The Departed

FOUR
    Fourteen months later
     
    M Y angel. It’s almost time. Fall. The pen paused over the paper while the hand holding it trembled. I think about you every day but this time of year is always so hard. My angel. My pretty, precious angel. My one and only.
    Tears came. Blurring the words on the paper. But still, the pen moved. Still the words flowed.
    * * *
     
    IT was late.
    Few people remained in the office. But Taylor Jones wasn’t surprised when his administrative assistant appeared in the doorway just as he clicked his briefcase closed.
    “I assume you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone?” he said, giving Gina Berkle a quick look.
    She didn’t smirk, but she might as well have. The look in her hazel eyes accomplished the same thing. “Yes. Don’t worry. The place won’t fall apart because you’re taking a few weeks off. I held it together last year; I’ll do the same this year.”
    He nodded, his mind already on his trip. It wasn’t anticipation that flooded his mind, or excitement. It was, plain and simple, dread. This was a duty, something he had to do, something he needed to do, something he did every year.
    And it hadn’t gotten easier over the years, either.
    Not that he expected it to.
    “May I ask you a question?”
    Taylor looked up, frowning. He’d forgotten about Gina. She was watching him, an odd look in her eyes. “You can ask. Whether I’ll answer depends on the question.”
    But it wasn’t the question he’d expected.
    “You are coming back, right?”
    Taylor stared at her, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
    Gina came farther into his office and sat down, smoothing her skirt down. “Hell, I’ve said this much,” she muttered, absently rubbing her hands together, staring down at them. Then she looked back at him. “You don’t see what we see every day.”
    “And that is…?”
    “Yourself. The look in your eyes.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I imagine you’ve read my personnel file, right? I mean, this is the FBI. And you’re a paranoid bastard anyway. You probably know my shoe size.”
    “Actually, no. Your shoe size has nothing to do with your job.” But he knew where she was going with this. “And relax, Gina. I’m fine.”
    “Are you?”
    “I said I was.” He resisted the urge to snap at her—oddly touched that she cared enough to say anything. Just about everybody else would have ignored it, assuming they even noticed anything was wrong. Shit, most of them would probably lift a glass in celebration if he decided to put a bullet through his brain. “Stop worrying.”
    “I can’t.” She shrugged and gave him a weak smile. “You haven’t been fine since Dez Lincoln was injured on the job.”
    You haven’t been fine since Dez Lincoln was injured… No. He hadn’t. Shit. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, slow breath and then looked up, stared at Gina. “That’s enough,” he said softly.
    She fell silent and looked away as he filed a few more documents and shut down his computer.
    He ignored the roaring in his ears, ignored the pounding of his heart. He just had to get out of here—and maybe buy a big-ass bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the way home. Good ol’ Jack. His dad had always liked his Jack from time to time. He could lift a glass in his dad’s memory, even. At least one memory that wasn’t too fucking painful.
    His flight didn’t leave until 10:20. He could get plastered, something he rarely did, and maybe he could have a peaceful night of unconsciousness.
    “Sir?”
    Slowly, he looked up and saw that Gina had risen from her chair and stood nervously in front of his desk, her hands twisting at her waist. She stared at him, her eyes miserable as she bit her lip.
    “Yes?” he asked, forcing the word out through a tight throat.
    “Is it?”
    “Is it what, Gina?”
    “Is it enough?” She shook her head. “You can be a cold guy to work for, but…well…you’ve always been fair. You’ve never not been fair. And…well, like I said, you don’t see what I see every day. I saw my last boss in the days before she decided to kill herself. And too often the look in your eyes looks too much like hers. I didn’t say anything then and now I have to live with wondering if maybe I could have made a difference—I won’t do that again. Not ever. So if this is out of place, I’m sorry, but I’m not living with that on my soul again. I look at you and see something too close to what I saw then. I can’t be quiet this time.