“Tell me it’s not her, Graham! Tell me it’s not her!”
Christ. They couldn’t even give her that much? That tiny mercy?
“Hey. Hey.” I caught her hands, grounding her. “Linda, breathe. Look at me.” I waited until those panicked eyes locked onto mine. “It’s not her.”
Her whole body sagged, relief hitting harder than the cold. “Oh, thank God!” Her knees buckled.
“Easy.” I caught her under the arms and guided her back toward the truck, helping her into the driver’s seat. “Sit. Take a few breathers.”
She did, shaking, then tilted her chin up at me. That glare. Sharp as ever. The kind of look that used to pin me to the wall when I’d end up at her house hours after a bad shift ended, reeking of whiskey.
“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice cut like a belt across the back. “Maggie’s been here nearly every damn night for dinner since you ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.”
“Oh, no? Then what do you call it?”
“I was just… processing.” The excuse sounded as pathetic as it was.
“Come here.”
I stepped closer.
“No. Closer.”
I stepped as close as I could without stepping on her.
She slapped me upside the back of the head before I even saw it coming.
“Ow—Jesus, Linda!”
“What is the matter with you?” Her brow arched high. “Do you have any idea how much you screwed up?”
Her glare still pinned me, but my eyes slid past her, back to the pier. The girl’s hair was wrong—lighter, shorter—but the shape of her body, the angle of her jaw,Christ. For a second it really was like staring at Maggie laid out on frozen boards.
My stomach twisted. I shoved it down.
“I asked you a question,” Linda snapped, dragging me back.
“I heard you.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. I flexed my jaw, grinding it down. “You want the truth?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I couldn’t breathe anymore. Not with Bec and Wren’s ghosts everywhere.”
Her eyes softened for half a second before hardening again. “And what about Maggie? You think she can breathe, waiting for you to come back?”
I swallowed that one whole. Nothing I could say would make me less of an ass.
A couple uniforms shifted by the body, their radios spitting static. The girl’s wrist dangled loose as Crowley maneuvered her into a body bag. The blue polish was chipped at the corners, the same way Maggie’s always was.
Everything narrowed.
Linda touched my arm, gentler now. “You see it too, don’t you? She looks just like her.”
“Yeah…” My response dragged through the cold December air. “That’s the point.”
I couldn’t do the job. Not yet. Not until I saw her. Smelled her. Felt her. Made damn sure she was still alive.
Maggie
“Oh god, I hate mistletoe,” I whined as Hunter pulled out a sprig from behind his back.
