Chapter One

Bessie Packer handed a sunny floral arrangement of daisies to a tall Black woman in an equally sunny off-the-shoulder blouse. “Thanks for shopping at Bunny’s Market. We’re the friendliest in the town of Friendly.”

As the woman tucked her card into her pocket, she smiled but didn’t offer a reply before heading out the door. Immediately, Bessie felt like a fool.

She wished the store manager hadn’t come up with the idea of adding that silly tagline to each sale. Don had attended some corporate seminar on ensuring customer loyalty last month and come back with all manner of ridiculous ideas about how they could make sure people never chose another market over Bunny’s.

They’d need another market in town for that to happen, she supposed. Maybe Don could have thought of that before insisting they all chirp like a bunch of preening parakeets.

But if Bessie were being honest, hoping Don would do something other than worry about the bottom line was wishful thinking at best.

She swept a mound of stems and clippings aside before straightening her apron and wiping a bit of water off the counter, wincing as the arthritis in her wrist twinged. Bessie usually handled daytime shifts as a front door greeter where she had yet another inane corporate slogan to repeat every time somebody walked in.

“Hello and welcome to Friendly’s friendliest place to shop.”

The one good thing about those shifts was that she got off before three o’clock in the afternoon. She only worked one shift each week that kept her later, and that was Sundays at the floral counter.

Don had recently hired Demi Hadridge, a college student who preferred night shifts and was happy to close the counter. But not on Sundays, because Demi had an early morning class on Mondays at Folkwell Community College in the next town over.

So there Bessie was, holding down the floral counter long after Demi had gone home, watching the afternoon shoppers touch this and smell that. She’d be stuck there for another six hours ’til closing.

Time dragged on. On her break, reheating last night’s lasagna kept Bessie going for the evening part of her shift, and before she knew it, the clock on the wall above the produce section had rolled around to eight thirty.

Bessie started her closing routine, cleaning and oiling the shears and clippers, wiping everything down, and, finally, rolling the can full of trimmings out to the trash and compost bins behind the market.

She returned with just ten minutes to spare, only to find a cheerful young woman standing at the counter. Bessie remembered her immediately. She’d come in earlier when Demi was handling the counter and Bessie was covering for the greeter while she took her lunch break. There had been something off about the young lady when she’d welcomed her to the store.

“Welcome to Bunny’s Market. I hope you’re having a wonderful day.”

“Aren’t you adorable? I’m having a perfect day. And you’re going to have a perfect day too.”

Way, way off.

After that, Miss Sunshine kept commenting on how perfect everything was. This was perfect and that was perfect. She’d bought a pot of petunias from Demi and told Bessie they were “just perfect” when she’d left.

Is she’s here to tell me it’s a perfect time to whip up a dozen bouquets for a wedding or some nonsense?

Swallowing a lump of resentment, Bessie forced a big smile. “Hi again, we’re just about ready to close. Is there something I can help you with?”

The young white woman in the oversize sweater—whose brown hair was held above her ears with tacky pink clips that matched a crossbody pink purse—tittered. “Well, if you’re not the silliest silly. You look just like someone I know.”

Bessie wiped her hands on her apron and tried to connect the dots.

She’s definitely a little off, this one. Probably drunk or high on something.

“People tell me that all the time. I must have a doppelgänger out there somewhere.”

The young woman just stared at her, the smile not wavering an ounce.

“Okay, well, if there’s nothing you need, I’ll get back to my closing duties.”

Her smile finally fell. “Oh, I don’t want to disturb you, and I already have a nice pot of petunias. Have a good night.” She spun on her heel and strode away.

Bessie watched her exit between the sliding doors. What the hell?

Brushing off the encounter, she finished her shift just as her boss called out for her and Luke, the young closing cashier, to join him by the alarm box. He punched in the code, and they shuffled out the employee exit, with Don locking the door behind them.

