Jen Hunched over the bathroom sink, I scrubbed at my shirt, a vain attempt to wash out a couple stains I'd found, laundry soap and water dripping from my elbows. In reality, I was dragging my feet, wasting time washing out a stupid stain that I didn't give a shit about, trying to avoid a phone call I didn't really want to make.

I blew out a breath and caught my reflection in the mirror. Not exactly the face of celebration. Most of the other trainees had gone for a drink. I wouldn't have that opportunity for a while. The welt on my skin from the wax bullet was turning into a lovely bruise. My skin was blotchy, my light blue eyes rimmed with red. I'd pulled my dark hair back for the training session, but it was coming out of my ponytail now, strands hanging all around my face.

My scrubbing stalled out. I couldn't shake the same eerie feeling I had when I saw Charlie's face. Like a vision. Weird, to say the least. Now, it was more than weird.

I pushed it aside as Sheree burst through the door. She called out, "Hey, Jen. I brought beer to celebrate!"

I dropped my shirt and left the bathroom. She was halfway inside the room by the time I got there. Before I could say anything, she set the bag with the six pack on the table.

"Hey, roomie." I managed a smile. No need to bring her down with what was happening in my life.

"The commissary is crazy busy right now. Everyone's buying stuff to celebrate..." She twisted off the top of a beer and handed it to me before doing the same for herself. "Thought I'd find you back in the room doing the happy dance."

She tipped the neck of the bottle at mine until it touched and then threw back a long drink.

"Thanks." I held my bottle and just stared at it, knowing that despite what happened to my sister, I should be thrilled at what I'd accomplished. Finally, I mustered the energy for a rather lackluster salute and raised my bottle. "Cheers, here's to us." I took a drink out of politeness, hardly tasting the grainy richness of the ale.

Sheree gave me a concerned look. "Jen, what's the matter? You don't look so good."

I dropped my eyes to the floor and took a moment to collect myself. Of my three roommates at the Academy, Sheree was the best. We hit it off right from the start. Which meant she was one of the few people who knew any details about my family.

"I...um, well, something happened."

I had all of her attention now.

"Gutierrez called me into his office. My sister died last night." I slumped down into the chair by the table. "Found last night, anyway."

Sheree followed suit, landing in the other chair, mouth open, eyes wide. She pushed her bottle aside and took my hand. "I'm so sorry, Jen. Is there anything I can do?

I shook my head in silence and then let out a breath. "No, but thank you. I knew I'd get the call one day, just didn't expect it to be so soon."

Sheree released my hand and sat back in her chair. "How old was she?"

A pang went through me. "Twenty-two." Four years younger than me.

"How'd it happen?"

I reached for my beer and took another drink, wishing it would erase the toxic feeling grinding in stomach. "She was shot and I might know the reason."

"Really?" The word came out with surprise. "What reason?"

I'd told her some about Charlie, but not the dark shit that'd been happening over the last few years. I shrugged. "I don't know for sure. But I bet it had to do with drugs." I took another drink. "She got hooked years ago. I tried to get through to her, get her off the stuff. But you know, that's the kind of life that just goes from bad to worse. I should've stopped her. I should've been there for her. Now..." Tears stung my eyes. "Now look what's happened."

"No, no, Jen. You can't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

"I never should've left for college, or joined the Marines. I should've stayed at home, but I was selfish. I wanted out, wanted to make something of myself."

"Of course, I understand, everyone does."

Her words were kind, meant to comfort, but they didn't take away the pain...or the guilt. I took another swallow of beer, hoping it would magically melt the lump in my throat.

It didn't.

"I wanted to do something big, something good with my life. The kind of thing that'd leave more of a mark than a dull husband, too many kids, too many spaghetti dinners at Applebee's, and hang out at the Indian Casino, hoping for the big win. If I'd stayed, that life would've killed me, and I'd be the one dead now. Not literally dead, just...walking dead, no spirit left in me."

I didn't want to add that my parents were proof that it happened like that. Both of them in dead end, low-paying jobs. I was pretty sure Charlie got caught up in drugs because there wasn't anything else to do in Drexel Heights, nothing to give passion to a life. Maybe that wasn't the whole reason, but it played a big part.

I despised life there. Enough that I joined the Marines right out of college. It was stifling. A small town, full of dead end jobs and dead end men. No good husband material there.

Not that I cared about that last one.

"Jen, stop beating yourself up. No one blames you for pursuing your dream."

