Chapter 16

Hope wrapped her coat more firmly around herself. Despite the warmth of the car, she felt cold inside. She always did on Paige's birthday, a day that bonded both mother and child for eternity, even when one of them was no longer living.

Being held by Aaron Nash earlier had felt strangely wonderful and incredibly self-indulgent. She didn't usually let her guard down, but they were stuck together for the foreseeable future, and he'd caught her at a low point.

It seemed surreal looking at him now. He looked like a warrior going into battle rather than someone who'd let her cry all over his T-shirt.

She needed to pull it together.

She didn't have the luxury of public grief, not any longer, not after that first awful week and then, later, the funeral when all she'd wanted to do was climb inside with them and be buried alive. Maybe it was knowing he was a professional who wouldn't leak the information to the press. Or maybe it was some innate level of trust.

Aaron Nash struck her as honest to the bone. She hoped he hadn't lied about the former fiancée to garner sympathy, but she doubted it. It was a little too personal of a sad story.

She could imagine how hurt Danny would have been if she'd been stupid enough to fall for Brendan after she and Danny became engaged. It would have gutted him.

She glanced again at the lean profile softened slightly by the trimmed beard. She wasn't sure what to make of Aaron Nash. He certainly wasn't who she'd expected when he'd first turned up on her doorstep giving her orders.

A yawn hit her. Boy, she was tired.

She had a full day in court tomorrow—today now—but voir dire wasn't that strenuous, and her paralegal had done most of the hard work. Some things were more important than sleep. Visiting her daughter on her birthday meant everything to Hope, and she was so grateful Aaron had suggested this clandestine nighttime visit.

It took a little more than twenty minutes to get to New Calvary Cemetery in Mattapan as there was no traffic on the roads and these men drove at high speed despite the icy conditions.

They avoided the city center, drove south-west on Harvard Street then left into the cemetery itself. A large, black wrought-iron gate blocked their way. The two SUVs drew to a halt, engines running.

She'd forgotten that the cemetery might be closed this time of night and leaned forward to tell them she'd climb the low stone wall—it was hardly a barrier—and walk to the burial plot.

Aaron raised his hand to ask her to wait a moment, obviously listening to the earpiece he wore.

One of the men climbed out of the second vehicle and made short work of the lock. Hope winced at the laws they might be breaking, but they were the FBI, and she was going to let them deal with the fallout and plead the fifth if asked.

The gates opened, and the SUVs pulled inside moving in a tight, fast formation. She felt as if she were in a thriller movie rather than living her own life.

If only this were make-believe.

"Where to?" the driver asked. He was a big guy named Livingstone. His eyes were a brilliant green and generally, whenever he looked at her, hard with disapproval.

But Hope didn't need his or anyone else's approval. "Section 23. Far south-west corner."

The few inches of snow that had fallen that evening had melted from the roads, which now looked like black ribbons in the moonlight.

The silence became unbearable, which was ironic for a woman who lived alone except for her cat. "Danny's mother chose this place. She's a devout Catholic."

She shivered because she hated to think of her daughter and husband in that hole in the ground, but she'd needed to give his mother a say in things, a role to play. Burial had been important to Mary Harper, and she visited here every week. Hope had barely been functioning at the time.

"If I die, tell them to cremate me. Spread a little of my ashes on their grave, and toss the rest in the ocean or use it as fertilizer."

Aaron eyes glittered in the reflection of the moon. "You aren't going to die."

Hope gave him a tight smile. "We are all going to die."

"Not on this op—" He cut himself off. "Not because Leech may have escaped." He changed the wording, but it was a useful reminder that despite his kindness, she was an op. Not a friend.

She pressed her lips together and looked away. The driver pulled to a stop, and the other car hung back a little. She had four bodyguards with her. Two more had stayed behind to monitor the house.

They began to open their doors.

She closed her eyes. Curled her fingers into fists. "I'd like to do this alone."

They all paused. Waited for Aaron's decision.

"Birdman, walk a perimeter. Livingstone and Cadell stay behind the wheels. I'll accompany Ms. Harper from a short distance." His black eyes met hers across the seat. "That's the best I can do."

"Thank you."

It was enough.

She clutched the small pot of pansies she'd bought a week ago, before this thing with Leech had kicked off and her only concern had been the weather. She pushed open the door. Aaron followed her out. The frigid wind cut into her exposed skin. The snow had stopped for now, but there was more forecast.

She led the way, feeling oddly exposed and not as present or in the moment as she wanted to be. Maybe it was the wine, or the crying jag.

Or maybe the fact she usually did this alone.

The snow and sodden grass soaked her boots and the bottom of her jeans, freezing her toes. She wove through the headstones, careful not to step in the soft indents of the graves themselves. It was impossible to read the names at night, but she knew where she was going.

She arrived at the third grave from the end. Second row from the bottom. Blew out a breath and stood in the darkness as the icy air kissed her face. Peace surrounded her as she absorbed the quiet, and let it soothe her tortured soul. Her heartbeat slowed.

This wasn't about Leech or the FBI. This was about a little girl who never got to grow up.

What would her daughter have looked like now with her blonde hair and Danny's bright blue eyes? Beautiful. So beautiful. What would she have wanted for her birthday? Probably a cell phone or maybe a puppy.

Instead, Hope made a yearly donation to the children's hospital in her name. Would she have had a best friend? Definitely. No lonely, awkward middle school years for her baby. Would she have liked sports? She'd been a fast runner as a kid, so maybe she'd have been an athlete like her daddy.

Would she have had a brother or a sister by now? Hope liked to think so. Her mouth went dry at the thought of the child who'd never even got to exist. Leech had killed them all that day.

Hope allowed herself to remember Danny on the day Paige had made him a father. So handsome and hands-on. They'd both cried when Paige had arrived, tears of happiness because they'd been so full of joy.

Their lives together had been short, but they'd been almost perfect. The ache of being left behind was still strong, but it wasn't an open, festering wound any longer—at least, not most days. The real trouble was she didn't know who she was without her family. Queen bitch attorney. Secretive best-selling author. Widow. Woman?

She wasn't sure about the latter.

The years stretched endlessly in front of her, and she flinched away from what she saw there.

She touched the headstone and then crouched to place the pot of pansies beside the evergreen wreath Mary had put there at Christmas. The plant pot rocked unevenly.

Mary and Brendan both left flowers and trinkets here regularly. Hope turned on her flashlight to clear a space and froze.

Things had been scattered around the grave like garbage. Only the wreath, her pretty pansies, and a knife that glistened dark crimson rested against the white marble. Plus, an envelope with Hope's name printed on the front that was propped against the unyielding stone. She leaned closer. Someone had smeared something that looked a lot like blood over Paige's and Danny's names.

Fury rose up and engulfed her. She wanted to scream.

"Aaron," she gritted out.

He stepped forward. "What is it?"

"You're going to need to call in a crime scene unit."