“Actually, the first officers on the scene were a little busy. They had no idea who he was. He identified himself and told them the guy lying in a heap of broken limbs was Earl Walker.”

“He told them? With the gunshot wounds?”

Ubie and Cookie exchanged glances. “He wasn’t shot, sweetheart,” Cookie said.

“Oh, my gosh, he’s faster than I thought. I could have sworn he was shot. I mean, I saw Walker pull the trigger. I saw the bullets head straight for his heart.”

Again with the glances. Cookie took my hand. “Hon, that wasn’t Reyes.” She bit her lower lip, then said, “That was Garrett Swopes.”

I blinked in confusion, closed my eyes, and replayed the memory. A tall man came bursting through the door, and Reyes had been on his way. I’d just assumed.

“Swopes?” I finally muttered. “Garrett came through the door?”

“Yes,” Uncle Bob said.

“Garrett Swopes was shot?” I simply couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “No, that was Reyes. It had to be. He crashed through the door and … the gun went off.”

“Sweetheart, why don’t you get some rest.”

“You must be mistaken.” Shock and denial fought for a front seat in my convertible to la-la land. They had to be mistaken. Garrett was shot? Because of me? I struggled to get out of bed. “Is he here? I have to see him.”

Uncle Bob lowered me back onto the mountain of pillows. “Charley—”

“I can’t believe I got him shot. Again. I need to see him. He’s going to be so pissed.”

“You can’t, hon.” Uncle Bob lowered his head, sorrow and regret coming at me in white-hot waves.

I glanced at Cookie, at her red-rimmed eyes, and the dread that crawled up my spine was so cold, so crushing, it swallowed me where I lay. I forced myself to look at Uncle Bob. And waited.

He visibly struggled with what to say, how to word it; then he raised his lashes and whispered, “He didn’t make it, hon.”

And everything else slipped away.

26

Sometimes that light at the end of the tunnel is a train.

—T-SHIRT

Slowly, and with a sharp pain that echoed off the hollow walls of my heart, the realization that I’d actually gotten a man killed, a friend, sank in. There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to reevaluate her priorities. Did I really want to kill off all my friends one by one?

Another thought surfaced, one that centered on the fact that the men in my life found me incapable of walking and chewing gum at the same time. True, my track record didn’t instill a lot of confidence, but I’d solved case after case, I’d weathered ridiculous odds, and damn it, I’d looked good doing it.

A momentary sense of pride swelled inside me until I once again remembered I’d gotten a man killed. Not just a man. Garrett Swopes. My Garrett Swopes. A bond enforcement agent with more talent in his little finger than I had in my whole body. I replayed the scene in my mind, the bullets heading toward him, too fast for him to react. And I’d watched, like a voyeur. Thinking it was Reyes, I figured he could react, he could defend himself against those odds. Had I known it was Garrett, would I have done more? Would I have tried harder? Could I have?

If Reyes had just trusted me. That was another thought that played itself over and over in my mind. If he had just trusted me. If he had just filled me in on the freaking plan. Quite frankly, Reyes Farrow could bite my ass.

When I started pulling needles and tubes out of every available surface of my body, Uncle Bob jumped up from a chair in the corner.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to stop me. And succeeding with minimal effort.

“I need to go home.”

“You need to lie back.”

“Uncle Bob, you know how fast I heal. And I’ll heal even faster at home. I just want out of here. I’ve been here for two weeks.”

“Hon, you’ve been here for two days.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, more than a little appalled. “It seems like forever. And then some.”

“Charley, let’s just talk to the doctor first, okay? He’ll make his rounds again in about an hour.”

With a heavy sigh, I fell back, opened my mouth in a silent scream at the pain shooting through every molecule in my body, then clamped my jaw shut because silent screaming hurt, too. Holy crap, I hated being tortured. I hated that Reyes didn’t trust me. And more than anything, I hated getting my friends killed.

“I killed him, Uncle Bob.” I plastered a hand over my eyes so he wouldn’t see the evidence of how pathetic I could be.

“Charley,” he said, his voice soft, “that wasn’t your fault.”

“It was entirely my fault. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I need to be a plumber.”

“Your dad wants you to be a plumber?”

“No,” I said, my breath catching between sobs, “he just wants me out of this business.”

“I know. But since he essentially got you into this business, I’m having a difficult time with it.” A hardness seeped into his voice, and I blinked past the tears to look at him.

“I don’t want you to be mad at him.”

He smiled. “I’m not, honey. It’s just, he gets you into this, gets you to solve all his cases for him, then when it comes time to hang up his badge, he decides it’s suddenly too dangerous for you? I have to wonder if that’s not why he retired when he did.”