Page 42 of Last Mile

A beautiful smile lit up Gavin’s face. Without another word to me, he closed his eyes. When he went limp in my arms, a scream tore through me. “No! Sweet Jesus, no!” I buried my head in his chest, sobbing as hard as I had done the day my dad was taken from me.

And once again it was at the hands of a biker.

In my warped sense of reality, it seemed that one moment I had cradled Gavin’s lifeless body in my arms, and then the next I found myself in a room off the ER at a hospital somewhere in Virginia. A scratchy blanket provided by an EMT was draped around my shoulders to fend off the rising chill spreading through my body. I blinked a few times to try to clear my eyes of the gritty feel from crying.

Someone had set a cup of black coffee on the table in front of me. Steam rose off the liquid. I reached out and took the cup in my trembling hands. As I brought the cup to my lips, I saw the rust-colored blood staining my hands.

Gavin’s blood.

My throat clenched, and I found I couldn’t take a sip. Instead, I felt like throwing up. With shaky fingers, I put the cup back down on the table. Once again, I found myself staring at my hands.

Twenty- two years ago I had done the same thing as I sat in a private holding room at the police station. No matter how many officers came inside that room with kind offers of sodas or candies, I ignored them and continued staring down at my hands covered in my father’s blood. The only person I finally acknowledged was my mother after she burst into the room. She took one look at me and my bloodied hands and clothes and collapsed into hysterics at my feet. It was me who had to offer her comfort in those first minutes before she got a hold of herself. It had been a hell of a lot for an eight- year- old kid to endure.

Just like then, time seemed to stand agonizingly still. I didn’t know how long I sat lost in my own world. I drifted in and out of a weird consciousness that was almost like sleeping, but I was fully awake. I paid no attention to the clicking hands on the wall clock. Time really had no meaning for me anymore. Like with my father, it would be measured in the time before Gavin’s death and then the time after.

When the door opened, I glanced up to see Peterson with an ashen expression on his face. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He didn’t bother taking one of the chairs across from me. Instead, he sat down beside me. Eyeing the coffee cup in front of me, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a silver- plated flask. He poured a dark amber- colored liquid into the foam cup.

Eyeing me, he brought the flask to his lips. After he took a long swig, I snaked one of my arms out of the blanket to take my cup. Although I should have sipped slowly, I sucked it down in one long, fiery, bitter gulp. The alcohol hit my stomach with a searing jolt, and I shuddered.

“I don’t know what the fuck to say you to right now,” Peterson said, his voice hoarse. After I gave a brief nod, he eased back in his chair. “I’d ask how you were holding up, but it seems pretty evident.

I’m sure you don’t need any of my psychobabble bullshit that you’re in shock or what a good agent and man Gavin was or that time heals all wounds, blah, blah.”

I gave him a weak smile. “I appreciate you nixing all the bullshit words of alleged comfort.” I held out my cup for a refill of the alcohol. He happily obliged me. After taking another long sip, I shifted in my chair. “Where the hell are we?”

“We backtracked you guys north to Richmond, since it had the

closest field office.”

I nodded. “What happens now with Gavin?”

“The bureau contacted his parents, and we’re flying them out of Concord on the next plane. As his next of kin, they’ll be taking care of him from here.”

As I stared down into my once- again- empty cup, I couldn’t imagine the grief the McTavishes were experiencing. I might’ve lost my partner and best friend, but Gavin was their only son— their baby boy after two girls. They’d always been so supportive of him from when he became an agent to when he came out.

Not wanting to think about them or my grief, I met Peterson’s gaze. “I guess we need to start working on what kind of story we’re going to spin to Bishop and the other Raiders.”

Peterson eased forward, taking my hand in his. “Samantha, there’s no easy way to say this, nor is there a right time to say it.”

I knew the shit was about to hit the fan when he didn’t call me Vargas like always. I glanced up at him. “What is it?”

He exhaled a painful sigh. “Look, I’m just going to cut to the

chase. We don’t need to worry about a story for the Raiders, because

without Gavin, there is no undercover case.”

Blinking several times, I tried to process his words. “You’re

shutting down the mission?”

“Just the undercover aspect. We’re still going to monitor the

Raiders and do the best we can with what we have on the outside, as well as the work you two have done so far.”

I jerked my hand away from his. “Are you fucking kidding me? Gavin hasn’t been dead twenty- four hours, and you and the bureau are already shutting down the case!”

“It’s nothing personal against Gavin. This is just how things are done. Undercover operations cost us money every second, and money talks.” After crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “Deep down, you know that.”