Page 199 of Blood Lines

Or, she’d learned how to bullshit from Scott Brodie. “Thank you for that.”

“War changes you, Scott. It changed me, and it changed you. This job changes you in another way. In either case, we’re not fit for duty in the civilian world.” She looked at him. “This is it, buddy. This is us.”

He knew that, but said, “Worst re-up pitch I’ve ever heard.”

She smiled, then said, “The truth hurts, but bullshitting yourself hurts more.”

Brodie looked at his partner, who, despite loss of blood, lack of sleep, and days inside windowless rooms eating bad hospital food, looked… vibrant. Almost radiant. He pictured her all those years ago on her first government-paid trip to Germany—in a hospital bed at the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center recovering from the IED blast in Afghanistan that almost killed her.

Maggie Taylor wanted to live on the edge, but it wasn’t because of the adrenaline rush. It was because that’s where she found the meaning. That’s where she thought she could tip the scales of justice.

Maybe Harry Vance had felt that way too. Or at least he came to feel that way toward the end of his life, when he found a cause worth fighting for. And dying for. The thing about being on the edge is sometimes you fall off. And the people who don’t fall are supposed to carry on.

He said to Taylor, “All right.”

“All right?”

“We’ll be a train wreck together. Mutually assured destruction.”

She held out her hand. “We’ll split the blame and share the glory.”

He took her hand and looked in her eyes. “Deal.”

THE END