"Oh, I'm sure my parents do," I said. "Well, maybe only a little. Don't get me wrong, they're not bad people, but they weren't too happy I joined up. My mom wanted me to come back home after college. At the time..." I snorted a bitter laugh. "I thought she just missed me, but I really think she wanted me home to help with Charlie."

"Wasn't there anyone else?"

I shook my head. "No, just me. Big sister Jen. It was my job. I was supposed to take care of her...I let her down."

The words hurt because they were true.

"She wasn't all your responsibility. The burden wasn't on your shoulders alone. You have parents."

"I guess so..." I wiped a silent tear from my cheek. "My brain knows that, but still, I feel guilty." I let myself say the words echoing in my head since I'd heard. "It starts slowly. At first, Charlie hid it from our parents, cocaine mostly, I guess. I don't even know for sure anymore. Then when it got worse, well, my parents didn't know how to deal with it. They're so old-fashioned and..." I took a moment to search for the words, to politely describe them. "Not what you'd call worldly, you know? My mom always said she prayed for Charlie, as if enough prayers could make someone beat an addiction. I love my mom and dad, but they just don't have a clue about these things. Charlie stole money, and a credit card from Mom's purse. Addicts will do that. Mom never told Dad what happened to it because she thought he'd throw Charlie out. So...they dealt with it the way most people do. Stuck their heads in the sand and hoped it'd go away."

Sheree put her hand over mine. "It wasn't your fault. Your sister made her own choices. So did your parents. You had every right to make the ones that were right for you."

I looked at Sheree as the truth in her words sunk in.

She held my hand tighter. "Don't think you can't do anything for Charlie. You can make her death mean something. Didn't you say you want to be assigned to the Drug Enforcement Division? I'm guessing she's why."

I nodded slowly. "Maybe that's how I can make things right." I wiped the last tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. "Now, I just have to call my parents, find out when the funeral is, and then book a flight."

Sheree smiled, gave my hand a pat and swallowed the rest of her beer.

After talking, I felt better, but still nervous about the dreaded phone call. My parents weren't just in the dark about me being in the FBI. They didn't know I was in the country. They'd freaked when I joined the military, thinking I'd turn Charlie into the authorities. I'd known better than to tell them I joined the FBI, with intentions to work with the DEA. However, with Charlie's death, that was no longer a concern. Still, something in my gut told me to wait, that now wasn't the time. Maybe once I was home, after the funeral.

Maybe.

Plus, how would I explain that I'd lied to them the last twenty weeks?

I titled my beer for another salute before downing the remainder, and reached for my phone. Sheree took it as her cue to give me a little privacy. But first, she wrapped me in a hug.

"Hang in there, Goodwin." She pulled back and nodded toward the door. "I'm gonna get a start on packing my car. I have a lot of stuff, and I'm taking off right after graduation on Sunday, so I better do it now. Won't have time then."

"Sure. That's a good idea. I sort of started packing, but..." I made a vague gesture.

"I know," she said. "Make your call. I'll get out of your hair."

I waited until she disappeared into her room before I dialed the number I hadn't used in too long. And then I held my breath waiting for my mom to answer. It was just Mom. Anyone should be able to talk to their mother with ease. But then, this was my mom.

When she answered and I spoke, she sounded stiff with a hint of resentment.

"Mom, I just heard." My voice cracked. "How did it happen?"

"She was shot, Jen." Her voice was wracked with worry and anguish. "Under suspicious circumstances, but that's all they told me."

"Suspicious? Well, yeah! Do they have any suspects?"

"I don't know," she said, and started to cry. "These last couple years...she was mixed up in a lot of things. You know how she is...was."

I did know. Probably more than she did. I knew Charlie had been seeing Raz, a member of a local motorcycle club called Saints of Sin, and the rumors around town were that the motorcycle club was into drugs. Not really a surprise there.

It'd been a sort of thorn in my side that Charlie was dating Rasmus "Raz" Durrant, although dating wasn't exactly the best word to use with biker types. Sometimes they called their girlfriends "old ladies," but most of the time, it was who they were fucking.

Raz's connection to the Saints, even before he'd officially joined, was one of the things that had come between us growing up. We were friends in school, graduated together, but things were tense our senior year.

"Deputy Brad Blackwell said there'll be a full investigation. You remember Brad? You two dated a couple times in high school, didn't you?"

There was that word again: dating. Part of me wondered if she was implying that I should've stayed home, or at least gone back to Drexel Heights, made nice with the deputy, and set up a nice little life for myself.

"Well...yeah, I guess we did see each other for a while," I said. I didn't want to talk about that right now. "Whatever, Mom. I booked a flight out of here for late Sunday night. We can talk more once I get there."

