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The next morning, Faith decided she didn’t want to wait to see David. He hadn’t answered his phone the night before. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Even when they were in their first honeymoon phase, before everything got complicated, David hadn’t been the best at answering his phone, but with everything going on and West active again, she didn’t want to take any chances.

She called him as she dressed, and when he didn’t answer again, she started to think the silence might mean something after all.

Relax , she told herself. It’s already nine. He’s probably at work.

Faith had slept in, exhausted from the case the night before. She expected to wake up to a good morning text from David, and when she didn’t receive one, a seed of doubt began to sprout in her mind.

That seed was now a decent-sized sapling and growing fast. Faith rushed to get Turk ready and left.

She headed for David’s work first. For a long time after today, this fact would haunt her, even though it wouldn’t have changed anything had she gone to his house first.

And why shouldn't she go to his work? It was business hours, and David had made it clear how dedicated he was to his job. Of course, he would be at the office.

She stopped for coffee on the way. The line at Morning Glory was long, and Faith told herself that the relief she felt at that was just so she could spend more time thinking of something special she could order him. She even managed to convince herself that the decision to buy him a Mocha Latte with an extra shot of espresso was worthy of the careful deliberation she gave it.

This is stupid. He’s at work. He has to be.

Faith had heard the grieving families of many victims say aloud the words that she now thought.

But she wasn’t a grieving victim! David was alive! He was at work!

In the seat next to her, Turk—sensing Faith’s anxiety—whined softly. She smiled at him and ruffled his fur. “It’s all right, boy. We’re just bringing David some coffee and saying hi.”

And that was all. She would give him some coffee, talk with him a little bit, and flirt with him a little bit. She would tease him about the lingerie she was going to wear for him tonight, then she would go and buy the lingerie and some wine and chocolates and other finger foods that went well with romance. She would think of two movies for them to watch—a war movie for herself and a comedy for David—and she would shower and shave and put on her lingerie and put on her makeup and do her hair, and they would spend a night just enjoying each other.

Everything was going to be okay.

“Miss Bold?”

Faith blinked and smiled at the receptionist, a twenty-something named Denise with a perky smile and perkier hair. “I’m sorry, yes. Is David here?”

Denise shook her head and said with all the tact of someone whose biggest concern in life was what shoes she would wear to the club tonight, “No, I just told you. David hasn’t been in today.”

An alarm bell went off in Faith’s mind. “Oh. Did he say why?”

“No. No one’s been able to get a hold of him. We thought he was with you, honestly.”

The floor dropped from under Faith. She gripped the edge of the counter to keep herself upright. “Oh,” she said tonelessly. “All right.”

Denise smiled uncertainly at Faith and looked incredibly relieved when Faith turned to leave. Turk whined and looked back at David’s office door, then back at Faith.

“Come on, boy,” she said in that same toneless voice. “David’s home.”

She didn’t speed on the way to David’s house. She didn’t break the limit once. That was another fact that would haunt her, even though she knew as she drove that she was too late. What was done was done.

But nothing was done. Of course, nothing was done. They had just gotten back together. There was no way he was d—wasn't home.

She parked in front of his rowhouse and got out of her car, heading up the steps in a half-run. She heard scratching behind her and turned to see she had left Turk in the car.

She laughed, a brittle, metallic sound like the shattering of a crystal glass and trotted back to her car. She would have to buy a car with automatic unlock so she could just let him out with a click of the button next time.

As she opened the door, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were opened wide, her lips pressed together, her face pale. She saw the fear in her eyes, but worse than the fear was the knowledge.

She opened the door. Turk bolted toward David’s house, but Faith called for him to stop and come to her. He looked at her, saw the knowledge in her eyes and revealed the knowledge in his.

She ascended the steps unhurriedly. There was no point in hurrying. She pressed the doorbell more out of rote reflex than out of intentional delay.

There was no answer. She didn’t bother pressing it again. She knelt down and began picking the lock. It clicked open just as a voice behind her said, “Hey! Excuse me!”

“It’s me, Special Agent Tiller,” Faith said.

“Bold?” Tiller said, furrowing his brow. “Why are you picking the lock? I thought you had a key.”

“I was going to ask him for one today,” she said numbly.

Tiller closed the distance and saw her expression. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

In answer, Faith simply opened the door.