What We May Be: An MMF Romantic Mystery Read online

  And wasn’t that just the kicker. When Marie had called him that day ten years ago and explained why she and Saul had missed his police academy graduation—that Saul was in the hospital fighting for his life—she’d told him not to come. But someone had overheard the conversation and urged him to go. Had promised to tell Charlie and Trevor why he’d left. And that he’d be back.

  When Saul had recovered, Marie had urged him to return to Hanover and law enforcement—they didn’t need him to take over the family business yet—but that yet was always there. Waiting and threatening. At the time, he couldn’t imagine Charlie and Trevor ever leaving Hanover. He wouldn’t ask that of them. But maybe he could steal a few more years with them.

  He was intercepted at the airport. Someone had never told Trevor and Charlie why he’d left. Someone had intercepted his other attempts to make contact. The two people he loved the most thought he’d abandoned them. And once the same someone explained why extra attention was the last thing the Henbys needed, twenty-three-year-old Sean had been swayed by the duty he felt to the Paxtons and the Henbys. By the words of someone he considered a friend. Family.

  He’d joined the FBI instead, and as soon as he was qualified, he’d requested an overseas assignment, putting himself as far away from Hanover as possible. But he’d also lost valuable time with Saul and Marie.

  “You are my family,” Sean said. “You need me, you call me.”

  She hemmed and hawed but eventually agreed, just as the line beeped with another incoming call. Marsh, the screen read. “Marie,” he said, “I need to take this other call. It’s about the case. Keep me posted on Saul.”

  “I will, dear. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” He ended one call and answered the other. “Hey, sorry,” he said to Marsh. “I was on the other line with Marie.”

  “How much longer?” Marsh asked, cutting straight to the point as was his way. His Texas drawl soothed the slice a bit but not as much as having a friend there with him would. A friend who knew all his secrets.

  “How fast can you get here?”

  “Shit, Hale, I’m sorry.”

  He took another gulp of the scotch. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, lowering the bottle. “Just fucking get here.”

  Chapter Seven

  Charlie swiveled on a padded barstool in her dad’s old house, now Annie’s. Their second family home was in a quiet neighborhood of older homes closer to town and HU with a private marina on the waterway where the family boat was docked. Charlie was glad her sister had kept the house after their father’s death. Even happier that Annie had started updating the place. As a librarian at HU, Annie’s salary limited major renovations, but while she saved for the big things, she’d already begun making some of the easier fixes. Painting the dark wood wainscoting white, stripping the wallpaper above it and painting the walls a warm buttery yellow, cleaning out the attic, ripping up the carpet to expose the hardwood floors underneath.

  She was making the place her own, further evidence Charlie didn’t need to worry about leaving her little sister. Annie was almost thirty and a smart independent woman. Plus she had Abel, Jaylen, and her friends from the softball team and HU. She deserved her time in the spotlight.

  “Nice pick on the wine,” Annie said, drawing Charlie out of her thoughts. “It was perfect with the tapas. I’m sorry I couldn’t drink more than a taste. Headaches lately.”

  Charlie swiveled back around to the kitchen. “It’s fine. And bravo to you on the food.” She clapped for her sister, pleased when Annie’s face lit with pride. “The tapas were delicious, and I needed the escape.”

  “The rumors are true, then?” Annie rounded the bar and climbed onto the stool beside her. “Sean is back?”

  Charlie drained the rest of her wine, then rested her head on her sister’s shoulder.

  Annie chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “He’s here about the case.”

  Delicate fingers smoothed over her shoulder, squeezing tight, reminding her so much of their mother. Charlie may have been the spitting image of Alice Henby, but Annie had the same big heart that had made their mother a beloved teacher. “At least it’s just the one case,” Annie said.

  “Except that part where I might also be working for the feds.”

  Annie dropped her hold with a “What?” and Charlie cursed the wine-laced slip.

  “Is that why you’re going to DC?”

  Charlie reared back, the crack of her sister’s voice like a whip. Annie had their mother’s heart, but she also had the same temper they’d all inherited, for better or worse. “No, it’s a recent development,” she explained. “They’re recruiting me, and it’s not a done deal. I have an interview tomorrow.”

  Annie hopped off her stool, rounded the bar, and began furiously scrubbing the kitchen counters. “How did this happen?”

  “Annie—”

  “Is it because of Salazar?” As she feared, Annie had taken no time to put the pieces together. “Which division, Charlotte?”

  She was busted. Annie would know between being a librarian and always having half an ear on police conversations. “CID,” she admitted.

  “Criminal Investigative Division. The organized crime unit?”

  Charlie nodded.

  Annie cursed and scrubbed the counters harder. “How could you do this?”

  Charlie slid off her stool and stepped around the bar. Removing the towel from Annie’s grasp, she placed her hand on top of her sister’s. “Annie, I—”

  As quick as her sister’s temper had flared, it waned. Her shoulders slumped, and her head bowed. “How could you do this to me? To Trevor? How could you be so selfish?”

  Charlie sucked in a choked breath, Annie’s question a direct hit. She was being selfish. She was thinking of herself, thinking about moving on, and in doing so, hurting those she loved in the process.

