My email popped up right away, and I saw the attachment from Mags. I opened it before she said another word.

The tag was easy to read after Mags worked on it, and I could make out the three words.

High Tide Pub.

Len came down shortly after my call with Mags, and we decided to walk the distance to the pub. I’d be trying to cover two leads in one visit. We originally planned to start at the pub during the day to walk through the night Len was attacked. It was the best way I could think of to compromise with her.

Len joined me in walking down the path into town. We walked down a lane of fully bloomed daisies. The daisies that had been sitting on my counter must have come from this small garden of them.

The walk down the path took approximately five minutes, and I had mapped out the rest of the way to the pub. It was located central in the town, an easy walking distance for both tourists and locals.

“Have you been back since?” I asked. I groaned internally, an obvious answer. Why was I so oblivious to other’s feelings sometimes?

Len shook her head. “I haven’t been able to step foot inside that place since that day.”

I wasn’t shocked. Most victims with PTSD avoided triggers. Going back to the place where it all started, there was no doubt in my mind that would resurface painful memories for her.

“Why is it you came alone? If we are asking questions here,” she asked, “don’t you have a partner or someone at the FBI looking for you?”

I hesitated. She’d find out at some point. “This isn’t exactly a sanctioned FBI case.”

“Excuse me?” She stopped walking.

“Didn’t I tell you this,” I asked, rubbing my hand behind my head.

I didn’t. I’d been tip toeing around the truth. I never lied to Len, but I wasn’t exactly forthcoming in all the details of my trip. I never thought it’d get this far with her.

“No, you certainly left that portion out,” she muttered.

“Well, no one is looking for me here, let’s just say that,” I offered, hoping she would drop the subject.

“But don’t most agents have a partner, or even a team?” she asked instead.

“You’ve been watching far too many crime shows,” I chuckled.

“You sound like Mal,” she dismissed and gently nudged me with her shoulder.

“I used to have a partner,” I started. Was I really going to go down this road? I never talked about Blythe to anyone—not Grey, nor the therapist he referred me to.

“You used to?” Len asked, picking up on the word choice as fast as I’d expected.

Clever girl. Her quick brilliance never failed.

“She died,” I started. I wasn’t sure if I could go further.