Luke waved and hurried off to his car as Bessie made her way to hers, the sack of groceries she’d purchased before her shift, including Curtis’s favorite ice cream, resting on her hip. Don was so nice about letting his employees store their purchases in the produce cooler or freezer, providing they took things home when they left for the night.

Another reason I love this little town so much. Curtis and I were right to semi-retire here in Friendly.

Her husband had worked his whole life in Folkwell, where they’d both grown up, but as soon as he hit retirement age, he insisted they move to Friendly. She was still young enough to be in the workforce and balked at the idea.

Then she’d seen Bunny’s Market that first day Curtis had driven them over from Folkwell.

“Just to see the place, Bess. You’ll love it. I promise.”

And she had. Bunny’s was so charming, and she liked the idea of working a simpler job than the one she had with a real estate company.

To think that was over ten years ago. How time flies.

Luke waved to Bessie as he mounted his bicycle. He turned on his headlamp and rear flashing lights. She wasn’t sure how he got up the courage to bike to and from work, but he’d managed to stay safe on the rural roads between the market and his home outside of town.

Smiling as she watched Don drive away and Luke ride off, Bessie decided working one night shift each week wasn’t that bad after all.

She got to her car and went to the trunk, fumbling around in her handbag for her keys. She and Curtis had talked about getting a new car, the kind with those transmitters that unlocked everything when the driver stepped within a few feet of the doors.

But his retirement and her paltry income were just enough to keep them going these days. Adding a car payment into the mix wasn’t something either of them honestly wanted to consider. Besides, their 1999 Toyota Camry still ran as well as the day they’d bought it, thanks to Curtis’s fastidious adherence to the maintenance schedule.

Fishing out her key ring, Bessie unlocked and lifted the trunk, set the groceries inside, and closed it again before getting in her car. She navigated the narrow small-town streets with all the care she would’ve used in Richmond.

Finally, she reached the cluster of houses she and Curtis called their neighborhood. Five homes had been built at the edge of Friendly, tucked into stands of evergreens and oak trees. Pulling into her drive, Bessie breathed out a deep sigh as she shut off the engine and got out. Home at last and ready to settle onto the couch with her tea and crosswords.

A car engine hummed somewhere down the street—probably one of the neighbors having a late meal delivered by the one pizza place in town. Bessie shambled her way up the front walk and was nearly to the door when she remembered the groceries.

Throwing a hand up in the air in frustration, she turned around and trudged back to her car. She looked for the delivery driver she’d heard but didn’t see any cars on the street.

They must have been quick. Or maybe it was that young couple getting an Uber home from Folkwell.

Bessie didn’t really know any of the neighbors, as spread out as the houses were at their end of the street.

She went to her trunk and opened it to grab her groceries as a tittering laugh startled her.

Whirling around, she was even more startled to find the giddy young woman with the bad hair and big sweater standing among a cluster of evergreens at the edge of her property.

Miss Sunshine was still smiling, just as loopy-looking as she’d been earlier. This time, though, she wasn’t holding a pot of petunias. She was holding a gun.

All the warnings and advice Bessie had heard over the years vanished like cotton candy in the rain. Her heart raced, and she struggled to think of what to do or say.

“How did you get here? What do you want?”

The woman took a step closer. “I followed you in my car because I want you to join me at my tea party. Like you promised, Deidre.”

Who the hell is Deidre?

“You must have me confused with someone else. My name is—”

“Deidre.” Miss Sunshine’s smile slipped into a frown as she moved forward and aimed the gun at Bessie’s face. “You look just like her, so that has to be your name.” Her voice went from sing-songy to a growl. “You were supposed to be at the tea party hours ago. Proper ladies are punctual. Priscilla and Clara have been waiting.”

She’s not high or drunk. She’s off her damn rocker. Play nice, play along…

“That’s right, I…I do remember saying I’d join you, but it’s been such a trying day. I really think I should go inside. My husband is expecting me—”

“Yes. Let’s collect your husband.” The sweetness returned to the gun-toting woman’s voice. “Having a gentleman attend would make the tea party even better. Just perfect, in fact.”

