LITMIR.BIZ

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killings in American history, and then he’d gone on to war. Not much compared to the atrocities one could see in battle. Between the two, he was a fairly hardened man.

      But...their old friend Hannah had been brutally murdered. And even if her life had taken a turn for the worse lately—which the media was playing up—neither she, nor any victim, should ever have to suffer such horrors.

      While Tyler hadn’t seen Sarah in a decade, the second he received the missive from her, it felt as if lightning bolts tore straight through his middle and out through every extremity.

      They said time healed all wounds. He wasn’t so sure. He never really understood why he’d done what he’d done himself, except that, in the midst of the trauma and turmoil that had swept around them that night in a long-gone October, Sarah had still seemed to push him away. She always said she was fine, absolutely fine. That she needed to worry about Davey.

      She had rejected Tyler’s help—just as she had refused to understand he’d been willing to make Davey his responsibility, just as much as Davey was Sarah’s responsibility.

      They’d all had to deal with what had happened, with what they had witnessed.

      Tyler had always wanted her to know he loved Davey, and he never minded responsibility, and he didn’t give a damn about anyone else’s thoughts or opinions on the matter. They had to allow Davey a certain freedom. When they were with him, they both needed to be responsible. That was sharing life, and it was certainly no burden to Tyler.

      But Sarah had shut down; she had found excuses not to see him.

      And he’d had to leave.

      Maybe, after that, pride had taken hold. She had never tried to reach him.

      And so he had never tried to get in touch with her.

      But now...

      Now Sarah had reached out to him.

      He’d kept up with information about her, of course. Easy enough; she kept a professional platform going.

      He liked to think she had followed him, as well. Not that he was as forthcoming about where he was and what he was doing. He had become a licensed investigator and consultant. Most of his work had been with the Boston Police Department; some had been with the FBI.

      He knew she hadn’t gone far. Her parents had rented out their Brooklyn home and moved to California. Sarah was living in Manhattan. She’d found a successful career writing fiction—he’d bought her books, naturally. Her early romances reminded him of the two of them; they’d been so young when they’d been together, so idealistic. They’d believed in humanity and the world and that all good things were possible.

      Her sci-fi novels were fun—filled with cool creatures, “aliens” who seemed to parallel real life, and bits of sound science.

      Part of why he’d never tried to contact her again had been pride, yes. Part of his efforts had actually been almost noble—her life looked good; he didn’t want to ruin it.

      But now...

      Yes, he’d seen the news. Hannah Levine had been murdered. The reporters had not dealt gently with the victim because of her lifestyle. They hadn’t known her. Hadn’t known how poor she’d grown up, and that she had lost both parents tragically to an accident on the FDR. They did mention, briefly, that she’d survived the night of horror long ago.

      As if reading his mind, Renee said, “They’re almost acting as if she deserved it, Tyler! Deserved it, because of the way she lived. I’m wishing I had tried harder. Oh, look! If she hadn’t been an ‘escort,’ this wouldn’t have happened to her. I feel terrible. I mean, who ever really understands what makes us tick? Not even shrinks! Because...well, poor child, poor child! She never had much—that father of hers was a blowhard, but he was her dad. Both dead, no help...and she was a beautiful little thing. She was probably a very good stripper.”

      That almost made Tyler smile. “Probably,” he agreed. “And yes, she was beautiful. Have the police let anything else out yet?”

      “We know what you know. Her body was found...and then a few hours later, her head was found. First, we heard about the body in the river. Then we heard that it was Hannah.”

      The front door opened and closed. Tyler felt that same streak of electricity tear through him; he knew Sarah was there.

      Renee frowned. “Sarah must be here.”

      “I’m sorry. I should have said right off the bat that she was meeting me here,” Tyler said. “That’s why...why I came. She didn’t tell you?”

      “No, but...that’s great. You’ve been talking to Sarah!” Renee clapped her hands together, appearing ecstatic.

      “We’ve exchanged two sentences, Renee,” he said quietly. “Sorry, four sentences, really. ‘Did you hear the news?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Will you come and meet me at Aunt Renee’s?’ And then, ‘Yes, I’ll come right away.’”

      Renee just nodded. Davey was coming back in the room, bearing glasses of iced tea. “Sarah is here,” Renee said.

      Davey nodded gravely. “Of course she is.”

      Tyler watched as she walked into the parlor. Sarah. Whom he hadn’t seen in a decade. She hadn’t changed at all. She had changed incredibly. There was nothing of the child left in her. Her facial lines had sharpened into exquisite detail. She had matured naturally and beautifully, all the soft edges of extreme youth falling away to leave an elegantly cast blue-eyed beauty there, as if a picture had come into sharp focus. She was wearing her hair at shoulder length; it had darkened a little, into a deep sun-touched honey color.

      He stood. She was staring at him in turn.

      Seeing what kind of a difference a decade made.

      “Hey,” he said softly.

      “Hey!” she replied.

      They were both awkward, to say the least. She started to move forward quickly—the natural inclination to hug someone you held dear and hadn’t seen in a long time.

      He did the same.

      She stopped.

      He stopped.

      Then they both smiled, and laughed, and she stepped forward into his arms.

      It was impossible, of course. Impossible that they had really known what the depths of love could be when they hadn’t even been eighteen. Then he’d felt as if he’d known, right from the first time he’d seen her at school, that he loved her. Would always love her.

      That no one could compare.

      And now, holding her again, he knew why nothing had ever worked for him. He’d met so many women—lots of them bright, beautiful and wonderful—and yet nothing had ever become more than brief moments of enjoyment, of gentle caring, and never this...connection.

      Sarah had called on him because a friend had been murdered, and he was the only one who could really understand just what it was like. This didn’t change anything; whether he loved her or not, she would still be determined to push him away when it came to relying on him, sharing with him...

      Back then, she hadn’t even wanted him near.

      They drew apart. It felt as if the clean scent of her shampoo and the delicate, haunting allure of her fragrance lingered, a sweet and poignant memory all around him.

      “You are here,” she said. “Thanks. I know this is crazy, but...Hannah. To have survived what happened that October, and then...have this happen. I understand you’re in some kind of law enforcement.”

      “No. Private investigator. That’s why I’m not so sure how I can really be of help here.”

      “Private investigators get to—investigate, right?” Sarah asked.

      “Why don’t you two sit down?” Renee suggested.

      “Sit,

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