As he got closer, he realized his fists were clenched and his neck was tight. He tried to relax them, but it lasted only another three steps. Because then he was on the corner, looking across the narrow side street to the convenience store. Set back from the road enough for one small row of parking spaces, the 24/7 operation had always been on their patrol list. The owner at the time had been a Sikh, a badass guy whose grandfather had fought with the Allies in Italy in World War II, a fact Adam had learned during one of Greg’s impromptu history lessons given in this very store, to the delight of the owner who pronounced his account accurate. That man and his entire family had come to Greg’s funeral.

Adam had heard they’d sold the store soon after, not wishing to stay where this man they had considered an honored friend had died. He didn’t know who owned it now, and it didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was what had happened here.

The first thing he noticed was that they’d resurfaced the parking area. That didn’t matter either; he still knew exactly where Greg had gone down. He himself had been inside, but the instant when he’d gotten to the doorway after the sound of shots was acid-etched into his brain. His partner down, blood already pooling beneath him, and the stranger a couple of feet away, also bleeding, but who had somehow managed to roll over, grab Greg’s weapon from his limp hand and fire three rounds into the darkness at the side of the store.

Quinn Foxworth, doing the job he should have done. All because he’d believed the night cashier when she’d told Dispatch the robber had just run out the door and up the street. That Greg had told him to go on in while he checked the area didn’t matter either; he should have had his back.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

The old refrain rang in his head now as he once more faced the fact that what he should have done, could have done, would have done were all pointless and useless now. He’d done what he’d done, he hadn’t done what he didn’t, and the end result never changed; one of the finest men he’d ever known was dead. His adoring daughter’s life would never, ever be the same.

And he had no right to complain just because his wouldn’t, either.

He turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come. He didn’t know what he’d hoped to accomplish by coming here. He only knew that what he had accomplished was to make his already grim mood even darker.

Chapter 4

The Foxworth dog was amazingly polite, Amanda thought as she refilled Quinn’s coffee mug.