Bessie’s smile died on her lips.

Whatever she has planned, it isn’t a tea party.

The front door to her home opened and closed as Curtis stepped out. “Bess? What’s taking you so long?” His voice grew in volume as he neared the driveway. “Do you need help bringing the groceries in?”

Before Bessie could say a word, Miss Sunshine rushed forward and grabbed her by the wrist. “Hello, Deidre’s husband.” She pressed the gun into her ribs, turning them so Bessie was between the woman and Curtis. “We’re going to have the perfect tea party, aren’t we?”

Curtis’s eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them. “Who’s this, Bess?”

“This is Deidre, and if you’re the gentleman I hope you are, you’ll get in the car. The tea’s getting cold.” A smile remained plastered to Miss Sunshine’s face, but her words dripped with menace.

Curtis took a step forward, confusion etching his features. “Who’s Deidra? I don’t—”

“Shut up!”

Curtis lifted his hands higher. “I’ll call the police. Let my wife go.”

The gun dug into Bessie’s side, and she cried out. The woman behind her snarled. “You’re not calling anyone. Come along with us. Now. Back into your car, Deidre.”

“Absolutely not.” Curtis pointed at the woman. “Bessie isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“But I spent the day setting up the tea party.” She shook the gun wildly in the air before jamming it back into Bessie’s rib cage. “And this gun means you do what I say. We’ll have so much fun if you do what I say. I promise.”

Bessie glanced around, hoping someone, anyone, might see or hear what was happening in their driveway. But they’d chosen this home, at the edge of town, for its seclusion and privacy.

The dim light of the nearest streetlamp revealed not a single soul, especially considering most of their neighbors were past retirement age and often went to bed by nightfall.

Bessie couldn’t let this happen. “Run away, Curtis. Run away.”

The woman lifted the gun and aimed it at Curtis’s head. “I don’t think you want to do that.” Every word felt like molten wax in Bessie’s ears. “If you take another step, I’ll make you go away, and, gosh, I don’t know. I might even have to make Deidre go away too.” She put the gun against Bessie’s head. “Then the tea party would be ruined, and that would be just awful.”

“That’s not necessary.” Bessie struggled to use the same chirpy customer-service voice she did at work when she rattled off Don’s stupid slogans. Curtis’s doctor had warned them about stressful activity, ever since his heart attack just before Christmas. She needed him to remain calm, to steady himself. “We’ll use our manners. Won’t we, Curt? It’ll be all right if we just breathe slowly.”

The woman tittered behind her. “There you are, Deidre. That’s how a proper lady performs.”

“Yes, and we want to be proper, don’t we, Curt? But maybe,” she spoke over her shoulder, “you can tell us where the tea party will be? Curt and I can meet you there.”

“We’re going to the teahouse now, silly. And since my car is low on gas, we’ll have to take yours. As soon as your husband joins us.”

He met her gaze. “Right, Bess. Let’s just do as she says.” He looked at the woman over Bessie’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Nobody needs to be shot.”

Curtis opened the passenger door, and Bessie panicked, desperate to convince the lunatic behind her this plan wasn’t in her best interest. “But my job. My boss. He’ll know something’s wrong if I don’t show up for work in the morning.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” The woman’s voice went eerily quiet. “But maybe you should call the market, just so he won’t worry.”

“The store’s closed. He’ll be at home with his wife and family.” Bessie noted Curtis’s encouraging nod. “But I can call his cell phone. Just to make sure I reach him.”

Their captor pressed her gun into Bessie’s side again and pulled her away from the trunk. “No. If he’s with his family, we shouldn’t call and interrupt. That would be terribly rude. Just call the store and leave a message. Tell him you quit. He’ll get it tomorrow, and no one will have to be upset about anything.” Her grip on Bessie tightened. “But let’s hurry this up, little lady. We have to get to the teahouse and are terribly late already. Proper ladies perform punctually.”

