THE CONNECTION

It was a beautiful early spring day, a day when she was glad she wore her jacket but she felt she could drape it over her shoulders when she went out for lunch. She sat in the nearby park and smiled as she heard children complain about wearing jackets and sweaters. She hoped the weather would hold through the weekend, when she and her nephew planned a lot of outdoor activities. She finished her lunch and threw her sandwich's remains to a watchful cardinal couple. She returned to her work reluctantly only because of the weather. She liked her new job, even if it lacked the prestige and some of the best parts of the work of a NYPD detective. It was just challenging enough, but not particularly dangerous, although she still carried a gun. Her former captain was as great a boss as he'd ever been—in some ways, better, since he didn't have to abide by NYPD regulations and politics. She hoped that when he returned from whatever and wherever his mysterious job had taken him, that her former partner would consider working for Jimmy Deakins as well.

She was deep in her analysis of truck delivery patterns of an imported rug company suffering unexplained losses—the sort of thing Bobby Goren loved to do—when there was a knock on her door. She looked up and saw Deakins in the door and knew immediately something was terribly wrong. Her first thought was Nate. Something had happened to Nate. She shot to her feet, and then she saw the professionally dressed woman and man standing behind Deakins.

"Government...Agents..." She looked at Deakins' stricken face.

"Alex." Deakins' voice broke.

Alex staggered back against her chair. "Bobby," she murmured.

Deakins moved into the room, allowing the man and woman to move through the door. Alex fell into her chair. The woman stepped forward.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Eames. I'm Agent Phillips, and this is Agent McCallister. You're listed as Robert Goren's contact and beneficiary," the woman said.

"What happened?" There was a terrible roar in Alex's ears, and the room was terribly, unnaturally bright. But she was still thinking, still capable of speech, which seemed more than Deakins could do. Perhaps it was the small glimmer of hope that kept Alex sane.

The male agent stepped forward. "Mr. Goren was a hero..."

Alex only heard one words. "Was." Past tense. Bobby was.

"He's dead," Alex stated. The roar in her ears grew. The room was brighter and hotter.

Phillips' voice came through the roar. "I'm sorry, Ms. Eames. Everything went well, mostly because of Mr. Goren. And then something went wrong." The agent sighed. "We're still investigating what happened. But there was a series of explosions at the compound where Hassan and his supporters had their headquarters. Mr. Goren had infiltrated their ranks, and he was there."

"Where...Where is his...Where is Bobby now?" Alex asked.

"I'm sorry," Philips said. "We know he died in the blast, but we couldn't recover his body."

"Poor Bobby," Alex murmured. "Ihere's something awful about that."

"We have his personal items," Philips said. "Few they are. If we can help you in any way..."

"I...I'd like to talk with the people he worked with. If I can..." Alex said.

McAllister stood uncertainly through this conversation, but finally spoke. "I was part of the support team for this mission. I'll get as many people as I can to speak to you." His professional face slipped. "Mr. Goren was an exceptional man. Brilliant, hardworking, brave. It...It was an honor to..."

Alex managed to stand. "Thank you," she said with great calmness. She wondered who this brave woman was who used her voice to speak so evenly and gently. "I'd very much like to talk to you and others. It's good to know that someone else knows...Knew...Bobby is...Was...A good man."

Phillips handed Alex a card. "We'll be in touch," she promised. "But if you need anything...Anything...Please let us know."

Alex nodded. Suddenly she just wanted these people to go. She wanted to be alone to deal with this news, to mourn Bobby.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Eames," McAllister said. Alex thought he was taking all of this very hard, and that he was also struggling to hide something. "Mr. Goren spoke of you often. He admired you very much."

Phillips touched McAllister's arm. "Scott's told me about Mr. Goren," she said. "He said Mr. Goren saved this mission. I wish I could've met him. If there's any kind of service, or if you'd like the Bureau to help plan one, please let us know. I suspect Mr. Goren will be receiving many commendations for his work."

"Thank you," Alex said. "There will be some kind of official notification? Some documents?"

"Yes," Phillips said. "And we'll make sure those get to you."

McAllister shook his head. "I never understood why there seemed to be so few people in Goren's life."

"It's complicated," Alex said. She didn't want to defend, or think that she had to defend, or explain Bobby's choices, or lack of choices, in life. She wasn't sure that she could. "Very complicated."

Phillips guided McAllister from the room. "Again, Ms. Eames, I'm very sorry. We'll be in touch."

"I'll walk you out." Deakins had finally recovered.

"Yes, sir," Alex nodded.

Deakins couldn't meet her gaze as he shut the office door.

Alex stood motionless. She stared out the window without seeing the trees and lake. She saw Bobby—his graying curls, the soft beard he sometimes forget, sometimes didn't, forget to shave; the restless, graceful, elegant hands; and the deep chocolate eyes. "I'm never going to see him again," Alex thought. Her head seemed to accept this idea, but her heart and soul or whatever refused. They fiercely argued that Bobby was still alive. "No." Alex shook her head. "I'm being irrational. Bobby is gone. He's dead."

There was a tentative knock at the door.

"I'm sorry, Alex," Deakins said as he opened the door. "I haven't been much help to you. It's a shock."

"Yes."

"Whatever you need, let me know."

"Of course," Alex said. She wondered why she couldn't move.

"I really don't know what Bobby's been doing lately, aside from what you've told me," Deakins said.

"That's all I knew," Alex said. She wished she could move. Her legs began to hurt.

"I guess...With his Mom and brother gone...Are there many people to contact?"

"He has some relatives in Minnesota. A nephew, if anyone can find him..."

Her knees buckled, and Alex grabbed her desk to keep from falling. Deakins helped ease her to her chair.

"I'm sorry," Alex said. "I've been standing for a while."

"It's understandable," Deakins said. "It's a shock..."

Alex realized Deakins desperately needed to do something for her.

"Could you get me some coffee, sir?" Alex hoped Deakins wouldn't see the nearly full cup already on her desk. "I think I really need some, and I'm not sure my legs are reliable right now."

"Of course." Deakins managed to hide his relief at being given a task. "Black, lots of sugar, right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'll be right back."

She heard the door close. She stared at the pictures on her desk, some of them part of the few objects she took from Major Case. There was the most recent photo of her nephew, the picture of her beloved dog, the one she'd snapped of Bobby and Nate examining the tigers at the zoo, and the one Bobby had taken of the two of them at a restaurant during a case. She'd inherited that last photo from Bobby's desk when he'd finally left Major Case. She lifted the picture and stared at it. Bobby had taken it impulsively, and Alex liked very few photos of herself, especially candid ones. But Bobby looked, so, well, Bobby, in the picture, with a mix of pleasure, mischief and interest on his face. And it was taken at a time when their partnership and friendship had become very good. And it was before, before everything battered and shattered Bobby. As she stared at the photo, Alex's heart refused to believe Bobby was dead.

"I need to contact people," she thought. "Lewis. His relatives. There's a lot of people in the NYPD who'll want to know. Some sort of memorial service. His stuff. I suppose I'm responsible for his stuff."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God," she said. "I'm a widow again."

END CHAPTER ONE