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as nerves settled over me. I wasn’t sure what I should or shouldn’t say. I noticed a gentleman reading a paper in the far corner and glancing my way every few minutes. Where had he come from? It was as if he materialized out of thin air. I kept looking at him, unable to look away, willing him to glance my way again. He stayed intent on reading the paper.
    The officer cleared her throat, breaking my focus. I threw away my almost-full cup of coffee. It had only set my nerves more on edge.
    As I grabbed my purse, the man caught my attention again. His gaze lingered longer than necessary. I was the only one in the area for him to be staring at. He was older, wearing a golfer’s hat. Large glasses covered his face.
    Again, his stare met mine and held for a few seconds before he looked away. Chills ran down my back. I wasn’t sure why or what they meant. Was I being paranoid as Alex’s warnings bounced around in my head?
    One night, about two months after getting married and right before he left on an undercover assignment, Alex had said, “Willow, if they find out I’m an undercover cop, they could come for you. Be careful. Don’t tell anyone we’re married. ”
    I’d packed my bags and stayed with Nonno for a week. I barely slept a wink until I got my fear under control. Then I decided he was probably being an asshole. But on the off chance, I’d remained cautious. What if there was some truth to what he said?
    After leaving the military, Alex entered a self-destruct mode, which was common with PTSD. Nothing I said convinced him to stop. What if he had told someone about me?
    “Ms. Russo?”
    I turned to see the man I remembered meeting in the lobby. “Commander Taylor, thank you for seeing me. I hoped—”
    “Let’s go to my office to talk.” His shortness caught me off guard. Had I done something wrong? My husband just died, and I had zero answers. I thought coming down here face to face was better than calling. To me it seemed normal for the wife of a murdered officer to come to the police station. Phone calls had the possibility of being taped.
    Nodding, I followed the broad-shouldered man with the crew cut. His strides were heavy and his posture was unfriendly, which only heightened my anxiety. His fists were clenched at his sides, adding hostility to the air.
    At the end of the hall, I was ushered into an office. Quickly, I glanced around. At the back was a bookshelf filled with awards and golfing trophies. In front, was a huge desk that made the room feel smaller and intimidating—like the commander.
    Without a word, Commander Taylor sat behind his desk. His brown eyes grew colder. “Why the fuck are you here? Have you come to carry on your late husband’s vendetta?”
    What. The. Hell?
    Vendetta?
    Carry on?
    This was bad. My spine shot ramrod straight as adrenaline pumped through my veins.
    Taking a few steps back, my fingers wrapped around the door knob as my heart escalated. I worked to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. The air became thick. I took a deep breath. It was time to leave. “I-I-I came to talk about Alex’s murder.” I took a steadying breath before I continued. “I wanted to know if he was undercover when he died. And if you could tell me anything to help explain what happened. I don’t know anything about a vendetta. This was a mistake coming here today.”
    This was not how I imagined coming here would be. I thought, at worst, he would give me the brush off.
    Maybe having Carson with me would have been for the best. I’d flung the door open when I heard, “Wait, Ms. Russo. Please.” Slowly, I turned to see some of the ice had left the man’s eyes. “Will you close the door?”
    The door clicked shut, but my hand remained on the knob. I wanted to be able to escape quickly if I needed to. My instincts told me to stay, while my head said to leave.
    Silence permeated the room.
    “Are you playing a game?” His menacing tone rankled me.
    My mouth dropped open. Was