You are one of the best marshals our service has to offer. You are dedicated, well-trained, experienced, and your instincts are better than anyone I have ever worked with. I want you back. I want you here, in Virginia, but I get that you can’t be here. For a lot of reasons. I respect that. Hell, I respect you. And more. You know it.
But don’t leave the service. I just got the message that you didn’t fill out your returning paperwork. I got you an extension, but they have to receive it by the close of business Friday. Then a week at FLET-C to requalify with your weapons and take your psych test. I know neither will be difficult for you.
I can get you into any office you want. Any division. If you want to stay in Arizona, there’s a place for you there. I know the director: he would be over the moon to have you. Or Texas. Florida. California. If you want the wide-open plains of middle America, I can make that happen. Anywhere.
You’re too good to walk away.
Please call me. I miss you.
Tommy
Dammit. She didn’t want to call him. For lots of reasons, but mostly because he was the only person on earth who might be able to talk her into going back to the Marshals.
She couldn’t go back.
It was both complex and simple. She grieved for her son. Her focus wasn’t one hundred percent on the job after Chase was killed, and she didn’t know that it could be. A marshal needed to be completely clearheaded. They couldn’t risk a mistake when other people’s lives were on the line. She felt as if she’d been split in two, and without her sharpness, without being whole, she wouldn’t survive. She didn’t want to die on the job. Marshals took daily risks. That’s what they signed up for. But Regan knew herself too well—without her family, without a foundation, with her grief clawing at her soul, she would make mistakes, possibly putting other people’s lives at risk.
She wasn’t going to do it.
But mostly, her heart wasn’t in it. She’d once loved her job more than anything except her son. Yes, she loved her job more than her husband. She and Grant had had many rough patches. They’d even separated for six months. Saw a counselor. Got back together to give Chase a foundation because their love for him was the single thing that united them. And for a while, things were even better than before. They took the time to be together, both with Chase and alone. They went away, just the two of them, and talked about having another child. That was when Chase was five. But it was talk, and they both loved Chase and loved their jobs, and time slipped away.
But the last year of their marriage, before Chase died, things weren’t as they had been. Regan didn’t notice because she was busy, between her job and her son. It was like time sped up and suddenly Grant was distant, argumentative, working longer-than-usual hours. She thought he was having an affair, confronted him. She remembered exactly what she said and how she said it. Unemotional. Cold.
“If you want out of this marriage, just tell me.”
He stared at her. “I’m not fucking around, Regan. Work is just overwhelming right now, and you’re never around to talk about anything. Not everyone is a cool cucumber like you.”
It was the way he said it, as if he resented her ability to be calm in the face of chaos. And he’d hit on the reason they had gone to counseling in the first place, five years before: because they were both so busy they didn’t talk.
She believed he was faithful, but they still didn’t talk, and when she pushed he pushed back. And she buried it. She compartmentalized her marriage so she could do her job.
Maybe that had been the wrong approach. Hell, she didn’t know anymore. And what did it matter? Chase was dead, Grant hated her, and she was officially divorced and without a home or a career.
She stared at Tommy’s email, opened up a window to respond…then she called him.
She wanted to ignore him—her boss, her friend—but she couldn’t.
He answered on the first ring.
“Regan? Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God. You haven’t returned any of my messages.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t lie. I know you didn’t want to talk. But we have to get your paperwork in by Friday.”
“I’m not coming back.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Did you think I didn’t mean it when I left Virginia? That I didn’t mean it when we talked over Christmas? I’m not coming back. I really appreciate how you’ve tried, that you were willing to do so much to put me in any office, but my heart is not in the job. When you lose the spark, it’s over. You told me that, time and time again. I have no spark.”