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“Don’t funk with my heart,” she replied, straight-faced.
David’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“It’s an old song,” Faith replied, blushing. “Never mind. Just pretend I said something clever.”
David shook his head. “Oh, Faith,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “You know, I realized something when you last accosted me at my place of business.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I really missed you,” he said. “The best day I’ve had in the past three months is the day you dragged me out for coffee and told me you wanted me back.”
“Even though I won’t let go of the Copycat Killer case?”
He took a deep breath, and Faith feared she had ruined the moment, but he surprised her by saying, “Yes, even though you won’t let it go.” Seeing Faith’s surprise, he explained, “If one of my patients needed an emergency visit, I would drop everything to go do what I could. Even if I had to leave you at the altar and reschedule our wedding, I would do my job. And that’s just to save one animal’s life.”
He shook his head. “The Copycat Killer has killed thirty people now. He needs to be put down.” He met Faith’s eyes. “I can’t be upset with you just because you’re the best person to do that. I don’t love that you have to be the one to chase the bad guys, but I’m glad you’re on our side.”
She smiled and lifted a hand to caress his cheek. “Can I kiss—”
Before she could even finish the question, he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed, melting into his embrace.
She had made a life out of being strong. It felt so good to let someone else be strong, even if it was only for a moment.
EPILOGUE
Faith walked up the stairs to Clark’s apartment, her heart pounding uneasily. No one had heard from him in two days. He had sent a cryptic text to the Boss saying he was taking time off due to a family emergency but hadn’t answered the Boss’s request to know when he was coming back.
The Boss had texted him every day since but hadn’t received a response. Faith’s own messages had gone unanswered. The Boss wanted to wait one more day before calling the police for a wellness check, but Faith had a bad feeling that she couldn’t shake.
She knew that Gordon had a hidden past that even the Boss didn’t know about. If that past had come back to haunt him, then he could be in danger. She needed to know that he was okay. She wasn’t sure if she would find Gordon here, but if hehadgone off half-cocked to take care of some loose thread from his past, she might find the clues she needed here.
She rang the doorbell and waited. There was no answer.
Next to her, Turk whined. She reached down and patted the big dog’s head.
Turk’s fear did little to help her own anxiety. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
It was still light outside, and Faith was suddenly grateful that she had decided to drop by during the day rather than at night. That was a completely irrational feeling. She knew as well as anyone that disaster could befall during the day just as much as it could at night, but her instinctive primate brain grasped at the comfort that came from knowing the sun still shone.
She knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she took another deep breath and pulled the bobby pin and the jeweler’s screwdriver from her pocket. She looked around to make sure that no one was watching. The last thing she needed was to have to explain herself to the police.
No one was watching, so she bent over and worked the pin and the screwdriver into the lock. After a few minutes, she felt the lock click open and turned the handle.
The smell assaulted Turk a half-second before it hit her, and he jerked back. Faith’s hand went instinctively to her shoulder holster.
Then the smell hit her. She gasped and staggered back as the coppery-sweet scent of blood flooded her senses. She had spent nearly all of her adult life around blood, but this wasn’t just anyone’s blood. This was her friend’s blood, her mentor’s blood.
She held out a thin hope that she was wrong, but when she walked inside and saw the body lying in front of the coat closet, her hope disappeared. She closed the door and forced down her nausea as she walked over to the prone body of Supervisory Special Agent Gordon Clark. A nine-iron lay under his limp left hand.
He had tried to defend himself against whoever had killed him.
“Oh Gordon,” she said softly. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
She knelt down and softly stroked his thinning hair. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
Next to her, Turk whined. He too, was uncharacteristically affected by this scene. Perhaps he felt guilty for his initial dislike of Gordon and regretted that he couldn’t make it up to the deceased agent.