She practically cut me off. "Sunday night? Why not sooner?"

I felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Because of my graduation, I wanted to say. I was proud of myself, and wanted to share my good news. Wanted them to be proud of me, too.

For a brief moment I had visions of what it'd be like to hear the joy in her voice as she congratulated me. Maybe even said that her and Dad wanted to come see me graduate. I opened my mouth to speak, but swallowed my words and chose other ones.

"Just...Mom...I'll explain when I get there." I bit my lip.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

"Can you and Dad pick me up at the airport?"

"Well, I suppose..." She sounded a little flustered, but before I could think about it, Sheree burst into the room.

"Jen, come on. We gotta go."

The look on her face told me something was up. "Mom, I can't talk anymore. Something is going on here, and I need to get off the phone. Can you pick me up at the airport, or should I get a cab?"

"Yes, of course. Text me the time your flight arrives. That way I have it on my phone. My mind's such a mess right now. And Jen," she paused, and then added, "I can't wait for you to come home."

Not knowing how to respond, I ended the call with a quick goodbye and turned to Sheree. "What's going on, Sheree?"

"They're calling everyone in. Emergency meeting. Some kind of attack, probably terrorists, in DC. Let's go. They'll brief us when we get there."

Sheree was already over the threshold. Shit. Hopefully this wouldn't interfere with my leave. I pulled the door shut behind me. I needed to get back home and find out what the hell really happened to Charlie.

Sunday morning's graduation was colored by a dull gray feeling. A special ceremony, it was attended by the trainees' families...except my family. I wanted to be excited, but my mind was preoccupied by my later flight, and the reunion after.

We were sworn in by the FBI director, who presented us with our badges and credentials on an open grassy field set up with folding chairs. After that, the class spokesperson stood at a podium on the stage and addressed all of us about the challenges faced and obstacles overcome during training. Perfectly inspiring. Awards were given, and honors handed out for top achievers in academics, firearms, and physical fitness.

Then we were done.

It was official.

A bittersweet feeling swept over me as I broke from the crowd to leave. All I had to do was pick up my firearm, ammunition, and luggage, then call a cab for the airport. As soon as my bereavement leave was over, I was supposed to head out to my first assignment as an FBI special agent, but it felt rather anticlimactic. Some agents were leaving straight from the ceremony to their first assignment: the terrorist attack that'd happened the other night. Fortunately, that wasn't my assignment, and I'd make it to my sister's funeral after all.

Just as I said my last congratulations, a familiar face pushed through the throng of happy family members and wrapped me in a hug. He was here.

My boyfriend.

Kind of.

"Surprise, Jen!" He stepped back and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Marc!" He was the last person I expected to see, probably because he hadn't crossed my mind once in over a week. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"It wouldn't have been a surprise if I told you." He beamed at me and held out a bouquet of flowers.

I really didn't like flowers.

"Congratulations! Wow, an FBI agent. That's awesome."

Marc was all smiles. He wanted me to stay and talk, but I checked my watch I needed to hurry if I was going to pick up what I needed and still make my flight.

"Yeah, I know, FBI, wow. Um, I'm so glad you came."

I wasn't really, but I didn't know what else to say. Marc and I had met when I was stationed at Camp Pendleton, and had technically been dating, but once I left for FBI training, I hadn't even missed him. Barely thought of him. I took it as a sign and tried to put some distance between us, easy since I was so far away. And since I didn't promise him anything when I left and hadn't really talked to him since then I assumed he felt the same way.

Yet, here he was. It was obvious I should've talked to him. But I had a plane to catch.

Shit.

I took him by the arm, and pulled him after me as I headed for the building where I left my suitcase. "Marc, I'm sorry. You really should've called and told me you were coming. I have to catch a plane. I'm sorry you came all this way, but I have to go."

He looked startled, but not angry. "Do you really have to leave this minute? I thought we could at least spend one night together, have a nice dinner and fly back to Oceanside tomorrow."

He looked so confused and disappointed, I gritted my teeth and sighed. But he clearly didn't get what any of this meant. I didn't have time for a long discussion.

We got to the end of the grassy field where the ceremony took place and I stopped. "Marc, look, I have to go back home, to Arizona. My...my sister died."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jen." He tried to touch my arm, but I twisted away. "You told me a little about her. Her name was Charlie, right?"

"Um, yeah." I looked at my watch again. "Hey, look Marc, I hate to be this way, but I'm on a tight schedule here. You really should've called or something."