She’d already decided I was a home wrecker even before I was one. Why let her know she was a psychic or a prophet? Why tell her she was right?

Why give her one more reason to shun you, Kay? I can hear Briggs arguing with me.

Confessing to his wife would have been an apocalyptic ending to my relationship with him. We wouldn’t have worked together again. My days with the AFMES would have ended before they began because she was overly sensitive, fragile and possessive, and at the time she had a powerful father at the Pentagon. This was according to Briggs, his rationale for why he needed to keep certain things from her. It was for her good and mine. It was for the best. Those are the sorts of things he’d say. I always knew he was kidding himself, and it might have been the only time I would have called him a coward.

“You doing all right?” Benton turns around and looks at me in the backseat, and truth be told, he’s a bigger man than Briggs ever could be.

My husband doesn’t run from what he wants or pick something because it’s safe. He doesn’t lie about what he loves. He may be deliberate and take his time. But he won’t give up or settle for less, and we don’t keep secrets from each other. Not the kind that would fray the bond between us.

I INTRODUCE MYSELF TO the man sitting next to me as the Tahoe turns onto Memorial Drive. Then I feel silly.

He must know who I am and why the FBI picked me up. In a few minutes they’ll leave me at the CFC because I’m not as cooperative as they’d like me to be, and I begin watching for my titanium-skinned biotech building. I stare out at the dark early morning as we follow the river, and I realize how tired I am. I feel defeated and guilty. It’s true what they say about your sins finding you out.

Only in my case it’s more appropriate to say that my sins tend to find me, period. There are consequences to everything. But when Briggs and I had our moment it couldn’t have occurred to me that this day would come. I couldn’t have imagined I’d be called upon by the government to assist in his autopsy but would have to recuse myself for reasons I won’t discuss. Even if I weren’t up to my ears in the Vandersteel case, I wouldn’t go to Baltimore tonight. It wouldn’t be right.

“… So I was just wondering what people call you.”

I realize the man next to me is asking a question as he offers a packet of tissues, gently nudging it against my wrist. I take it from his strong smooth hand, opening the little cellophane tab.