I wandered through the park, headstones rising out of the muddy ground like dominoes, until I found the one I was looking for.

Elizabeth Shannon Santangelo.

I knelt down next to the freshly turned earth and ran my hand across the dirt, knowing she was somewhere beneath it.

I wasn’t sure what I believed when it came to the afterlife. Like most people, I hoped that there was something else, that in some way we lived on after our lives were extinguished here. But maybe that was just a concept, developed and perpetuated throughout time, meant to help us deal with the finality of death.

As I let the dirt fall through my fingers, I chose to believe that there was something else, because believing that this was the final stop for Liz was too much for me to bear.

The wind picked up and whistled across the cemetery, the rain taking a momentary respite.

I’d heard people say that when someone you care about dies unexpectedly, it doesn’t seem real.

That wasn’t the experience I was having.

Sitting in a cemetery, next to a headstone with her name engraved in elegant letters, made it very real.

I was surprised to see the headstone already in place, but the department arranged her funeral and I assumed that they expedited the creation and placement of the marker, not wanting one of their own to go anonymously into the earth.

I ran my index finger across the letters. The stone was cold, and it sent a chill through my arm, down my spine, and into my heart.

I wasn’t there to say goodbye. Maybe I’d be ready to do that another time, but not now.

I just wanted to be near her.

But as I sat there, knowing she wasn’t coming back, the chill in my body began to pulse, like someone was tapping my insides with a frozen hammer. Everything hurt.

I stared at her name on that headstone for a long time. There were no tears. I don’t know why. But they didn’t come. I knew they’d arrive later, at some unexpected and irrelevant point when I finally gave in to being without her.

The wind gathered speed and rain drops smacked the back of my neck.

I grabbed another handful of dirt. I folded my fingers around it and squeezed.

As the rain pelted me, I stood. I opened my hand, and it looked to me like some of the dirt had disappeared. It had probably just slipped out of my hand, but I liked the idea that it had forced its way into my skin, into my veins, and into my soul to stay with me forever.

I looked down at the earth, the rain matting it down like it was trying to put a protective seal over her.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” I told her, my voice cracking, as I backed away from Liz Santangelo’s grave. “But I will fix it.”

FIFTY-SIX

“What are we going to do?” Carter asked.

We were headed back to Mission Beach, a light rain slicking the highway.

“Moffitt first,” I said. “After I talk to him, I’ll have a better idea of what I want to do.”

“Miranda’s getting restless,” Carter said, swinging his car onto Mission Bay Drive. “She feels like Darcy’s getting forgotten in all of this—”

“I don’t care. Tell her to go home. Or don’t. But I don’t care what she does.” The gray clouds were sinking lower, obscuring even the rooftops of the hotels as we moved over Bahia Point. “I’m off Darcy’s case. The police can worry about her. It’s not my concern.”

“She still thinks you’re working to help Simington,” he said.

I laughed, but it sounded harsh and bitter. “She’s wrong. I’m done with him.”

Carter pulled to a stop behind my place in the alley. Klimes’ Crown Victoria was a block up, but I didn’t mention it.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get it settled with her and wait to hear from you. Then we get it done.”

I opened the door and stepped out of the car. “Right. I’ll call you.”

He sped off down the alley.

He kept saying “we,” and I knew he meant it. I knew he’d do anything—no matter the consequence—to help me.

But there wasn’t going to be any we in getting this thing done. Keene had taken Liz from me.

And now I was going to take Keene from everyone else.

FIFTY-SEVEN

I walked into my living room and saw Klimes, Zanella, and Wellton standing outside on my patio, each holding an umbrella. Klimes was peering in the door and raised an eyebrow when he saw me.

I opened the slider and let them in.

“Didn’t see you today,” Klimes said, closing his umbrella and dropping it on the patio. “Wanted to make sure you were fine.” Zanella and Wellton came in behind him. “I’m fine,” I said.

“This always sounds empty,” Klimes said, running a hand across his jaw. “But I’m really sorry, Noah. Not just for you, but for us, too. She was a good cop.”

I nodded but said nothing. Zanella looked uncomfortable, refusing to meet my eyes. Wellton looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red, his tie pulled loose at the neck.

“We’re looking for Keene now,” Klimes said. “Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

Klimes nodded, like that’s what he expected. “Okay. Alright.” “Why are you here?” I asked.

Klimes bit his lip and glanced at the other two. Zanella still looked nervous, and Wellton’s eyes just seemed vacant.

“We wanted to check on you. We know how hard this must be,” Klimes said.

“I’m fine. But you’re lying,” I said. “Why are you here?” “We want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Zanella blurted out.

“Like what? Hit you again?” Color rose in Zanella’s cheeks.

“I’m ready to go anytime,” I said. “Say the word.”

I felt drunk. The exhaustion and emotion had pulverized me. I knew that if Zanella made even a minute move in my direction, I would shred him. I was saying stupid things and acting even more stupid. But I didn’t care.

“Noah,” Klimes said, his voice a little more official now. “We know what you’re going through. It’d be natural for you to wanna go get Keene. Hell, you’ve got an entire department that wants him now. But we need to make sure it goes down the right way.”

“Really? And what’s the right way?”

“You know what that is, Noah,” Klimes said, trying to soothe me. “Let us do our work and bring him in the right way.”

I shook my head, the bitter laugh coming out again. “Right.”

“Think about it,” Klimes said. “We find Keene’s body, you know who the first person is we have to come to? You. We don’t want that. We’ll get him. And trust me. Nothing a bunch of cops like more than bringing in some piece of shit who killed one of our own.”

“How about you, Zanella?” I said, turning sharply to him. “You feel that way too? I mean, before, you told me that Santangelo didn’t mean shit to you. I believe because she was fucking me.”

That wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but I wasn’t thinking exactly straight.

Zanella flushed again, started to speak, then stopped. He cleared his throat. “She was a cop. He killed her. That’s all I care about.”

I wanted to fight with someone, but even Zanella could see it and wouldn’t take the bait.

“She wouldn’t want it that way, Noah,” Klimes said. “We both know it. She would not want you to take the fall on this.”

I took a step closer to Klimes. “Do not tell me what she would’ve wanted. Ever.”

“We’re your friends, Noah,” Klimes said. “We’re all on the same side. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

He turned to leave, and Zanella quickly followed him out. Wellton lingered in the living room, staring at his shoes.

“Your ride’s leaving,” I said.

Wellton turned and watched Klimes and Zanella disappear off the patio. Then he looked at me.

“You find him, you call me,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Any time, any place. Call me. Not them.”

He walked out into the rain.

FIFTY-EIGHT

A knock on the door the next morning startled me out of bed. I grabbed my gun for no other reason than I was hoping it was Landon Keene. I looked through the peephole and saw Miranda.