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Charlie said, “You’ve always had terrific instincts, and youdidsave my ass when we were tracking Bonnie and Clyde.” Not the real Bonnie and Clyde, of course, but Regan had given the nickname to two young lovers who’d gone on a killing and robbery spree in Virginia seven years ago.
“You’ve always been made of Teflon, that’s what Tommy used to say,” Charlie continued. “You’re calm under pressure.”
“That’s how we’re trained.”
“Tommy was as good or better than you, with more years experience. And he was caught in the crosshairs of a sniper. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”
“Tommy found the truth,” she said. “Thewhy. Maybe from Peter Grey, maybe from someone else. If I had been here right beside him as I should have been, I could have saved him.”
“Or you could be lying next to him in the morgue.” Charlie pulled into the Marshals’ assigned parking at the courthouse.
“I should get going,” she said, gathering her things.
“Come up for a minute. I asked Maggie to create temporary credentials for you so you can park here and access the building whenever you need to.”
She nodded her thanks. “I appreciate it, Charlie.”
He said, “Do you have the code to Tommy’s gun safe?”
“He told me once years ago, unless he changed it.”
“Doubt he did. You only came here with the one gun, so make sure you can access additional firearms, just in case.”
Six
Regan stopped by a grocery store before heading back to Tommy’s house in Reston, one of the many communities in Northern Virginia, this one more rural than suburb.
Tommy’s truck blocked one of the circular driveway’s exits, so she backed in. If for some reason Regan had to leave quickly, she didn’t want to be trapped. From the driver’s seat, she stared at the oak tree that had been a sniper’s roost. She imagined herself in a gunman’s sights. Her eyes canvassed the street, yard, house.
It was late afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet, peaceful. She cracked the window to listen, hearing laughter and the shouts of kids playing in a backyard not far away. Their joy and abandon should have made her smile; instead she was on the verge of tears.
You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.
If she repeated it enough, maybe one day she’d believe it.
When she was certain there was no immediate threat, she got out of the car, two bags of groceries in one hand, her dominant hand free.
She walked to the front door and again glanced around, eye out for danger as she unlocked the door. The alarm system beeped, and she closed the door, turned off the alarm, then reset it for home. It was a good residential alarm system, but it hadn’t saved Tommy.
In the kitchen, she put down the two bags and let out the breath she’d been holding. She then inhaled deeply, exhaled, getting her bearings. These last two days had been emotional. Regan had been even-tempered since she was a kid, and that had helped her learn to remain calm in stressful situations. Charlie was right; she was good in a crisis. But being calm and rational made these complex memories and emotions more difficult to deal with, because there was nothingrationalabout any of this. She’d much rather be in the middle of an active shooter situation where her training and muscle memory would kick in, than standing in Tommy’s kitchen with memories of him, of her son, of her ex-husband, of her previous life, all punching her skull, fighting for attention.
And Regan, standing there alone, was unsure how to fix anything.
She smelled coffee, saw that there was half a pot in the carafe, cold. Tommy would have made it yesterday morning before he left. He loved coffee even more than she did.
Regan unloaded the groceries. She noticed a New York strip steak that hadn’t expired. Tommy loved to grill. There were fresh vegetables. She would eat them, think about Tommy, about their friendship and what might have been had life dealt them a different hand.
She closed the refrigerator as if closing her emotions. She couldn’t find the truth if she allowed the past to creep in and drag her down.
Then she saw a picture of her, Tommy, and Chase, taken a few years ago at a Marshals family picnic. She stared at it, trying to feel that past happiness that had been her life—content, satisfied, successful in her career. Her marriage wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. She had many friends, a home, a son. Her family. Imperfect, but hers.
Now gone.
Tommy had turned forty-two at the beginning of the year. He should not be dead. He was in his prime, had a great career, had a sister who loved him, and lots of friends.
Chase had been ten. He shouldn’t be dead, either. He’d had his entire life ahead of him.
She swallowed the emotions, but the burn rose up and she knew if she kept it bottled it would come out later when she least expected it. She gave herself the moment, this moment, to just grieve.