  “There’re my girls.”

  Both of their heads whipped up and to the side, eyeing the front door where Trevor stood balancing a green and white box of doughnuts.

  Observing their standoff, his smile vanished. “What’s going on?”

  Before Charlie could answer, Annie bolted for the back door, yanking open the sliding glass door and practically running down the steps.

  “What’s wrong with A?” Trevor asked as he stepped into the kitchen and set the box on the end of the counter.

  “She’d heard about Sean.” Charlie stared out the open door. “And then I let slip about the FBI opportunity. Things went sideways from there.”

  “Sean Hale strikes again.” Trevor grunted, unamused, as he flipped open the box. “Give her a few minutes to cool off.”

  “Because that worked so well for you?” Charlie flicked the side of his hand, just shy of his swollen knuckles.

  He flicked her hand away with a grin and grabbed a powdered, jelly-filled doughnut out of the box. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but laugh when he shoved half the doughnut in his mouth and jelly spurted out the other end. Unfazed, he shoved in the rest, chewed, and swallowed. His satisfied smile and powdered-sugar–covered face was a welcome respite from the long, wonky day. It felt normal. It felt like home. She snagged a dish towel and wiped the sugar off his face. “You’d think after thirty-three years, you’d learn how to eat these things without making a mess.”

  He grinned wider and licked the jelly off his fingers. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “You do know I interrogate people for a living, right?”

  His eyes widened in mock surprise. “I had no idea.” Laughing, he swiped another doughnut. “But I might have a lead on Jeff.”

  “Yeah?” She snatched the original glazed from him and chomped it in half.

  “I see how it is.” He narrowed his eyes, going for pouty betrayal but failing miserably to contain his laughter. She finished her dou
ghnut as they fell into their normal after-dinner coffee routine. “So, I overheard an interesting conversation at the summer staff potluck.”

  “I can’t believe y’all still had that two days after Jeff died.”

  “Best time for gossip, and it seems Jeff’s death is likely to clear the way for several tenure candidates.”

  “To fill his spot?”

  “No, others. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” He pushed the Brew button, then leaned a hip against the counter. “He’s been the logjam on my tenure committee. Apparently, he’s made a habit of it over the years.”

  “But would that amount to treason?”

  “Depends on how seriously your killer takes academic integrity. I’ll dig around some more tomorrow, see what else I can find out.”

  “Am I going to have to deputize you?” she teased, lightly shoving his chest.

  He caught her wrists and leaned in. “Learned from the best, honey.”

  Before he could move back, before she could think better of it, Charlie rotated her wrists, locking him in and holding him close. Wanting to soak in more of the easy comfort. She lifted her eyes, meeting Trevor’s wide hazel ones. Greens and browns morphed from surprised to confused to heated. His lips parted on a shaky gasp, such a vulnerable, luring tell from such a large man. She couldn’t deny the relief she’d felt falling back into his arms after the funeral, couldn’t deny how naturally the kisses between them had come, even after ten years apart. Couldn’t deny being tempted to chase after that sweet relief again. They were older now. Maybe they could make it work this time.

  “Charlie, if you want this…”

  She fingered his open collar, then sighed and tipped forward, forehead to his chest. “Even if I wanted that, I’m terrified to lose this.”

  He curled an arm around her back and nuzzled her temple. “Me too.”

  Her weary chuckle was cut off by a gasp and crash of plastic behind them. Startling apart, she shifted to Trevor’s side to find a red-faced Annie by the back door, a tipped over laundry basket at her feet.

  “I’m sorry.” Annie bent to gather the scattered clothes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Trevor rushed to her side. “It’s okay, A.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and knelt beside her. “Here, let me help.”

  Charlie switched off the coffeemaker on her way to them but stopped a foot short when her cell chimed with an emergency alert from the station. She glanced at the screen. “It’s an SOS from Abel.”

  “Go,” Trevor said as he helped Annie gather the scattered clothes. “I’ve got this.”

  “You always do.” Closing the distance, she squeezed Trevor’s shoulder with a whispered “Thank you” and coasted her other hand over Annie’s head. Her sister flinched, curling her fingers around the edge of the basket. Fuck, she needed to handle that, needed to bridge the gap before it opened into another chasm like the one after the funeral. She’d just gotten her sister back.

  The phone beeped again, and she cursed aloud.

  “Go,” Trevor said, then mouthed, It’ll be okay, I promise.

  Holding on to the comfort of that promise—if there was anyone she trusted, it was Trevor—she grabbed her keys and hustled out the door, dialing Abel on the way. “What’ve you got?” she asked as soon as he picked up.

  “Someone drunk at the cemetery.”

  She halted midstride. “Why can’t the duty officer handle that?”

  Abel sighed. “It’s Sean.”

  Shit.

  The cantankerous old groundskeeper was waiting for her at the gate to the cemetery. “Where is he?” she asked.

  He slapped the picked padlock into her palm. “Your mama’s grave.” No kind words, no steadying hand. Just the blunt truth and the padlock that half of Hanover had picked at least once in their lives. She’d picked it more times than she could count, including Halloween night her sophomore year with Trevor and Sean by her side. The pick sticking out of the lock tonight, however, was professional grade, a far cry from a sparkly purple bobby pin.