The next moments were a blur of terror and fright. As the crazed woman spun her around and shoved the gun into her stomach, Bessie lost her breath.

Curtis rounded the car’s fender and grabbed for the woman’s gun. She lashed out hard and fast, smashing him in the head with it. Curtis fell back, landing awkwardly on his wrist.

A horrible snap punctured the air.

“Curtis!”

Bessie dropped to her knees beside him as he groaned in pain.

The woman grabbed Bessie’s collar and hauled her toward the trunk. Manic now, pointing the gun at Curtis, she screamed, “Get in the trunk!”

Curtis stagged to his feet and did as he was told.

“Now you!”

Bessie climbed in beside him and turned so they were face-to-face.

She expected to see her husband’s eyes go wide with terror, but his gaze was steady, locked with hers.

“It’ll be all right, Bess. We’ll go have tea, and it’ll be all right.”

She loved him for saying that.

The woman pushed the gun into Bessie’s ribs again. “Now make that phone call, Deidre.”

“What do I say? I can’t just say I’m quitting. They know I mean to work there until I’ve saved enough.”

“Tell them you’re quitting because you work such long hours and it’s too much for a lady to handle.” The gun’s muzzle poked her painfully. “And be polite. Proper ladies shouldn’t work late at night and should always perform politely.”

Should proper ladies carry a gun and threaten other people with it?

Tamping down the question, Bessie reached into her pocket, slid her phone out, and made the call. It rang and rang until the flower market’s voicemail service picked up, informing her that the store was closed until seven o’clock the next morning, and that messages would be returned then.

After leaving the simple message to her boss “Roger” that she would be quitting “due to all the late-night shifts,” she attempted to pocket her phone.

Miss Sunshine harrumphed as she snatched the phone and dropped it into her own handbag. “That was a naughty thing to do, Deidre. You know you can’t have your phone, because you might try to invite someone who would ruin the tea party. Only the host is allowed to invite guests.”

“But—”

She reached for Curtis and pawed at his pockets. “You don’t have a phone on you, do you?”

He shook his head, batting her hands away until she shoved the gun into his face. Curtis went still. “My phone’s in the house. It’s inside.”

Miss Sunshine poked the barrel against his forehead and searched his pockets. Standing back, she seemed satisfied that Curtis wasn’t trying to hide a phone anywhere.

Before closing the trunk, she pulled a packet of plastic zip ties from her handbag. “I believe your husband has shown himself to be ungentlemanly indeed, grabbing at me the way he did earlier. So, Deidre, I simply must ask you to tie his hands together. This is for your safety and protection, too, since you’ll be riding to the teahouse in such close company.”

With shaking hands, she tried to zip tie her husband’s wrists together.

Miss Sunshine squealed in annoyance. “Faster, Deidre. The tea is stone-cold by now, I’m just sure of it.” She ground the muzzle of her gun into Bessie’s temple.

Cutis let out a pained moan as he held his hands up. “It’ll be all right, Bess. Just do as she says, and it’ll be all right.”

She wrapped the tie around his wrists, but not so tight that it would put pressure on them.

Their assailant, however, had no such qualms and reached out to tug on the zip tie, ripping a scream from Curtis.

Then she ordered Bessie to zip tie her own ankles and turn to face Curtis when she was done. “Put your hands behind your back now, Deidre.” The gun pressed against the back of her head.

Fighting against her own weight in the cramped compartment, Bessie got both hands behind her. The gun moved away from her head, and she felt the woman using both hands to fit a zip tie around her wrists. She lowered the lid of the trunk partway.

“Sweet dreams, Deidre and Deidre’s husband. I know this is just going to be the most perfect tea party ever once we get to the teahouse. I’ll have to warm up a fresh pot, of course, because you were both so stubborn about coming along. But I’m certain we can all be proper guests now.”

