Her grades and test scores could have gotten her into either graduate school, but the tipping factor had been Gross Human Anatomy, that first-year med-school staple: one look at those muslin-covered dead bodies on all those tables during her pre-admission tour and she’d had to put her head between her knees and try to breathe like she was in yoga class.

And what do you know. The fact that there was someone in an even juicier condition in her front hall was so much worse.

Surprise, surprise.

Another shocker at the moment—not that she needed one—was her father’s hand making slow, calming circles on her back. The times he had done something like this were few and far between, as he was not the kind of man who handled shows of emotion well. And yet when she’d really needed it, he’d always been there: her mother’s death. Daniel’s. That horrible breakup with the guy she’d almost married right out of law school.

This was the father she had known and loved all her life. In spite of the shadows that surrounded him.

“Thank you,” she said without looking at him.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe I deserve that. This all is because of me.”

She couldn’t argue the point, but she didn’t have the strength to condemn him; especially given that terrible ache in his voice.

Now that her rage had passed, she realized that his conscience was going to haunt him to the day he died, and that was the punishment he’d earned and was going to carry out. Plus, he’d already had to bury one child, an imperfect son who he had loved in his own way and had lost in a horrible manner. And although Grier could have spent the rest of her days alienating him and hating him for Daniel’s death . . . was that really a burden she wanted to carry around?

She thought of the body in the front hall and how life could be snatched away between one breath and the next.

No, she decided. She would not allow the hurt and anger she felt to cheat her out of what was left of her family. It would take time, but she and her father would rebuild their relationship.

At least that was one thing Isaac had been right and truthful about.

“We can’t call the police, can we,” she said. Because surely anyone in a uniform who showed up would be hunted as well.

“Isaac and Jim will handle the body. That’s what they do.”

Grier winced at the idea. “Won’t he be missed by someone? Anyone?”

“He doesn’t exist. Not really. Whatever family he had thinks he’s dead—that’s the requirement for men in that branch of XOps.”