Page 6 of Beyond Redemption

I grabbed my leather laptop bag from the counter. Thomas stood by the door, holding his keys, waiting the way marriedcouples do when they’ve spent years practicing the silent logistics of leaving the house at the same time. He didn’t rush me, just watched to see if I’d forgotten anything, something new since Stella arrived in the world and my priorities were stretched somewhat thinner.

Livvy lifted Stella from her chair, settling her on her hip. Stella rested her head on Livvy’s shoulder the way she did with only a handful of people, and my chest warmed. For everything we knew about Livvy, there was just as much we didn’t. Her quietness wasn’t shy, it was protective, as if she were building a small safe room inside herself and only let certain things in. I never pressed. She’d been through so much and fit into our home so naturally it felt wrong to disturb the peace she’d built.

“Text me if you need anything,” I said to her.

“I will. Drive safe. Traffic looked light when I checked.”

“Traffic lies,” Thomas muttered.

Thomas had the car backed out from the garage and warming when I stepped outside. The morning air carried a crisp early-spring optimism that always convinced me D.C. would be gentle that day, even though it never was. The driveway was covered with a thin layer of pollen, the unofficial state flower of Virginia.

Thomas glanced at me once I slid in next to him. “She’s doing better, don’t you think?”

“Livvy?” I asked as he backed away from the garage and then pulled into the street. “More so since she met Sunny—and particularly since Bodhi. He’s at George Mason U, she commutes to Marymount University, so it creates space for her to be an individual. She can’t get too wrapped up in a boyfriend. I like that. Falls Church is the perfect midpoint between schools. It just worked out, and in a way we can feel good about.”

“Thatyoufeel good about,” Thomas grumbled. He drove down our street, not at all in the rush he seemed to be in just minutes before.

“I had serious reservations about her coming here at first, but she’s been good for Stella.”

“You had reservations? You don’t say?” he teased as he drove through town. “I thought it was more of a hill you were prepared to die on.”

“I admit it. I thought it was a horrible idea. But… I was wrong.”

He was predictably surprised at my admission, but his expression quickly softened. “She’s good for you too.”

I angled toward him. “In what way?”

“You’ve seemed… less lonely.”

It wasn’t an observation he made aloud often, not because he failed at communication, but because he shared large truths sparingly. I reached for his hand, and he brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “It’s a good thing. For everyone,” he said.

“Try telling that to everyone,” I said under my breath.

He squeezed my hand but didn’t dare offer a silver lining. The why didn’t matter, only the lie we’d told—and this time there would be no forgiveness.

Our commute wound through familiar streets of Falls Church and then Arlington before joining the steady flow of cars funneling toward the District. We didn’t talk much; we didn’t need to. After a decade together, our quiet carried meaning, a layered silence built from long nights, complex cases, too many near-death experiences, Stella’s entire existence, and the partnership we’d carved out of two demanding careers.

The drive in never felt long with Thomas behind the wheel. It was familiar, like a well-worn route through both of our lives. We cleared the bridge with only one minor slowdown, and the skyline rose ahead, glass and stone catching the early light in a way that always made my chest tighten—part pride, part vigilance.

Thomas eased into the lane for our usual turn and followed the line of government plates toward the secured entrance for the Hoover Building garage. Concrete swallowed us, the morning sun replaced by low ceilings, strip lights, and the echo of tires on cement.

Thomas slowed at the first checkpoint and lowered his window, passing our credentials to Larry, a security officer who’d been with the Bureau longer than most of us had been alive.

“Thomas J. Maddox,” my husband said quickly.

I leaned forward. “Liis Lindy-Maddox.”

Larry nodded, unimpressed, and even after two and a half years, still took a long, hard look at our badges before waving us through. The garage somehow seemed darker the further in we went. After my time in San Diego, I still wasn’t entirely used to how often my life in D.C. involved going underground.

We rolled down to our level. His assigned space was one lane over from mine; a small, quiet courtesy from whoever ran internal logistics. Close, but not so close anyone could cry favoritism. Thomas was the Section Chief in the Criminal Investigations Division of the Major Crimes Unit, after all, and I was a Senior Intelligence Analyst in the Counterintelligence Division with no business enjoying the privilege of a prime parking space. Especially one I rarely used due to a shared commute.

Thomas killed the engine and looked over at me. “Feel prepared for your eight o’clock?”

“The briefing in CI?” I asked. It wasn’t really a question. “Yes. You?”

“Criminal’s got a nine.” He loosened his tie for a second, then straightened it again. “Try not to solve three international incidents before lunch. It makes the rest of us look bad.”

I smirked. “I’ll consider underachieving today just for you.”