The woman slammed the trunk shut, stifling Curtis’s and Bessie’s pleas.

Chapter Two

Special Agent Autumn Trent stood silently among the mourners before the open grave site. A sheet of letter-sized paper mounted in a simple black frame stood beside the grave on an easel. The name Aiden J. Parrish stood out from the plain white paper in a bold font. She stared at the pile of dirt, a fresh dark and crumbly mound, and wondered if she could dig her way into it to become part of the earth that would cover Aiden’s resting place.

She could imagine the soil collapsing around her, holding her fast as she curled herself around the urn that had been placed in the grave.

All I wanted, all I still want, is a chance to tell you I love you and dare you to tell me otherwise.

During the service, she’d stood apart from the other mourners, including Aiden’s mother, brother, and niece, and listened to the priest’s calm, plaintive encouragement to always cherish what had been.

Now, with friends and family encircling her, resting hands on her shoulders—some clutching at her as if she were a tether—Autumn curled her fingers inward, forming fists, balled against her stomach.

Each touch, each press of a hand or brush of a fingertip, sent a shockwave of grief and sorrow through her.

For four days, Autumn had endured an onslaught of those emotions. They’d risen in her, forcing tears and sometimes rage. To find herself besieged by the people she cared about most was too much to take. They unknowingly pummeled her with their own emotions, and Autumn could do nothing to stop them but run away.

And so, she did.

Pushing past her sister Sarah and colleagues Sun Ming and Keaton Holland, she stumbled across the lawn to a towering oak tree. Surprised murmurs faded behind her as she put distance between herself and the funeral.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Autumn tried to inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth. But without everyone else’s emotions running through her, only her own remained. A long, keening howl of rage trapped inside her chest. Her lip quivered with the threat of its escape.

“Autumn?”

She spun around, ready to scream, only to find her best friend Winter Black just a few feet away, trailed by her husband. Noah had his hands by his sides, his face downcast and somber. Winter’s eyes were wet but sparked with every bit of defiant rage that Autumn felt in her chest.

Autumn wanted to run toward her friend and wrap her in a hug, but she couldn’t. After the tumult of all those clutching hands and the sadness that flooded her from their touch, she’d shatter if she dared come into contact with anyone, even her best friend.

“I can’t, Winter. Not now. I know he meant a lot to you, and to you, too, Noah.”

Noah nodded and hung back behind his wife.

Autumn smiled weakly and waved her closest confidante away. The other mourners had gathered in small groups, most of them wandering toward the line of waiting cars along the cemetery’s lane.

In the distance, Aiden’s niece, Anna—the one person in the world who probably felt his loss as deeply as Autumn—was being led to a car by Aiden’s mother and brother.

Keaton and Sarah were still there, but with an understanding nod, Winter blew her a farewell kiss and departed with Noah. Sarah waved, tugging on Keaton’s arm as they wandered off.

Leaving Autumn blessedly alone.

Watching them go, she wondered if she’d been hasty, pushing aside the people closest to her, including Winter.

Her best friend was the one person who could truly understand what she was going through right now. Winter knew about her ability to intuit another’s emotions through touch.

The cursed sixth sense she’d gained after a traumatic brain injury during childhood—courtesy of her abusive biological father—made all forms of physical human contact potentially crippling.

Especially now.

Not that she could say she’d ever enjoyed what her “gift” gave her. The terror of being flooded by a myriad of emotional states had forced her into self-imposed isolation her entire life.

Things had been different with Aiden, though. She’d welcomed his embrace, the slightest brush of his hand against hers.

On duty, they’d been professional and observed the necessary decorum. In private, though, she’d rest her hand on his, enjoying the firm security and confidence he radiated.

Now that’s all gone. He’s been more and more closed off lately, less prone to allowing me to touch him, knowing what I can do.

The day he died, Aiden had confronted her with the truth, which he’d discovered during their last case together.

