He parked in front of the two-car garage below the bedroom window and started up the concrete steps. A tricycle was on its side, blocking the path to the door. This oh-so-ordinary dwelling was where ACPD Detective Erin Anderson, the only woman Broome would ever love, lived with her husband, a CPA named Sean. Whenever he visited, Broome couldn’t help but think, It could have been me. One would have thought that would lead to a strong yearning on his part. It did and it didn’t. His most immediate and powerful reaction was relief—a there-but-for-the-grace-of-God, whistling-past-the-graveyard sort of escape from his own destiny. But then, well, he looked at Erin’s face and all that fell away. Years ago, he and Erin had started off as cop partners riding together. They had quickly fallen deeply in love and married. That was the end of their riding together—no married couples in the same squad car—and the beginning of their troubles. The marriage, despite the love, was a disaster.
