“What type of favor?” she asked, and I imagined her leaning closer to the phone I knew sat on her desk.

“The type where you don’t report it to Grey.”

“Oh, is the Agent Beck finally abandoning doing everything by the books?” she gasped dramatically into the phone.

“Mags…” I warned.

“I’m teasing,” she assured me. “Anything for you, Stone. Lay it on me.”

“I need you to look into a bar and find me information on it.”

“A bar? What’s the name?” she asked, and I heard her long fingernails tapping against her keyboard.

“High Tide Pub in Briarport, Maine,” I answered quietly, like if I spoke any louder, Grey would somehow learn what I was doing.

“Briarport? As in, the Coastal Killer?”

My heart raced, and I could feel my cellphone slipping in my hands, slick with sweat.

“Yes, the same one,” I answered. “I’m looking into the cold case.”

“If you’re on assignment, why am I keeping this from Grey?”

“It’s not for assignment.”

Silence hung between us, and I thought for a moment the line may have disconnected.

“I’ll keep this discreet,” she said, her tone turning serious. “Give me a few days, and I’ll have everything you could possibly need.”

“I appreciate it. I owe you,” I said, but my heart didn’t stop pounding.

It was a risk, but I didn’t want to go in blind, not if I was bringing Lenore with me. I needed all the information I could gather.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” she said.

She was one of the few who knew everything. Blythe and Mags had become close during their time working together. My heart pained for the loss I knew she experienced too.

“Thank you, Mags.”

I clicked the phone off and set it down on the empty nightstand next to my bed. I climbed in, ready to shut my mind off for the night. Sleep was the only escape I had from it sometimes. As useful as it was to think how I did, sometimes, it was a curse, never being able to turn off seeing everything from an analytical point of view.

I pulled the covers up and shut my eyes, praying I could escape just for a little. My chances were completely split. Some nights, sleep was the remedy I craved, and during the other half, the PTSD slipped through the cracks, and the nightmares came crawling right back, placing me right back into that moment.

* * *

Blood pooled on the floor. 

I knelt in the puddle of it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my clothing. Another body lay only feet away, but I didn’t bother to check its pulse. I ignored every protocol I’d been taught. My mind was blank, nothing but red filling my vision. 

“No, no, please,” I begged. 

I grabbed her lifeless body, cradling it in my arms. 

I was too late, far too late.