  She stood there remembering that night. How what had started as a dare, Sean worked up by town ghost stories Trevor had goaded him with, had turned into a conversation with her mother. Albeit one-sided, she frequently visited and updated Alice about what was going on with her, the family, and Hanover. She’d introduced her to Sean that night and told her how she and Trevor had finally become more than friends. Something Alice had always teased her about, something Charlie knew Alice had always wanted for them. Trevor and Sean’s back-and-forth as they’d filled Alice in on baseball and Charlie’s terrible cooking had had her rolling with laughter, then later that night, rolling between the two of them, never having felt closer.

  “Your mama’s grave.”

  What was Sean doing there now? Like he’d promised, he’d stayed out of her way at the station that afternoon, working with Jaylen and Diego. But now he was directly in her path again. What did he have to say to Alice?

  She walked her usual path through the cemetery, no need for a light despite the darkness of the hour. She stumbled to a stop at the edge of the Henby and Champion plots, brought up short by the heart-crushing sight of Sean slumped against the base of the stone angel atop her mother’s grave. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed and lips moving, his hands hanging loose around an empty bottle of scotch between his legs. She laid a trembling hand on a nearby gravestone, struggling to center herself in the hurricane of emotions.

  Surprise that Sean was there, in her family’s final resting place.

  Anger that he was back in Hanover after he’d left twice before.

  Fear that he would one day learn all her secrets, including about her mother’s death, and that it would paint any of the good memories he had of the Henbys, memories that had led him there tonight, in a different, darker light.

  And above all else, a desperate longing to run to him, to comfort him, to beg him to stay and try again with her and Trevor.

  But how could she ask him to stay when she and Trevor were leaving? How could she ask either of them to go back when they were supposed to be moving forward? Annie’s earlier words rang in her ears. “How could you be so selfish?”

  Her sister was right. About more than just the job. No matter where things were headed with the FBI, Charlie had to leave the past behind, for everyone’s sake. Turning the way she’d come, her feet and mind propelled her away from the past, logic and reality moving her toward the future. Three steps later, a branch cracked beneath her foot and her past called out.

  “Charlie, ’s ’at you?”

  Halting, she closed her eyes and breathed deep, grasping at her quickly fading resolve. “Yeah, Sean, it’s me.”

  “Did that old asshole call the cops on me? How is he even still alive?” Groaning, he shuffled to his feet. “I told him I was a fucking cop. Oof!”

  She spun in time to see Sean tumble headfirst toward Mitch’s gravestone, arms flailing, destined to miss and break something. She lunged, catching him by the arm and wrestling his tall, muscled frame against hers. She wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him back to the ground in front of the angel. “Maybe stay there.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, don’t mind me.” He slouched against the stone base and closed his eyes again. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  She hesitated, caught between what Charlie the ex and Charlie the cop should do. In his present condition, she doubted he’d make it back to the motel on his own. He’d probably fall asleep here, and the station would receive another complaint in the morning. But what if he did try to get back on his own? She shivered at what might befall him in his current state—stumbling in front of a moving car, another altercation with Trevor, an unannounced visit to God only knew where. Caution winning, she lowered herself to the ground next to him, taking up another side of the angel’s base. “What were you talking to them about?” she asked.

  “Scandalizing your dad with stories about the red-light distric
t in Amsterdam,” he answered with a roguish grin.

  She laughed at her father’s imagined affront. Despite all he’d seen as a cop, Mitch Henby was easily embarrassed when it came to such matters, perhaps because Alice was the only person he’d ever been with. Childhood sweethearts, married right out of high school, devoted to each other and their family, inseparable until the day—

  Charlie cut off the thought and covered by flashing Sean a sideways grin. “Visit it often, did you?”

  “Once. For a case.”

  “Only once? Cal would be so disappointed in you.”

  He didn’t respond, and Charlie glanced his way again. He swallowed hard, fighting a lump in his throat or fighting to keep words down; she couldn’t tell. And couldn’t resist asking. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

  “Saul’s dying.”

  She pitched forward, shifting onto her hip toward him. “Fuck, Sean, I’m sorry.” It was the last thing she expected him to say, and her heart instantly hurt for him. She’d only met Saul and Marie Paxton a handful of times, but she knew they loved Sean like a son, and he loved them like the second set of parents he’d been blessed with after losing the first. He’d lost so much family already and now to lose more… She reached out a hand, aiming for his arm, but he blocked her with the whisky bottle.

  “Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

  “It’s empty, Sean.”

  Retracting the bottle, he held it an inch from his nose and squinted. “Hmm, I guess it is.” He set the empty bottle between his legs and spun it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drink it all.”

  She suspected that’s exactly what he’d meant to do. She reached over his leg, snagged the bottle, and set it out of his reach. “Tell me.”

  “Cancer. Terminal this time.”

  “This time?”

  He lifted a hand, three fingers raised.

  “Since when?”

  He slumped back, eyes closed. “Feels like forever.

  What did that mean? Before he’d come to Hanover? No, he would have told them. They would’ve known. Wait, was that—