“It’s your touch. That’s how you know.”

Later that night, after the reports were written, the emails sent, Autumn sat on her couch stroking her dog’s fur. Aiden had appeared at her door to tell her it was over.

He wouldn’t let me touch him. He backed away. Refused contact like I was infected by some kind of plague.

She stood by the tree until the last of the cars had driven away, and only the cemetery attendants remained nearby. Autumn walked to Aiden’s grave and ran a finger across the top of the frame holding his temporary marker. The easel wobbled, and she steadied it with both hands.

Crouching, she put a hand on the mounded earth.

She couldn’t feel Aiden here. She couldn’t feel him anywhere.

Because he no longer exists.

When the mourners had surrounded her, so many had muttered words of comfort, saying he’d “be with her always.” That Aiden was “looking down on her and smiling.” That “God had chosen to take him home.”

She had wanted nothing more than to say they could all kindly fuck off.

Aiden devoted his life to a dangerous profession, and in return, he’d been murdered. Simple as that.

An act of God would have saved him.

His death had been forced, purposeful. The consequence of pissing off the wrong Mafia family…or what was left of it.

Alta Fabbri did this to you. With or without her father’s approval…she did this.

Maury Fabbri, the Mafia don, had promised to make Aiden sit by as he destroyed his world piece by bloody, tortured piece. Alta, it seemed, had been unwilling to wait for her father’s plan to play out. She’d gone for Aiden first, and the Bureau had fallen shamefully short of their vow to keep him safe.

Aiden would say he’d earned this fate the second Michael and Kevin Fabbri were killed.

Having promised Maury Fabbri he’d watch out for his children and ensure their safety, Aiden secured the mobster’s cooperation. With information he provided, the Bureau brought down the criminal syndicate responsible for killing every other member and associate of the Fabbri family.

They’d stopped drug dealers, gun runners, and a host of other nefarious actors.

All it cost you was your life, but I’m the one still here. Still paying with these tears and the knowledge I will never see you again.

She’d watched him die, seen the explosion that tore his body to pieces. All on the heels of him evicting himself from her life.

“This…this isn’t going to work anymore. It’s affected both of our work performances. We spend more time fighting than doing anything else. We’re not happy, and we need to…end it.”

“I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now.” She stroked his name on the sheet of paper. “Even though it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, you could die a hundred more times, and I still wouldn’t believe a word of what you said to me that night.”

Autumn shuddered, refusing to envision, yet again, the blaze that had roared to life before her eyes. Instead, her mind filled with memories of their final words to each other.

Aiden had parked on the street just outside her apartment building. He’d walked up to her door, knocked, and told her they were done.

He’d said it all with the straightest of faces, in picture-perfect Aiden Parrish fashion. No nonsense, no blubbering, not even the tiniest tremor shaking the words from his lips.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore.”

Those words, more than the flames that rocketed into the sky from his exploding car, had stolen away the man Autumn loved, ripped him from her heart and left a hole she wasn’t sure could ever be filled.

And there’s nothing in your grave but a small urn of ashes.

***

Just over twenty-four hours had passed since Aiden’s funeral and Autumn’s attempted departure from society. She’d survived the evening with a bowl of dry cereal and tea and the company of Peach, her entitled cat, and Toad, her lovable Pomeranian.

And then she’d made it through the night on her couch, with a box of tissues by her side, only waking up four times. She slept fitfully through most of Monday morning and into the afternoon.

Now, at half past four, Autumn was showered and dressed, and sitting across from Assistant Deputy Director Cassidy Ramirez in the Bureau offices.

Watching Cassidy arrange a set of file folders beside her, Autumn found herself wondering about something unexpected.

Would she go back to her desk after this meeting and straighten it up for her return to work tomorrow? Or would she instead choose to clean out her desk, go home, and not look back?

