Years ago, when she failed to return his calls, he’d been angry and hurt—so much so that he hadn’t pursued it any further, which he now knew had been stupid. He couldn’t help but wonder what might have been different for him—for both of them—if she had gotten his messages and returned his calls. Would they still be together? Or would it have burned out the way all his relationships inevitably did?

He realized, with a clarity he couldn’t explain or understand, that they would probably still be together. He’d never had that kind of connection with anyone else, which was why he’d been so acutely aware of her all day today.

Chapter 6

After spending an excruciating hour with his grieving staff, Nick sent them home with orders to be back to work at nine in the morning to meet with the detectives and to plan the senator’s funeral. He instructed them not to discuss the case or the senator with anyone and to avoid the press in particular.

He lowered himself into his desk chair, every muscle in his body aching with fatigue as the sleepless night and agonizing day caught up to him.

“Have you eaten?” Christina asked from the doorway.

Nick had to think about that. “Not since the bagel I puked up this morning.”

“There’s pizza left from before. Want me to get you some?”

Not at all sure he’d be able to get it down, he said, “Sure, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

She returned a few minutes later with two slices that she had warmed in the microwave.

“Thank you,” he said when she handed him the plate and a can of cola. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her face puffy from crying. “How’re you doing?”

With a shrug, she collapsed into a chair on the other side of his desk. “I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, and I can’t seem to breathe.”

“I know you cared for him a great deal,” Nick said haltingly. They’d never discussed Christina’s feelings for John.

“For all the good it did me.”

“He loved you, Chris. You know he did.”

“As a friend and colleague. Big whoop.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I because now I have to live the whole rest of my life wondering what might’ve happened if I’d had the courage to tell him how I felt.”

“I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a laugh.

“Not because of work. I loved him like a brother. You know that. But he wasn’t good enough for you. He would’ve broken your heart.”

“Probably,” she said. “No, definitely.”