Chapter 1

COCOA BEACH, FLORIDA

Three Years Later

I snatched the mug from the counter, the bitter aroma of freshly brewed coffee cutting through the morning chaos. My FBI badge, dangling around my neck, swayed with each hurried step, a metallic pendulum keeping time with my rising pulse.

"Kids! Shoes, teeth, backpacks—let's move it!" The words spilled out in a familiar plea, echoing against the indifference of their routine sluggishness.

"Christine, I'm not calling you again!"

My voice bounced up the stairs, grappling with the silence that mocked me from her room. She had been late every day last week and missed two whole days because she couldn't get out of bed. The school year had just started, and I wasn't having it.

"That girl is driving me crazy."

In the kitchen, Matt stood sentinel at the stove, his prosthetic leg a testament to the resilience that pulsed through our home. Eggs sizzled in the skillet, and the scent of toasted bread wove through the air, creating a semblance of normalcy amidst the bedlam. He looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the world paused—a silent acknowledgment of shared burdens and unspoken understandings.

"Hey," I said, crossing the kitchen to him.

Our lips met briefly, a quiet storm in the pre-dawn light. His determination was as clear as the Florida sky outside, etched into the lines of his face. Our police department's cyber unit had become his new battleground, his talents blooming in binary codes and encrypted threats. He was never going into the field again, but he had found something he enjoyed just as much. He was no longer in the trenchesbutcould still be on the front lines, fighting shadows in a digital realm.

And I couldn't be more proud of him. Reinventing yourself after losing a leg wasn't an easy thing to do.

"Morning, love," he greeted, his voice a low hum that steadied my racing heart. He plated the eggs with meticulous care, which somehow made them seem like an act of defiance against the world's chaos, or at least the chaos inside our house. "They'll listen, eventually. They're good kids."

"Eventually feels like a lifetime away," I muttered, taking a sip of the scalding liquid, letting it ground me.

The clatter of a soccer ball thudded against the fence outside. Alex had been up for a while and was already lost in his own competitive reverie.

"Alex, breakfast," I yelled out the back door, more bark than bite. My gaze flicked back to Matt, who nodded toward the stairs, a silent partner in the morning's dance—still no sign of her.

"Christine!"

This time, my admonition carried the full weight of my frustration, ricocheting off the walls as I stormed toward the staircase.

"Leave her, Eva. She'll come around." Matt's voice was a soothing balm, but the worry creased around his eyes betrayed him. Our rebellious teen was testing waters far too deep, and we both knew it.

"Fine," I exhaled, the word heavy with resignation. "But if she misses one more class…."

"Then we'll handle it. Together," he assured me, reaching for my hand to squeeze it gently.

The touch was grounding, a reminder of the partnership that anchored us. He was right; we would handle it because that's what we did. We were a team, at work and at home. And together, we'd navigate whatever stormy seas lay ahead, guiding our family through uncharted waters with unwavering resolve.

The kitchen burst into life as Angel careened through the doorway, her curly red hair a wild halo around her beaming face.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she squealed, her blue eyes alight with the remnants of sleep and dreams. "I flew like a birdie in my dream!" She flapped her tiny arms, nearly toppling over in her eagerness.

"Is that so?" I chuckled, letting the warmth of her excitement temper the morning rush. "Did you soar high?"

"Super-duper high!" she affirmed with a vigorous nod, almost losing her balance again. Matt caught her mid-giggle, steadying our little dreamer with his one good leg. He exchanged a look with me—one part pride, one part relief—his smile mirrored in mine.

"Sounds amazing, Angel," I said, ruffling her hair, now dotted with pancake batter from Matt's apron.

"Olivia, you hear that? Your sister's been flying," I called out, not expecting much of a response.

At the table, Olivia sat shrouded in textbooks, her focus unbreakable. Her short hair was now long enough to be tucked behind her ears, framing a face drawn tight with concentration. Her silence spoke volumes; she was determined to make up for what she had lost.

After partying too much the year before, the college in Colorado that had given her a full ride for running track had sent her home. She hadn't passed her classes and hadn't been running like she was supposed to. Now, she was back home, going to Eastern Florida College. I had been so angry when I found out, but seeing how hard she was being on herself for it, I realized the only way to move on was to make this a life lesson.

"College isn't just about partying," I reminded her, the words scratching at my throat. Regret tinged her expression, a fleeting shadow. I still wanted to shake her, to wake her up to the opportunity slipping through her fingers. But I bit back more lectures. She'd heard them all before.

