“Offer.” She said it as if it was a nasty word.

“Greer has to check a few things, but he knows that you were burned, and he has sympathy—I told him what happened between you and Thornton years ago, and that this was a personal vendetta by one of theirs to destroy one of ours. He was surprisingly contrite and receptive to my comments. You’d still be LAPD assigned to the DC-FBI, specifically their Mobile Response Team. I’ll know more in a couple hours. Look—they value you and what you can contribute. Greer thinks that an undercover cop has an unusual and useful skill set. And you’d be back here when Chen goes to trial.”

“If he doesn’t leave the country first,” she snapped.

Had Matt set this up? Had he convinced Greer to hire her? Why?

She didn’t think so. That wasn’t his style. Still, none of this was sitting well with her.

“Kara—go home. Relax.” He laughed. “What am I saying? I know you. Go to the gun range and blow off some steam. Come back at three this afternoon, and I’ll lay out the deal for you. This may be a great career opportunity.”

“I’m not in this job for career advancement.”

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered.

“There has to be something we can do.”

“Kara, this is truly the only option if you want to stay alive and keep your badge. And dammit—watch your back.”

53

Sunday, March 14
Stafford, Virginia
Afternoon

“Uncle Matt! You made it!”

Elizabeth ran into his arms and hugged him. Affection washed over Matt at the unconditional, innocent love of a child. Though Lizzy was hardly a child—she was a preteen. Eleven.

He handed her a small wrapped box. “Happy birthday, kid.”

She smiled, looking both like her mom and dad—and her aunt Beth. The pain that shot through him was real, then it was gone.

“Mom and Dad are on the patio. I gotta go, but I’ll be right back!” She ran upstairs, taking them two at a time, and disappeared down the hall.

Matt stood in the entryway. The party was out back, but he took this moment to regroup. He hadn’t been in this house since Beth’s funeral eight months ago. He’d come then out of duty, when all he’d wanted to do was fight back. When some cops turned to the bottle out of grief or anger, he turned to his fists. He’d learned to temper his anger by beating up dummies and punching bags instead of people, but there were times when his rage returned, and it took every ounce of his self-control to tame it.

Beth had been dead nearly nine months. A year this coming July. The guilt that came with her life and death was still with him, but it had shifted, changed. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know if he would be able to forgive himself for not loving Beth like she loved him. Maybe he was incapable of loving anyone. He’d let Kara leave.