In Nate’s job, he’d seen a lot of death, but he focused more on the good he did—solving the case and sending the bad guy to jail—and less on the horrors of death itself. Honestly, he didn’t know how Emma did it, working with sick people every day, people who could die at any moment.

He turned into the clinical, white-tiled basement room that served as the morgue.

“Excuse me.” A man wheeling a body bag down the hall nudged past him.

Nate apologized and stepped aside. He pulled up the collar of his jacket. The air was frigid down here, although it couldn’t hide the sting of formaldehyde. The smell reminded him of Robbie’s funeral. It had been open casket, Robbie lying in repose at the front of the church. His eyes were closed, but Nate could still see the tiny black stitches holding them that way.

Nate had wanted to turn and run and keep running. He didn’t want to face Robbie’s parents, whom he’d known forever, or his brother, Tommy, who’d come back from college for the funeral. He was sure they’d see the shame on his face.

You’re a bad person.

You’re cowardly. Weak.

Nobody can trust you.

Nate’s self-hatred expanded in his chest. It would serve him right if Emma cheated on him. He didn’t deserve her.

He watched the retreating body bag and reached in his pocket for his tin of toothpicks. Guilt, he knew, was a slippery slope. He was an honorable, law-abiding detective now, working to keep his community safe, to build a good world for his son, for his family. But he couldn’t help it: he shoved the sharp tip of the toothpick under his thumbnail, grunting as pain hit him.

“Detective Sweeney?”

Nate whirled around, dropping the toothpick into his pocket.

The forensic pathologist, Dr. Kathi Morris, reached a hand out to shake his. She was a small, mousy woman, quiet, more like a librarian than a pathologist, and known for her respectful manner and detailed approach.

“Oh dear! You’re bleeding!” She pointed at blood that had smeared onto her knuckles.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, horrified.

“No worries. Here.” She withdrew a large black leather bag from under a cabinet, rummaged around in it, and pulled out a Band-Aid. She smiled. “You’re in luck, I just stocked up.”

“Thank you.” Nate pressed the Band-Aid to his throbbing thumb, his cheeks flushed.

He followed Dr. Morris down a long corridor to the autopsy suite at the end. The room was large, holding three metal gurneys, each with a deep sink at the top and an organ bucket lined with a red biohazard bag at the bottom. Kia was already waiting beside one gurney.