.

He stood in the middle of the yard, panting slightly from exertion. If she came back, the garden would be ready for her to plant.

He leaned upon the shovel handle and asked himself just how likely it was that she’d come back.

“Fat chance, Crosby,” he muttered aloud. “Why would she?”

Because she loves me. His inner voice spoke without hesitation.

Dragging the shovel, he walked back to the porch, took a long swig of lukewarm beer, and told himself something he already knew.

The ball is in my court. First, I need to decide how I feel about her.

Do I love her? Yes.

Do I want her? Yes.

How far am I willing to go for her?

As far as it takes…

But how, he wondered, could they plan a life together, with the specter of her dead fiance standing between them?

As long as questions about Dylan’s life remained unanswered, Evan knew he and Annie could not move forward, could not plan a life together. It was as simple as that.

“Okay, then. So that’s the bottom line.” He muttered the words aloud, acknowledging what had to be done.

Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe Friday night had just brought it all into focus.

He dialed Annie’s cell phone and was disappointed when he got her voice mail. Taking a deep breath, he began.

“Annie, I’m sorry. I acted like a fool. A very immature fool. I’m trying to put myself in your place, and I guess maybe I’d feel the same way. If something happened to you… well, I doubt I’d ever rest until I found the truth. I’d owe you that much. Just as you owe Dylan. So. We need to talk.”

He paused, then added, before he hung up, “I love you, Annie. With all my heart. I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life without you. If finding Dylan’s killer is what we need to do in order for this thing to work between us, then let’s do it. Let’s try to figure it out so that Dylan can be at peace. And so can we…”

He tried to think of something else to say, then realized he’d said it all. He disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into his pants pocket. There was still another hour or so of daylight. The local nursery was only ten minutes away. Maybe he’d have time to pick out a rosebush or two.

On his way to his car, his phone rang.

“ Crosby.” He smiled, anticipating the sound of her voice.

“Evan, we need you. We’ve found another body…”

“Where?” His adrenaline began to flow, and Annie’s garden was, once again, forgotten.

4

It was four in the morning before Evan had a chance to check his messages. His message to Annie had been received-apparently well received, since she’d asked him to return the call, regardless of the time.