Grief is like a storm. It can be calm and refreshing, a way to finally close one chapter of your life. Or it can be as unforgiving as a hurricane. It can bring our world into the abyss of darkness and turmoil. But just like with the most perilous of storms, it will soon pass. We never truly forget the helplessness and fear we felt during the eye of the storm, but we learn to move on and rebuild our lives. We never forget the loss, but the loss no longer consumes us.

We all grieve in our own way, and Mackenzie was grieving how she needed so she could finally move past this chapter in her life.

“I need to go brief Eli and the team about what’s going on,” I said, running my hand up and down her arm. “Do you need anything? Tea? Water?”

She shook her head. “No. Just promise you won’t let Charlie’s death be for nothing.” She looked at me once more, her eyes wide and pleading. “That his blood is the last that has to be spilled. I… I can’t lose anyone else.”

Nodding, I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her head. “I promise, mi cariño.”

Her lips turned up just slightly in the corners, a weak smile crossing her face, then she stared out the window once more.

Taking that as my cue to leave, I retreated from the master bedroom, unsure of whether I’d be able to fulfill my promise to her. I entered my office, ignoring the multiple sets of eager eyes sitting around the conference table, and headed straight to the wet bar, pouring myself a scotch. After downing a much needed sip, I took my seat at the table and just stared. Silence surrounded us and I had no idea what to say to everyone.

“Someone say something,” I finally said.

“I made contact with the medical examiner’s office,” Eli began quickly, “and they refused to tell me whether this would be ruled a homicide or suicide. The M.E. seemed a bit annoyed, so that makes me think the agent in charge is leaning toward suicide.”

“Have you done any research on this Agent Suarez who seemed to be at the scene alarmingly fast for an FBI agent? I would have expected local police to call the FBI in after they realized who the victim was, but he was there almost immediately.”

“I’ve looked into him. He’s been the agent in charge of finding and apprehending Mr. Montgomery since he was linked to all those murders months ago. When I asked how he arrived so quickly, he said he was in the area chasing down a lead.”

“And did you believe him?”

“Not one bit,” Eli answered. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve been around cops my entire life. I get a feeling he’s dirty. He’s working without a partner, which seems suspicious enough, and when I called his office in Washington, his secretary told me he’s on vacation overseas for the next month.”

Soaking in what Eli had just told me, I simply nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Just keep on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What else?”

Martin cleared his throat. “On a possibly unrelated note–”

“Nothing is unrelated anymore,” I interrupted.

He nodded. “We have a lead on who may have killed McDonough and Carlyle, and who may have rigged their houses to explode.”

“Go on…”

“Maxwell called in a few favors with some of his contacts involved in running guns and explosives. They put us on to a contact in the area. He confirmed that he sold the same explosives found in both houses to a Serbian drug runner.”

“Serbian?” I asked, making sure I had heard correctly. It seemed like too much of a coincidence.

“Exactly. His name is Boris Ranko. We’re trying to locate him and ascertain his known associates.”

“Good. Benson, Maxwell, stay on it. The fact that a Serbian national nearly tried to kill us makes me pretty certain there’s a connection between what’s been going on with this case and Galloway’s time in Bosnia. I need you to find that connection. Let’s put an end to this.”

“Sir,” they both said in unison.

“Martin, Eli, I want you both to follow the investigation into Charlie’s death. There’s no question in my mind it is related. We’ve got to nip this in the bud.”

“And what about Colonel Galloway?” Eli asked, looking up from his file. “Do we know of his whereabouts?”

I took another sip of my scotch. “At this point, no. Unfortunately, he disappeared after the wedding. He had insinuated he was ready to use himself to put an end to all of this, but I want to avoid that at all costs. Mackenzie’s already lost enough people. We don’t need to add to that number. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Eli said.

“That’s it for now. Keep me updated with anything else you find out.” I raised myself from my chair and retreated from my team. Immediately, they started whispering amongst themselves, already devising some sort of plan. Even though it was the night before Thanksgiving, none of them had complained about having to spend it away from whatever family they had. Hesitating as I reached the door, I turned around. “Thank you,” I said, “for being here and doing everything you can to put an end to this.”

They all looked up and met my gaze. “Of course,” Eli said. “We want to catch this bastard just as much as you do.”

Nodding, I spun on my heels and bolted upstairs to check on how Mackenzie was doing. Based on her fragile state, I didn’t want to leave her alone for too long. When I opened the door, the sun was setting, a glow spreading through the room and illuminating her body as she lay on the bed.

With light steps, I went to her and sat down beside her. Brushing her hair behind her ear so I could look at her face, I placed a kiss on her temple. She sighed, her eyes remaining closed. “I’ll make this right. I promise.”

Mackenzie

“HE DIDN’T KILL HIMSELF,” I insisted as I sat in a cold room of the South Padre police department the following day. I was going on hour number two of their inane questions, and we hadn’t gotten anywhere. All they wanted to talk about was Charlie’s attack on me during my freshman year of college, which resulted in his eventual institutionalization. But he didn’t kill himself and I knew it. I just wondered why this so-called FBI agent refused to look at the actual evidence, dwelling instead on Charlie’s institutionalization as the most poignant piece of information to prove it was suicide.

The longer I sat, Tyler beside me, the more irritated I became. This was not how I expected to be spending our first Thanksgiving together. I had hoped to be sitting with a stomach full of turkey, watching football as I snuggled next to Tyler. Instead, we were stuck at the police department, an incompetent FBI agent hell-bent on trying to convince me Charlie killed himself.

“If he didn’t kill himself, who did?” the overweight agent asked in a thick Spanish accent.

“No lo se. Why don’t you get off your ass and figure it out instead of sitting here asking me who did it? If I knew who killed him, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

“Not if you’re trying to cover for him.”

“For whom?” I asked, my voice growing louder.

“For this man,” the detective said, opening up the manila folder that sat in front of him. He pushed a photo of my father in front of me. On one hand, I was relieved he had finally admitted that Charlie was murdered. On the other, the insinuation my father was the one responsible for his murder was ludicrous. “You are Serafina Galloway, aren’t you?”

I maintained eye contact with Agent Suarez, wondering how he knew who I really was.

“I know all about how you and your mother disappeared after your father attacked the U.S. Embassy in Liberia all those years ago.”