No. Aiden wouldn’t want me to quit. And I don’t want that either. Besides, losing access to Bureau resources will just make everything I have to do that much harder.

Autumn tabled those thoughts before they spiraled out of control and did her best to remain relaxed and capable. ADD Ramirez met her eyes from across the desk and smiled.

“Agent Trent, I confess I’m surprised to see you this afternoon. Are you certain you feel up to the task of returning to work tomorrow?”

Autumn met Cassidy’s somber, dark-eyed gaze. “The funeral was yesterday, and I know it seems sudden for me to be coming back, but I feel ready. I don’t know that I’ll be any more ready if I waited until next week.”

Cassidy frowned. “I asked a bad question, I’m sorry. I can only imagine how terrible it would be to lose someone like that. You have my deepest sympathies.”

“That’s the funny part.” Autumn couldn’t bring herself to soften her tone. “We weren’t ‘someone’ for each other anymore. Aiden broke up with me about five minutes before he was murdered.”

Though her mouth opened in surprise, Cassidy’s expression betrayed only sadness. “The Fabbris will be dealt with.”

Autumn pointed at the mound of paperwork on the ADD’s desk. She knew they were case files that had previously been Aiden’s responsibility. “Before or after Alta ensures more graves are dug?”

“Before.” Cassidy sat back in her chair, her attention on the paperwork before her. “Aiden’s family will be kept safe. His mother, niece, and brother have around-the-clock protection, and that’ll remain in effect until Alta’s been found and locked away.”

Autumn couldn’t contain the outburst that flew from her mouth. “What about his team? What about us?” Tears burned her eyes.

Cassidy sighed, every wrinkle and sunspot on full display on her light-brown, aging skin.

“Autumn.” She pressed her palms flat on her desk. “I understand you’re afraid. After what’s happened, it’d be careless and foolish not to be.”

Autumn sat quietly, folding her hands in her lap, scanning over the file folders stacked beside Cassidy’s desk phone. One of the folders no doubt contained information on Alta Fabbri.

Everything the Bureau knew about her. The woman’s known associates, whereabouts, most likely hiding places and sources of income.

And I can’t look at any of it, because I’m not on that case and probably never will be.

“I love how there’s not even a question.”

“What?” Cassidy’s brows furrowed.

“As to who killed him.” Heat rose in Autumn’s chest, challenging her self-control. “No question at all, even though no official statement’s been made. Everyone knows it was Alta. I know it, you know it, and the Bureau knows it. It’s such a sure thing that it was common knowledge before she ever acted. Everyone knew she’d be coming for Aiden, including Aiden. It was foreseeable. Predictable.”

Cassidy’s shoulders drooped. “He deserved better. Be as angry as you need to be. Lord knows I am.”

Noting the quiet fury in Cassidy’s voice—a fury that mirrored her own—Autumn realized the ADD might’ve previously pushed for more urgent action regarding the Fabbris and had simply been denied. Cassidy was high on the ladder, but she wasn’t at the top.

This isn’t her fault, and I know it.

Autumn glanced around, spotting nothing she hadn’t seen before, though she’d rarely been inside Cassidy’s office before now. “You weren’t at the service, were you?”

Shaking her head, Cassidy kept her gaze level with Autumn’s. “I was there, but not…present.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You stood at the front of the group, beside the grave. Everyone clustered around you when the service ended, and you fled behind an oak tree. Should I continue?”

The pieces fell into place for Autumn, and she waved away the offer. “You were part of a protection detail. I wouldn’t have expected the ADD to sit a stakeout.”

“I told you. Measures have been taken.” A tight smile crossed Cassidy’s face. “No more agents will be lost on my watch.”

Without another word, the ADD gestured toward her door, and Autumn stood to leave. She cast a final look at the stack of file folders, wondering which of them held Alta Fabbri’s case details. It would be so simple to just ask.

Making her exit, she swallowed the question.

I’m not the one who needs protection, Ramirez. Alta Fabbri does.