"Mom, it's fine. I'm on top of it," she muttered without looking up. Over the summer, she met someone, a girl, and they fell in love. I had yet to meet her, as she preferred to keep her to herself.

"Make sure you are," I replied, softening my voice. Her resilience was admirable, even if it came packaged in stubbornness. It was a trait she got from me, after all. She was going to be okay. I could feel it.

"Got it," Olivia said, finally meeting my gaze. A silent promise passed between us, a truce forged in mutual respect and love. She would find her way back, I told myself. She had to.

Matt squeezed my shoulder, a quiet message of support. Our family's tapestry was frayed, threads pulling in every direction, but we were still woven together, tight and strong.

But where the heck was Christine?

I stormed up the stairs and down the hallway, my FBI badge swinging against my chest. The muffled groans from behind Christine's door grated on my nerves. I rapped my knuckles against the wood, the sharp sound echoing in the silence.

"Christine! Time to get up!"

My voice was a crack of authority in the still morning. No response. I pushed open the door, sunlight streaming in to reveal her cocooned in blankets, an arm thrown over her eyes.

"You're going to be late for school again."

"Five more minutes," she groaned, her words muffled.

"Christine, this isn't a negotiation."

I crossed my arms, watching as she burrowed deeper into the bed. Her dark hair was a stark contrast against the white pillowcase, her rebellious spirit on full display even in slumber. She had dyed it black over the summer, matching her gothic style and outfits.

"Whatever," she murmured, the defiance in her tone rising like the Florida heat outside.

"Up. Now."

It was a command, not a request. But she just turned away, and I felt that familiar tug of frustration knotting in my stomach. Was it my fault? Was I too absent, too entangled in crimes and cases, leaving my own daughter adrift?

Shaking off the thought, I left her room with a final, stern look and headed for the backyard. Through the kitchen window, I spotted Alex. His sandy blond hair was a golden blur as he darted around, a soccer ball at his feet. He kicked it hard against the fence, each thump a testament to his relentless drive.

"Alex!" I called out, sliding the glass door open. He didn't hear me; his focus was so intense on his next move andhis next goal. "I'm not gonna say it again. Breakfast is ready!"

"Coming!" he shouted back without breaking stride, sending another kick into the ball that sent it flying high.

"Make sure you do, now!" I added with a sharper edge. We were already pressed for time, and I couldn't afford any delays today.

"Okay, okay, Mom!" Alex replied, his tone light but laced with that competitive edge that had him at the top of his soccer league.

"Good."

I watched him for a moment longer, his youthful energy a contrast to the weight on my shoulders. He scooped the ball under his arm and jogged toward the house, his dedication unwavering. If only I could bottle up some of that drive and pour it into Christine's morning coffee.

Closing the sliding door behind Alex, I caught Matt's eye. He was wiping his hands on a dish towel, his posture ramrod straight despite the prosthetic that now stood in place of his leg. His gaze locked with mine, and the silent communication between us spoke volumes.

"Christine," I started, my voice steady but the undercurrent of worry betraying my calm exterior. "She won't get up for school again."

Matt leaned against the counter, his brows knitted together. "How many days has it been?"

"Too many." My fingers traced the edge of my badge, the metal cool and unforgiving. "If she keeps this up…." The sentence trailed off, unfinished, but the implication hung heavy between us.

"She's smart, Eva," Matt said, his tone reassuring but not dismissive. "She's just going through a phase, you know? Teenagers."

"Is it just a phase?" I countered, feeling the frustration bubble up inside me. "Or is it because I'm?—"

"Stop that," he cut in, firm yet gentle. "You're an incredible mom. You can't be here every second; we both have jobs that matter. She knows that."

I sighed, the sound mingled with the hiss of the coffee machine behind me. "Jobs that matter," I echoed, the words tasting bitter. "But at what cost?"

Matt limped forward, closing the distance between us. His hand found mine, squeezing it in silent solidarity. Our partnership was more than just work; it was a lifeline in moments like this.

"Christine will graduate," he stated with conviction. "She's a fighter—like her mother."

"Sometimes, I wish she didn't have to fight so hard." My eyes found his, searching for the reassurance that I couldn't seem to muster for myself.

"Hey, we'll get through this. Together." His thumb stroked the back of my hand, grounding me.

I nodded, absorbing the strength from his touch. "Together," I repeated, allowing myself to believe it.