I scanned the chaos for the coroner’s van, but it was nowhere in sight. “They already take . . . the body?” I forced out the words as bile rose in my throat.

The body. My father. The dirty cop who had been under investigation for the last year, and the reason I’d turned my back on my career, my family, and the only city I’d ever called home.

“Yeah. They’ll be doing an autopsy.”

I nodded, forcing myself to be clinical. “What’s the theory?”

Another voice broke into our conversation.

“You know he can’t tell you that.” My old partner, Mac Fortier, held out a hand and I shook it. “So fucking sorry for your loss. We’ve missed you, but this sure as hell isn’t the way we wanted to see you again.”

Mac and Rix were probably the only people here who could say that and mean it. I’d fought to stay in the department for as long as I could after my oldest brother had been killed in the line of duty and then fingered as a dirty cop. Dad had retired almost immediately after Robin’s funeral, and I didn’t realize until later it was to hide his guilt.

When I released Mac’s tight grip, I stared at a house that used to hold too many secrets. “You think he did it on purpose? To take out the people coming to bring him in?”

Neither replied. That was answer enough.

“You better make goddamned sure they don’t screw up this investigation.” My warning was for Mac. Rix wouldn’t have jack shit to do with it since he was on the gang task force.

“You don’t even need to say it. I won’t let it go until we have answers.” Mac was like a bulldog when he had a lead, so I took him at his word.

I tore my gaze away from the pile of rubble. “What a fucking disaster.”

Turning back to my Jeep, I walked away. After all, that was what I was best at these days.

2

Ariel

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” The priest’s voice carried through the morning air as we said good-bye to Ronan Hennessy.

I’d been to my fair share of police funerals over the years, but today’s bore no resemblance to the others. No rows of uniformed officers paying their respects. No bagpipers playing a lament. No twenty-one-gun salute. Only a small crowd gathered in front of the mausoleum, fronted by three men holding up their mother with their strength.

The Hennessy family had doubled as my own for most of my childhood. Dad was on the force with Ronan, and Rebecca was the most motherly figure in my life, since I lost mine before I ever had her. Then there were the Hennessy boys . . . all of them larger than life. Dark blond hair, devastating grins, and brilliant green eyes.

My gaze zeroed in on Rhett like it always did, against my will after five years of distance. I refused to admit the slam of my heart against my chest had anything to do with the crush I used to have on him. I’d grown up, gotten over him.

I shifted on my heels and let my gaze trail across the mourners, basically focusing on anyone and anything but Rhett. Now wasn’t the appropriate time.

A pall hung over this funeral that had nothing to do with the normal somberness of the occasion, and you could see it in the uncomfortable posture of the mourners. Dirty cop who potentially committed suicide by blowing up his own house while his former subordinates were on their way to arrest him wasn’t exactly the final chapter anyone aspired to, and it broke my heart that this was how Ronan would be remembered.

I couldn’t reconcile it with the man I’d known. The facts I’d pulled from the media and my own curious search of the police department computer network sounded like something out of a Hollywood blockbuster rather than reality. And no, I refused to call indulging my curiosity “hacking,” because it was so basic and benign that anyone with YouTube access could have done it.

Mrs. Hennessy’s head bowed, and Rock, the oldest now that Robin was gone, pressed tissues into her hand so she could dab at her tears. Rome, the youngest, who looked nothing at all like I remembered, stood at her back, and Rhett seemed to keep her upright with his grip on her other arm. Mrs. Hennessy had named her boys after classic literary heroes. Rock was short for Rochester from Jane Eyre, Robin for Robin of Locksley, Rome was short for Romeo, and then there was the man named after the infamous hero of Gone with the Wind . . .

Rhett Hennessy.

I could have kept a journal of his facial expressions in high school, because I was that girl. Okay, so I had kept a journal of them, but that was only because I had a slightly OCD list-making tendency. Like that list of his favorite things. And then the one with the reasons he would make the perfect boyfriend to my fifteen-year-old self.

I glanced around to make sure I hadn’t actually said any of that out loud. Sometimes I did that too. I blamed that on living inside my own head too much. No one here needed to know how completely infatuated I had been with Rhett, bordering on creepy stalker status. It had taken me years to grow out of that crush. And yes, I did grow out of it, thank you very much.

The pang in my chest as I watched Rhett wrap his arm around his mother’s shoulders was truly out of sympathy. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the years hadn’t just aged him, they’d perfected him, even with the worn-around-the-edges look he had going on today.

My mind wandered as I murmured along with the group prayer. Rhett’s sharp green gaze hadn’t landed on me yet, which was no surprise. He had never seen me; I’d always been invisible. The buzz cut he wore all through high school had grown out, and I was pretty sure its current shagginess stemmed from neglect rather than from a nod to style.

His body had changed as well. He was still about six feet tall, but his frame’s former lanky youthfulness had been replaced by a solid man. The tightness of his suit coat looked like he’d had to force his biceps into the sleeves because they’d grown since the last time he’d worn it.

I shifted where I stood, wishing I’d never started down this familiar road of catalog all the reasons why Rhett Hennessy is still disturbingly gorgeous and out of my league—like the Quiz Bowl team at a kegger. And, of course, there was the ridiculously inappropriate venue for my thoughts—a funeral. I’m going to hell, and not just for hacking the Vatican after I read The Da Vinci Code the first time.