“Sorry I missed your call. I was in the bathtub. Hope Laura didn’t give you hell. Appreciate the offer, but I’m tired and headed to bed. I’m so sorry about your friends. You deserve a few drinks after these last few weeks. Have a good night. See you tomorrow if you’re working.”

He closed his eyes and released a deep breath. Fuck.

Yael sat cross-legged on the couch in her one pair of silky pajamas feeling a tiny bit hurt and a whole lot foolish. She’d been so excited at the thought of seeing Shane again and now felt idiotic to be so disappointed.

The FBI had just had a major break in their case and she understood why they wanted to celebrate, especially HRT. She should have anticipated it. She could have blamed her embarrassment on Laura but Laura had thought she was helping her out. Her friend had texted her a photo of Shane drinking with his teammates. Yael winced at what Laura had probably said to him when she left.

Her friend had been furious but really, she had no right to be. And Shane had, indeed, left her a voice message while she’d been in the tub, inviting her to join them.

Yael could go to the bar but they were once again remembering their friends and colleagues and she didn’t want to intrude on that sort of occasion. Plus, after her hot bath where she’d shaved her legs and moisturized her entire body, she felt so relaxed her limbs were like noodles.

And she was lying to herself.

She stood up and paced. She deserved to celebrate along with everyone else. She didn’t have to sit here feeling sorry for herself all the time. Shane had invited her. Maybe it was time…

She froze in the middle of the room and stared at the drawer where she kept the only photograph she had of her family, taken before their whole world went to crap.

She’d already lived through the worst thing that could happen. Nothing could compare to losing her entire family in a single day and then being unjustly vilified for that and so many other tragic losses. Fourteen years old and she still dreamed about it every damn week. She walked over to the drawer and pulled out the silver framed photo and stared hard at the family she’d loved. They were outside and holding hands. Richie was sixteen and smiling, but when she stared at his image she wondered if she couldn’t already see the darkness shadowing his eyes.

Fifteen years of hell—of trying to make sense of his actions, his hate, of trying to atone for the unforgivable.