A muscle ticced in his jaw. “I tried to get him to come with me to the basketball sessions. He had no interest—and I didn’t have the smarts back then to realize the brilliance of the youth minister’s subtle approach. I was too heavy-handed with him—and it didn’t work.”

“He got more involved in the drug scene.”

“Yeah. He graduated from marijuana to meth and heroin and cocaine—whatever was available. He came home stoned more often than not, and began to steal to feed his habit. My mom was sick with worry over his situation—literally. She ended up calling the juvenile authorities for help, but he eluded them and ran away. I combed the streets for him, but he knew how to hide.”

“How old was he then?”

“Sixteen.”

The ache in Cate’s heart for both Zeke and his brother swelled. During her tenure with County, she’d seen this story played out over and over again . . . usually with tragic results.

“At that point I’d straightened out and earned a scholarship to college. I tried once more to find him before I left, but he’d disappeared. Two years later, the police—” His voice rasped, and he swallowed. “They found him in an alley behind an abandoned warehouse downtown. Dead from a drug overdose. Three years after that, my mom died at fifty-one of a heart attack.”

In the silence that followed his devastating tale, Cate closed her eyes. Fought for control as pressure built in her throat.

When she opened them, Zeke was watching her, the desolation in his dark irises so acute it took her breath away.

“I never got over those losses. How could I? They were my fault. I pulled my brother into a life of drugs, and his death killed my mom. That’s why I went into law enforcement. I wanted to do everything I could to atone for my mistakes. To keep young people from throwing away their lives. To save other families from similar trauma and tragedy.”

Cate willed away the tears clouding her vision. Tried to think of a response.

But how did you comfort someone in the face of so much wasted potential? So much heartbreak? So much guilt?

“I’m sorry, Zeke. I don’t—”

“No. Wait. There’s more.” He held up a hand, his expression grim. “Let me finish. While I worked for County, I always asked to be assigned to drug cases. I thought cleaning up the drug problems in the city would help me make amends for failing my brother. But you know how frustrating that work can be. There are days it’s hard to feel as if you’re having any impact.”

Yeah, she knew. No matter how many criminals were arrested, there were always more waiting in the wings to take their place—one of the many contributing factors to the elevated burnout rates among law enforcement personnel.