I didn’t say it, though. I pointed at the bright, aluminum buildings and told her what Emmanuel had said about Zebulon Faith and the drugs. “Number thirty-six. He’ll give you all the probable cause you need.”

Her voice was empty. “Good information.”

“He may have cleaned it out. He’s had time.”

“Maybe.” She looked away, and the wind stirred dust on the road. When she looked back, she’d gone soft around the edges. “There’s something else I need to tell you, Adam. It’s important.”

“Okay.”

“The phone call looks bad. The timing makes it worse. Prints on the gun. All the violence and coincidence. No alibi…” She trailed off, looked suddenly fragile. “You may be right about the warrant…”

“Go on.”

“You said I had to make a choice. You or the job.” Wind licked at her hair again. She looked uncertain and her voice fell. “I took myself off the case,” she said. “I’ve never dropped a case before. Not ever.”

“You did that because Grantham’s coming after me?”

“Because you were right when you said I had to make a choice.” For an instant, she looked proud, then her features collapsed. I knew that something was happening, but I was slow and confused. Her shoulders rolled inward and something wet moved on her face. When she looked up, her eyes were silver bright, and I saw that she was crying. Her voice broke into a sob. “I’ve really missed you, Adam.”

She stood on the roadside, breaking, and I finally understood the depths of her conflict. Two things mattered to her: the person she’d become and the thing she’d thought was lost. Being a cop. And us. She’d tried to keep them both, tried to walk the line, but the truth had finally caught up with her: there comes a time to choose.

So she did.

And she chose me.

She was naked in the cold and I knew that she would not say another word without some sign from me. I didn’t have to think about it, not even for a second. I opened my arms, and she slipped into that space as if she’d never left it.

I drove us to her place, and this time it was different, like the apartment was too small to hold us. We were in one room, then another, clothes on the floor behind us as we slammed through doors and into walls. Old emotions burned through us, new ones raged.

And memories of a thousand other times.

I held her against the wall and her legs found my waist, wrapped me up. She kissed me so hard I thought I might bleed, but didn’t care. Then she gripped my hair and pulled me back. I looked at her swollen lips, stared into those kaleidoscope eyes. She was breathing hard, trembling. Her words came in a fierce whisper.

“What I said before, about it being gone, about me being done…” Her eyes slid to my chest, back up. “That was a lie.”

“I know.”

“Just tell me this is real.”

I told her, and when we found the bed, it could have been the floor or the kitchen table. It didn’t matter. She was on her back, her fingers twisted into the sheets when I saw that she was crying again.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“Make me forget.”

She meant the loneliness, I knew, the five-year stretch of nothing. I rose to my knees and ran my eyes down the length of her; she was lean and hard, a broken fighter. I kissed her damp cheeks, traced her body with my hands, and felt the tension in her collapse. Her arms came up from the bed and there was no strength in them, just lightness and heat that seemed to mirror some desperate part of her. I slipped one arm beneath the small of her back and crushed her against me as if I could drive the demons out by sheer, brute force. She was light and small, but she found her rhythm and the strength to rise beneath me.

I fell asleep with Robin’s head on my chest. It felt familiar and warm and right, and those things scared the hell out of me. I didn’t want to lose her again. Maybe that’s why I dreamed of another woman. I stood at a window, looking down on Sarah Yates and moonlit grass. She was walking, and carried her shoes in one hand. A white dress stirred around her legs, and her skin flashed silver as she looked up once and raised a hand as if she held a penny on her palm.

I woke in gray silence. “Are you awake?” I whispered.

Her head moved on the pillow. “Thinking,” she said.

“About?”

“Grantham.”

I shook off the dream. “He’s coming after me, isn’t he?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She was trying to convince herself that it was that simple, but we both knew better. Innocent men go down all the time.

“Nobody likes to believe in rich man’s justice, but that’s what people see. They want payback.”

“It won’t happen like that.”

“I’m convenient,” I said.

She shifted beside me, the hard curve of her thigh pressing against mine. This time she did not contradict me. Her words slipped into the air between us. “Did you think about me?” she asked. “All those years in New York.”

I considered, and then gave her the painful truth. “At first, all of the time. Then I tried not to. It took a while. But it’s like I said, I buried this place. You had to go, too. It was the only way.”

“You should have called. Maybe I’d changed my mind about coming with you.” She rolled onto her side. The covers slipped off her shoulder.

“Robin…”

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then love me.”

She laid her lips against my neck, reached down, and I felt the light touch of her hand. We started slowly, in the shadow of those words, and the looming gray of a tentative dawn.

At ten o’clock I took Robin back to her car. Her fingers squeezed mine and she pressed against me. She looked strangely vulnerable and I knew that she probably was.

“I don’t take half measures, Adam. Not on things that matter. Not on us. Not on you.” She laid her palm on my face. “I’m on your side. Whatever it takes.”

“I can’t commit to Rowan County, Robin. Not until I see where things go with my father. I need things to be right with him. I don’t know how to get there.”

She kissed me. “You can consider my choice made. Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll be at the hospital,” I said, and watched her go.

I found Miriam in the waiting area. She was alone, eyes closed. Her clothing rustled as she made small movements. When I sat, she grew still and showed me half of her face.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “How about you?”

Miriam had grown into a beautiful woman, but you had to look carefully to see it. She seemed smaller, in all things, than she actually was. But I understood. Life, for some, was just hard.

“I’m glad to see you,” I told her. She nodded, her hair swinging forward. “You really doing okay?” I asked.

“Don’t I look it?”

“You look fine. Is someone with Grace?”

“Dad. He thought that it might help Grace to have me here. I’ve been in once already.”

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“She screams in her sleep.”

“How about Dad?”

“He’s like a woman.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Look, Adam, I’m sorry that we haven’t talked much. I’ve wanted to. It’s just been…”

“Yeah. Weird. You told me.”

She smoothed her hands across her thighs, pushed herself straighter, so that her back was bent into less of a question mark. “I am happy to see you again. George told me that you thought maybe I wasn’t. I’d hate for you to think that.”

“He’s grown into a good man,” I said.

She lifted her shoulders, gestured down the hall with a bitten fingernail. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“I hope so.”

“Me, too.”

I put my hand on her forearm and she twitched, jerked it away, then looked sheepish.

“Sorry,” she said. “You startled me.”

“You okay?” I asked.

“This family is coming apart.” She closed her eyes. “There’re cracks all over the place.”