"Thanks, Mom."
"I have a few logs. You’ll have to do some digging to find them.” She rattles off an address. “It’s a cemetery. I buried them by the cluster of graves at the back, by the statue. They all died from tuberculosis.” She turns back. “Come back in a week or so. I need time, Mila."
She doesn't look back, but it's still a win. I'll take it.
Like I told my mother, this won't bring her victims back, but they can be given proper burials.
My footsteps feel lighter as I walk out of the visiting room. T-Bone is waiting for me by the prison entrance, pacing. He wasn't too keen on letting me see my mother alone. He was concerned that it would upset me.
"How did it go?" T-Bone snakes an arm around my waist, tucking me into his side. He drops a kiss on the top of my head. "Do I need to go in there and kick her ass?"
"No." I laugh. "Your protective side can be put to rest. She's agreed to help me close out all of her murders."
"Shit, Mila. Are you absolutely sure that you want to put yourself through that?" His brow is furrowed in concentration, and I smooth it out with my index finger.
"I most definitely need to do this. All of those families deserve it."
He inhales, nodding his head.
"You're incredible, you know that?" He reaches out a hand and cups my cheek. "I mean it, Mila. There is so much strength in everything you've done and everything you're willing to take on. I know you feel like you've got to do it alone. That you think that's the only way you can be redeemed. But I want to help you. Let me help you. You don't have to go at this by yourself. I'm right here to give you whatever support you want or need."
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, and T-Bone strokes the dip in my skin. The gesture echoes the moment perfectly. I want to punish myself quietly, where no one can see. But T does. He sees me, and instead of cowering in fear, he's there. Willing to help me. Seeing me through the darkness of my history.
"If you promise to be around with all of the steak tartare I could ever want, then sure. You can help me."
"Thank you, Mila."
"What?" I don't quite understand why he would thank me.
"I know how hard it is for you to let people in. And I'm very grateful, very happy that I get to be that man."
I inhale and close my arms around his neck, holding him close to me like a solid grounding force in the world of the living. He's proving once again that he is the best.
"You know I should be the one saying that."
"How about this," he says, tucking me into his side as we walk to the car. "We can always be grateful to have the other there to help us deal with our baggage."
"Like actual skeletons in the closet?" I tease.
"Yup. That."
"How about the ghost of evil beige pants?"
T-Bone raises an eyebrow at me. "My pants?"
"I can't see your ass in these, T. It's a crime. And as an agent, you should be very concerned about that."
I dip my hand into the back pocket and give his left cheek a good squeeze. T laughs before kissing the crown of my head.
"The pants stay, Mila."
"Fine," I pretend to grumble, giving his butt another tap.
T-Bone takes my hand, kissing my knuckles, keeping our fingers locked as we drive back to his house.
The night sky stretches out before us. It's not exactly driving off into the sunset, but the moon is shining and the stars are winking at me, and for me, that's kind of the same thing.
Epilogue Six Months Later
In a quick scan of the main floor of the house, I spot T-Bone sitting at the kitchen island, poring over case files. That cute little pucker is drawing his eyes together, and he is running his hand through his hair. Twice forward, once backward. Always in the same sequence. His thick blond hair sticks out every which way.
I have the biggest urge to go stand beside him, let my own hands dance through, and kneed those strong shoulders of his I love to nibble on.
But I have a mission.
It's an important one.
Cargo Pants Annihilation Mission.
It's not my first try, but this is it. I can feel it. This will be a victorious operation.
On the very tips of my toes, I make my way up the stairs and into the master bedroom.
The pile of offending cargo pants is right there on the very top shelf. T likes to keep them way up high so that I can't mess with them. I always find a way to hide them.
I might have only moved into his place a week ago, but even before then, I was plotting against his very ugly pants. A man who looks as good as him shouldn't be wrapped up in a beige tent.
I pull a pair down, and they all come tumbling down with a thunk. It echoes through the closet out into the bedroom. I stay very still for a few seconds, listening for the telltale sign of a chair scraping against the kitchen tiles.
Nothing. T-Bone must not have heard me.
"Victory is mine," I grunt, bundling all of the pants into my arms.
"Mila, what are you doing?" T-Bone asks, leaning against the bedroom door.
I jump, completely caught. I try to shove the mound of clothes behind my back and fail miserably.
"Nothing," I squeak. "How can a bull be so quiet?"
T ignores my question. "Are you trying to get rid of another pair of my cargo pants?"
"No." I shake my head emphatically, blinking rapidly, trying to play the innocent.
He holds out his hands, a smile on his handsome face. I lean up and kiss the scruff of his face, trying to distract him.
"That won't work, Mila. Give 'em."
"But hear me out. Jeans
