Greg smiled at her. Even a badass FBI agent needs a good cry now and then.

She laughed again, a little more heartily this time. It felt good to laugh, despite how heavy her heart was. She hadnt done much laughing in a long time.

I meant what I said, Greg told her as she approached the door. Youre welcome here.

She nodded. Thanks, Greg. Take care of yourself, okay?

And if Dad asks about you? What do I say?

Tell him I love him, she answered, nodding to herself as the rightness of the words came to her. In the end, the love that bound them together no matter how frail, how ragged, how strained was too strong for any argument or cruel silence to cut.

Thats all that really matters now, she added, and then she left the house of her childhood, not knowing if she would ever be back.

EPILOGUE

Sitting at a bar at Albuquerque International, while she waited for her flight, Harley ran a finger through the condensation on her glass of beer and tried not to think about what was waiting for her back east. As much as she tried to distract herself, however, she kept thinking of that house and how big it had felt without Rob in it, like a pair of pants several sizes too large.

Was there any way to patch things up with him? Would he be willing to talk things over? She searched her heart and could honestly not decide what she wanted. She drank a little more, hoping to find the answer deeper in the glass, but no answer came.

Her phone vibrated in her purse. She pulled it out and saw a message from a number she did not recognize.

Hey, Harley. its Bryce. it was good bumping into you the other day. id love to see you again before you skip town.

Harley smiled. She caught herself playing with a lock of hair around her ear, an old habit of hers that Bryce had always found endearing. She missed the innocence of that time, when the world was a blank canvas on which they could paint any future they wanted.

She was texting to ask for a raincheck on that visit when someone sat down on the stool beside her and ordered a hard cider. She caught a familiar whiff of cologne and glanced up, registering a fifty-something man in a gray suit jacket and white shirt unbuttoned just far enough to show a tuft of dark hair above his sternum. His eyes blinked rapidly, as if processing a series of thoughts. Then they turned their focus on Harley.

Gotta be one of the loneliest places in the world, Alex Newbury said. Alone at an airport bar.

Harley shrugged as she sent the text and then returned her phone to the purse. Not as lonely as a tunnel a hundred feet below ground.