Amber blinked at the near tropical warmth of sunny southern Florida. Though it was still early winter, it sure felt far from that to her. “Got your bag?” Dean asked, lifting his. She smiled. “I’ve got it.” He reached over and took her hand while they weaved through the airport. “I rented a car so we wouldn’t have to fight with cabs. Terry’s house is off the beaten path.” Terry. They were here to deliver the news of his death to his widow. Dean carried Terry’s ashes in a beautiful urn, a special one only used by the Guardians made of iron and copper. This wasn’t a vacation or joyful getaway. They were here to explain to a wife that her husband was in an urn and to a four-year-old girl that her father wasn’t coming home. Because Dean knew Terry’s wife and daughter, he felt more inclined to be the one to come and console them. Debra Hallman had an inkling of what her husband did for a living, but had never pressured them to discuss it. All she knew was they worked for a private security firm, but the look in her eyes told them all she was far from fooled.
