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“Another member of our team had a psychological breakdown which resulted in her stabbing me in the back. She ruptured my kidney and would’ve continued to stab me, possibly ending my life, had your son not stepped in.”
She laughs. “Samuel had a soft spot for helping women in distress. His father walked out on me when he was little, and he instantly started doing everything he could to help me. I wish he’d found a nice girl to make him smile though. He never dated. Always too worried about school, work, and helping his old momma.”
Samuel had never . . . been with anyone.
“Uh . . . he sort of did, I guess.”
“Excuse me?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “He and my daughter were dating, I guess. I wasn’t really keen on it. She’s younger. But he and I talked, and he promised that until she was older their relationship wouldn’t be a physical one. Then he told me he loved her and well, I figured it couldn’t hurt anything.”
“How old is she?”
“She’ll be fifteen next week, ma’am,” I say running my hand through my hair.
Tears roll down her cheeks and she swipes them away quickly. “That is young. Samuel should’ve known better.”
“You don’t choose who you fall in love with, Ms. Morris. And Sorina is anything but an average fifteen-year-old, and she loved him very much.”
“Samuel was no average boy. Sorina. That’s a beautiful name.” She leans down and pulls something silver out of her bag. “I was going to have him buried with this, but I think it’d be better with your daughter.”
She takes my hand and presses a long silver chain into it. The plain silver cross hanging from it has his name engraved down the center. Tears spill from my eyes as I slide it into my pocket. Sorina will be thankful to have something of his. Nothing is going to ease the hurt in her. Only time can do that, and even then, it’ll never fully go away.
“How did Samuel die, Agent Williams?”
“Lily. My name’s Lily. A group of . . . men ambushed the safe house we are in while one of our team members was on patrol. Samuel, myself, and another team member ran out to help.”
“And he was shot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did the other team member survive? The one you went to help?”
I choke back a sob, the words sticking in my throat. “No, ma’am. When I leave here, I’ll be taking him home to his parents as well.”
She nods, picking up her purse and standing. I do the same. She extends her hand, squeezing mine gently.
“Tell your daughter, thank you, for loving my son. At least he got to know some happiness before the end.”
Frozen in my spot, my heart pounding, Samuel’s mother walks from the room, and after a few moments, I force myself to head to the car. If I’d known Samuel longer than a couple of months, this would’ve been worse.
Starting the SUV, dread fills me. I knew Jameson for eleven years . . . what the fuck am I going to tell his parents?
†††
The funeral home Jameson’s family picked is much more upscale than any I’ve ever seen. Then again, that isn’t many. I’ve never been to an actual funeral that I remember. This one is all deep walls with plush carpets and Tiffany lamps.
A white sheet covers his chest, so his family won’t see the bullet holes. Once Dr. Monroe examined him and Samuel, I’d gone into the room, ignoring Blake’s protests against torturing myself further. The bullets hit left of the center of his chest, right side of his stomach, and bottom of his left ribcage. He’d never had a chance of making it, no matter how hard we tried.
I’d applied some foundation before coming in to try and look like an Interpol agent, but a miracle couldn’t cover up the redness of my eyes right now. The tears should’ve subsided by now, but staring at his face, they sting my eyes again.
“Damn it.” I swipe them from my face as they trickle over.
All the missions we’ve been on. Eleven fucking years and Jameson dies patrolling a goddamned safe house. This isn’t how he should’ve gone out. He deserved better. Jax never would’ve let something like this happen.
Jax . . .
By the time I get back to the safe house, Sammi should have something on him. She’s hell-bent on finding the connection and as much as I don’t want to be right about this, something in my gut tells me otherwise. It’s too big a coincidence that the gunmen speak the language native to Jax’s home.
