Page 142 of The Black Trilogy

“I’ll get all the case details when I go to the office tomorrow,” I said.

The pair of them looked at each other.

“Take a few days,” Nate said. “You’re not shooting anyone on your first day back.”

“I’ll try to last out the week,” I joked, but even as the words left my mouth, apprehension built in the pit of my stomach.

Because my husband and I had worked as a team. He’d been my rock, the one who convinced me I could do the impossible. With him at my back, I’d felt a certain sense of invincibility as I put myself in one dangerous situation after another.

His death had rocked me to my foundations. I didn’t fear death itself—that was inevitable. Rather, I was scared of letting people down if I was no longer good enough to do what I once did.

Was the old Emmy still lurking within me?

Or had she gone for good?

CHAPTER 2

OKAY, IT TURNED out the nightmares hadn’t stayed behind in England. They’d hitched a ride across the Atlantic then rested up so they could kick the stuffing out of me properly. As darkness reigned, my husband’s death played over and over again in my head, each time worse than the last.

With the amount of sleep I didn’t get, Nate’s idea of easing myself in gently seemed like a good one. As a newly initiated member of the walking dead, complete with jet lag and a leaky brain, I was in no shape to work. I’d never, ever felt so exhausted. At this rate, I’d be needing a zimmer frame soon.

Alone in the house, I made a half-hearted attempt to use the gym, but when Bradley bounded in midmorning, I took his arrival as a sign and staggered off the treadmill. What was wrong with me? The gym had always been my favourite room in the house, but today I couldn’t wait to leave.

“Time to sort out your hair,” Bradley said. “Blondes always have more fun.”

The bag of cookies he handed me didn’t hurt either. “Chocolate chip and raspberry? You really spoil me.”

“I’ve seen Toby’s menu, and I figured you’d need them.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Starve, probably.”

He knew me so well. Our closeness surprised people, but for the last decade, he’d been the sunshine to my Cimmerian shade. The glitter to my gloom.

Although our first meeting hadn’t quite gone as planned, for either of us.

Deep in the throes of building my house, my husband and I had got sick of fielding endless queries from builders and carpenters and electricians and plumbers.

“If I get one more question about window frames, I’m gonna throw this phone off my half-built balcony. Why am I getting so many calls today?”

My husband looked across at me, and one corner of his lip twitched.

“You diverted your phone to me, didn’t you?”

“I might have done that.”

“You… You…”

“Yes?”

“You little git.”

“Git, yes. Little, no. Look, just hire an assistant. Neither of us has time to deal with this right now.”

Fine. I’d called an agency, and they assured me they’d have no problem finding a suitable candidate. “Our books are full of efficient and experienced personal assistants,” I believe were their exact words.

I cleared half a day in my diary and rented an office suite for the interviews. Even back then, I’d hated bringing strangers home. My home was my sanctuary.

---