Page 11 of What We May Be

He grinned. “I’d be delighted.” Then abruptly seemed to remember his boss was also in the room. “Unless I’m needed here,” he said to Charlie.

Charlie didn’t make him sweat. “Don’t think the debrief will take that long.” She shifted her attention to Trevor. “Can you give Annie a lift home?”

“No problem. Okay if I stay for the party too?”

She shoved his shoulder. “Of course it is.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, setting off another flicker of heat. “Later, honey.”

Once they were clear, Charlie made her way to the back alley and was surprised to find her uncle sitting on the station stoop. Elbows propped on his knees, head hung in his bear-claw-sized hands, he was the picture of misery. What the fuck was going on? She stepped outside, the station door banging shut, and Abel shot to his feet. He spun and Charlie nearly gasped, his expression almost as grim as the night her dad and brother had died.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she descended the steps and stopped in front of him. “Where are the agents?”

“The agent here to interview you went back to Wilmington. He’ll meet you there on Monday as scheduled. I explained the sensitivity of meeting here.”

“Good, thank you,” she said with a nod. “You said there was another agent asking about Professor Marshall. You got a name? If I’m headed into a jurisdictional pissing contest, I’d like to know who I’m up against.”

“It’s not like that, sugar.”

“Then what’s it like, exactly?”

Abel repeated his earlier warning. “Brace, Charlotte.”

An angry, frustrated What the fuck is going on? died on her lips when a smooth, deep voice called out from the shadows behind Abel.

“Charlie?”

Eyes widening, she rose on her toes to peer over Abel’s shoulder, confirming the unbelievable truth her ears had told her. The owner of that familiar voice stepped out of the shadows into the strip of afternoon sun lighting one half of the alley.

Brace.

BRACE.

Except there was no bracing for this.

Same as there’d been no bracing a month ago when she’d glimpsed her ex-lover across the cemetery at Mitch and Cal’s funeral. Only then she’d been seated and numb with grief. Now, though… Now all of that buried anger and resentment bubbled and collided with longing and panic as she laid eyes again on Anderson Sean Hale.

Not a lifetime later, not ten years later.

A month later.

She and Trevor had agreed not to tell anyone about Sean’s presence at the funeral and at the house after. Why would they? It was a blip on the what-might-have-been radar. In reality, Sean was supposed to be in Europe. So what the fuck was he doing here? And why was he interested in her case?

She sidestepped Abel and took in the sight of her ex. His dark hair was cut short, neater than it had been the day of the funeral. Bureau regulation, she supposed, though nothing else about him, other than the holstered gun at his hip, appeared FBI issued. His gray V-neck tee stretched temptingly across his arms and chest, and the dark wash jeans and motorcycle boots were a far cry from his funeral suit and oxfords, but his eyes… His eyes were the same breathtaking shade of blue she’d looked down into and found brimming with tears, with the same longing and despair that permanently occupied a corner of her heart. She hadn’t been able to get those eyes out of her head since he’d left for the airport the next morning.

Eyes still on Sean, she lowered her voice and spoke to Abel. “You need to lock down the files. I don’t care who he is or why he’s here. This is our case.”

“Diego’s on it already.” Abel squeezed her shoulder and stepped the rest of the way around her, headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Her ears followed his retreating steps while her eyes remained locked on Sean, who was moving toward her. She spread her legs, squared her shoulders, and crossed her arms, assuming a defensive position. Sean froze midstep, hurt and surprise streaking across his face. She didn’t give him an inch, for her own sake and the department’s. “What are you doing here, Sean?”

His body jerked, his eyes slammed shut, and his face twisted as if he were in pain.

“Sean?” she called again when he didn’t reply, and his face contorted further.

“Fuck.” He raked his hands through his hair and laced them behind his neck, head bowed. “I shouldn’t have come back here.”

“Why did you?”

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