He held out his hand. “Lonnie.”

“Sara.” She shook his hand, which felt solid and reassuring, just like the man. Lonnie Gray was an old-school cop, the type who could never really leave the job. Even during retirement, he’d taken up consulting, moving around the state to help whip various law enforcement agencies into shape. Sara hadn’t seen Gray since the funeral. Or at least she assumed that was the last time. Sara had been so heavily medicated during the service that the only memories she had were the ones her mother and sister had planted there.

She said, “I didn’t know you were running Macon now.”

“Consulting proved to be even more boring than it sounded. I missed being a benevolent dictator.” Gray smiled at the joke, which they both recognized as the truth. Despite his grandfatherly appearance, Sara couldn’t see Lonnie Gray offering advice that no one had to take.

She said, “Macon is lucky to have you.”

“Well, let’s just say I’m glad it hasn’t been put to a vote.” He glanced down at Sara’s hand, probably to see whether or not she had remarried. “I hear you’re living in Atlanta now?”

“Yes.” Sara decided to acknowledge the obvious. “You and I keep meeting under bad circumstances.”

“We do indeed.” Gray seemed to appreciate her candidness. “Jared’s stabilized for now. The doctors are taking good care of him.”

Sara was relieved to be on more comfortable footing. “Do you mind if I ask why he wasn’t taken to MCCG?” The Medical Center of Central Georgia was a Level 1 trauma center, much better equipped for a gunshot wound than Macon General.

Chief Gray deflected. “I’m sorry. I called you Mrs. Tolliver. You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Sara could only guess why he’d sidestepped the question. The ambulance crew had obviously been thinking in seconds, not minutes. Jared’s injuries had necessitated rushing him to the closest emergency room.

“Rest assured, we’ll find out who did this to your stepson.” Gray gave her a sage nod, as if to remind Sara that they always got their man. It was so maddeningly black and white to some people. They thought vengeance made it easier, when, in fact, all it did was fester the sorrow.

Gray continued, “Jeffrey’s surely been missed these past few years. I could use his skills on this one.”

Sara already knew the answer, but she asked, “You called in the state?”

“Never hurts to have extra hands.”

He wasn’t being diplomatic. Lonnie Gray was the same kind of chief that Jeffrey had been. They weren’t concerned with glory. They just wanted the bad guys caught and the good guys to go home at night.

Sara said, “I’m sure you’ll figure out why this happened.”

“As am I, Dr. Tolliver. That’s a promise.” His voice took on a practiced tone that he probably employed whenever duty called. “Jared’s a good kid. Wish I had fifty more of ’em. And Detective Adams has been a great addition to the team. We’ll have them back up on their feet in no time. You know we take care of our people.”

Sara tried to think of an appropriate response, but Lonnie Gray was obviously not expecting one. He looked as drained as Sara felt. She’d seen Jeffrey in the same circumstance many times. His shoulders were slumped from the burdens placed on him. His face was drawn. Policing was an occupation, but no one stayed in it long enough to become chief without feeling a true calling.

Sara followed Gray’s gaze as he took in his officers. She tried not to catalogue the similarities from five years ago. The Band-Aids on their arms where they’d all given blood. The way boredom compelled them to chip off the edges of their Styrofoam coffee cups. The expectant looks in their eyes when anyone new appeared.

Lonnie Gray said, “My son passed away just recently.”

Sara didn’t know he’d had a son. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” He sounded resigned. “I’m sure you know it never gets easy.”

Sara nodded again. There was a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. “I should go.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“No,” she said, almost interrupting him. “Thank you, I’m fine. Stay here with your men.”

He seemed relieved. “The mother’s up there. I take it there’s no love lost between her and my detective. Perhaps you could …?”

Despite the circumstances, Sara felt a smile come to her lips. He was talking to her the way he’d talk to any senior officer’s wife. She imagined it was the same in the military, or any other male-dominated profession where the women were expected to keep hearth and home running smoothly while the men went out and conquered the world.

She said, “I’m not sure it’s my place.”

“Adams was your husband’s partner.”

“She was,” Sara confirmed, though she gathered Gray didn’t know about their complicated history. She paused before adding, “I really should go. Nell’s waiting for me.”

“Thank you.” He grasped her hand between his. “And remember, if there’s anything I can do for you, just ask.”

Sara could only nod again, which was the response Chief Gray seemed to need. He touched her elbow before walking away. Sara watched him approach one of his detectives. The man’s relaxed posture immediately took on a military stance. He nodded at Sara with a familiar, exaggerated deference she’d come to expect whenever any officer learned that she was a cop’s widow.

Sara nodded back, thinking the sentiment was comforting until it became suffocating. She did not want to be tragic. She had fought the stigma for years at Grady, where a cop was generally posted outside every third room. Oddly, it wasn’t until Sara had started dating Will that people had let her step down from the pedestal.

She didn’t have it in her to climb back up again.

Sara followed the green stripe on the floor, knowing it would lead to the elevators, just as she knew the blue signage would direct her to the ICU. There was a reassuring sameness to private hospitals, with their bright lights and cheerful paintings that announced to the world that the majority of their patients were paying customers.

Sara pressed the button beside the elevator door. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, she’d done the same in Atlanta. As with the exterior, Grady’s interior was different compared to Macon General. Everything here was clean and modern, befitting the clientele. Most of the hospital’s money probably came from luxurious birthing suites, routine colonoscopies, and MRIs on baby boomers’ knees. The paint was not chipped from the walls. Buckets were not strategically placed under leaking pipes. There was no permanent police precinct on site or a holding area for prison inmates and the criminally insane.

Frankly, Sara preferred Grady.

The elevator doors slid open with a tiny squeak. Sara got into the car. She was alone. The doors closed. She pressed the button by the blue sign. She watched the numbers flash on, then off, as the car traveled up to the fifth floor. With each burst of light, she suppressed the urge to speak the phrase that was playing over and over in her head: I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here.