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He took a step inside the house, and she backed away again. Tears swimming in her eyes, she whispered, “This is all wrong. This can’t happen. It. Can’t. Happen. Do you hear me? It can’t.”
He reached for her. Wanting to hold her, comfort her. When she jerked away, his hand dropped, and he whispered hoarsely, “I’m so sorry, Kennedy. So damn sorry.”
* * *
Kennedy turned away from the sorrow on Nick’s face. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. As a cop’s wife, she knew this kind of news could come at any time. She lived with that knowledge daily. Having lost both her parents as a child, she knew more than most people about unexpected tragedies. But this? This wasn’t something she could ever have expected. Thomas had been in a grocery store, off duty. Just like any other citizen.
Nick’s gruff voice penetrated her blurred thoughts. “I’ve called Julie…she’s on her way.”
Julie was her best friend, also a cop’s wife. She had been in Julie’s place before. Last year, Sara White’s husband, Rick, had been killed in the line of duty. Kennedy had been there when they’d told Sara. Had held Rick’s widow in her arms and whispered to her that everything was going to be okay. Kennedy now realized she had lied. Everything wasn’t going to be okay. Never would be again. How Sara must have wanted to wail and scream those very words.
No! She refused to accept it. Kennedy whirled, shouted, “He’s not dead, dammit! I won’t allow it. I will damn well not allow it. You hear me? It’s a mistake.”
His eyes glittering with tears, Nick pulled her into his arms and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Kennedy. I promise.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest, and Kennedy jerked out of his arms. “No, it’s not. That’s the funny thing about those words. They’re only said when it’s not going to be okay.” Tears blurred Nick’s face as Kennedy felt them come. She froze, held her breath…willing them away. She couldn’t cry. If she did, it would be admitting the truth.
She gazed blindly around at her house, her happy home. The home she and Thomas shared together. The one their baby would soon share with them. This couldn’t be happening!
A female voice, filled with sympathy and sadness, said, “Kennedy?”
Julie stood at the door, tears streaming down her face. Agony shot through Kennedy, almost bending her double. It was true. Oh God, it was true.
Thomas was gone.
* * *
Nick watched as Julie led Kennedy into the living room. As they got to the entrance, Julie twisted around and mouthed, “Hot, sweet tea.”
With a nod, Nick headed to the kitchen, grateful to have a task. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. Nothing he could say or do would change the situation. Hot tea was about as good as anything.
He entered the kitchen and then stopped for a moment. How many times had he been in this house? Dozens. And they had all been happy times. Cookouts, dinners, the occasional brunch. Laughter had filled the rooms, and Kennedy had been the biggest cause of that. She had a dry, witty sense of humor and could deliver punch lines like a pro. She also had a smile that could light up the darkest of hearts, and not once had he heard her say an unkind word about anyone.
Every room in the house bore Kennedy’s vibrant personality, but he’d always felt the kitchen showed the soul of the woman—sunny and inviting but with a calm serenity. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Hell, grief was turning him into some kind of lame-assed poet.
Nick opened a cabinet. Tea bags and sugar were to the left of the stove. Kennedy had once mentioned that her need for organization was rooted in the chaos of her childhood. Nick identified with her need to control her environment. Control gave power. And when your life goes to shit, control means everything.
He filled the teakettle, set it on the burner and sat down to wait for the whistle. As he waited, the memory of sitting beside his best friend as he bled out ran like a horror movie through his mind.
Nick’s car had slid almost sideways into the parking lot, while the words “it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake” drummed like a mantra in his mind. The identification was wrong. It was someone who looked like Thomas.
He’d jumped out of the car and shoved open the store door, barely slowing to flash his badge. Uniformed and plainclothes cops had hovered around, their faces wearing the same bleak look of hopelessness.
“Back here, Gallagher,” a voice called out.
Nick ran to the sound and then skidded to a stop. Thomas lay on his back, the front of his shirt covered in blood. His eyes were closed, and two EMTs were working on him.
“Dammit…no,” Nick whispered.
Amazingly, Thomas must have heard him. His eyes flickered open, and he muttered a faint, “Nick…need to talk…Nick.”
“We need to get him to a hospital,” one of the EMTs stated.
The other EMT scooted out of the way. “Sit here. I’ll get the transfer ready.”
Nick knelt beside his best friend and could literally feel his own heart breaking. They’d known each other since college—cheerful, charming Thomas and angry, sarcastic Nick. Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it had. He gave Thomas all the credit. The man had tenaciously pursued him as a friend. For which Nick would be forever grateful.
Thomas’s eyes glittered with a strange, intense light. Pain? Fear? Somehow, Nick got the idea there was another reason
