a deep, gut-wrenching sob that wasn't my own. My eyes snapped open. I wasn't in the white

lluminating dust motes dancing in the a

ney? Can yo

h fake sympathy. I sat up, my body aching. The last thin

tood with their hats in their hands, their expression

knew this day. I had

t Mark' s body to my house

e days before the memorial service. Three days before I

dead. I

rtha said, putting her arm a

iced sadness in her eyes, the slight, triumphant curl of her lip she

s time, the tears weren't for a lost husband. They were tears of rage.

e," I whispered, my v

Martha squeezed my shoulder. "Of c

them, I crept toward it. I didn' t open it. I pr

hem whispering

, but from right there. He was pretending to be a concerne

e' ll break, just like we planned. By the time you and Emily are married, everyone w

' t get near the body. I can' t have her no

I already knew them. Hearing the cold, calculated

un out into the hall screaming. I had clawed at the body bag, trying to

ad held me, restraining me, telling the other officers how my grief was making me delirious. They had

right into

this

the grieving widow. I

looked out at the familiar street. Everything was the same, yet everything

ame. He had no idea the game had changed. He had no idea that the

e. Me, David, and a smiling, gap-toothed Billy on h

ain," I whispered to th

man in that bag, his brother, an honest cop used as a prop i

ne. I would give him the funeral of a lifetime. He wanted to be free of his responsib

s going to burn his