This was the last place I wanted to be on a Friday night, especially since it happened to be Laurel’s thirtieth birthday. Two hours into the police standoff at Brandon Huxley’s double-wide trailer in the Bonita Springs Trailer Park community, officers used stun grenade launchers to fire four flash bang grenades into his home. But Brandon must have taken cover, because he continued firing his weapon at police just seconds later.

E.T., the bomb disposal robot driven remotely by Officer Hodges — a rookie member of the SWAT team — was rolling toward the front door of the mobile home now, attempting to deliver a telephone to Brandon so he could communicate with crisis negotiators. We watched from a few hundred feet away, behind the press cordon. Nate’s brother Matt — my former bodyguard — and Sean flanked me, all three of us sporting bulletproof vests taken from Sean’s considerable arsenal.

So far, having my hoodie pulled over my head had allowed me to remain unrecognized. But as more news vans arrived, I knew I wouldn’t remain anonymous much longer. Still, I didn’t care how long this standoff dragged on. I wasn’t going anywhere until this was over and Brandon Huxley was either dead or in custody.

Bullets pinged off the metal robot as it maneuvered around the porch and began rolling up the steps. E.T., as the robot was nicknamed, had been manufactured to withstand the force of detonated explosives, and this idiot thought he could disable the robot with a few bullets. It was too bad the Boise PD didn’t have the funds for one of those new virtual-reality-controlled bomb disposal robots. I’d give both my arms to be able to go Terminator on Brandon Huxley.

As this thought occurred to me, a pang of guilt squeezed my insides. Whatever Brandon was, he was still Laurel’s brother. And part of me — the part of me that had clung to my humanity by a thread for the last two years — knew that Laurel, and her big heart, might mourn the loss of this sibling she never knew. The last thing I wanted to do was give her another reason to grieve.

I didn’t know if Brandon and Laurel were full-siblings or half-siblings. But I knew Laurel deserved to find that out for herself. Though, the thought of enduring a drawn out legal trial, and having to possibly go before a jury and describe the events of that night, was not something I wanted to put Laurel or myself through.

I wouldn’t shed a tear if this standoff ended with Brandon Huxley fatally wounded. Neither would I celebrate the death of a man who was obviously mentally ill. Whatever the outcome was, I had faith that Laurel and I would face the aftermath together. Stronger.

The crisis negotiator spoke to Brandon on the bullhorn. “Brandon, we need you unlock the front door to let the robot in. The robot is carrying a cell phone so we can communicate privately without the bullhorn. If you don’t open the door, we will have to use a mild explosive to blow off the lock. In that case, you’ll need to get at least fifteen feet away from the door so you’re out of the blast radius. Open the door, Brandon.”

Sean had his beefy arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head as he watched the scene. “Did you hear that last gunshot? It didn’t sound like it was coming out of the house toward the robot. Am I the only one that heard that?”

“You think there’s someone in there with him?” Matt asked, a bit too eagerly for my taste.

Sean continued shaking his head. “I can’t say for sure, but I think he took himself out. I haven’t heard any more noise coming from inside the house since that last gunshot.”

My stomach balled up like a fist as I suddenly found myself wishing that Sean was wrong. I didn’t want Brandon to die. I wanted him to live the rest of his miserable life tortured by the memories of the despicable things he’d done.

Most of all, I wanted Laurel to have the option to forgive him. That was a decision she should be able to make.

Before I could stop myself, I began running toward the armored SWAT vehicle where officers had taken cover.

“Get back there!” an officer in full tactical gear roared at me.

I stopped about thirty feet away from the SWAT vehicle and held up my hands. “Don’t shoot him. He’s my wife’s brother. Please don’t shoot him. Please.”

The back of the vehicle was open, and Officer Hodges could be seen looking at a bank of at least six screens with camera feeds from the robot. A sudden small explosion made my ears ring. A moment later, the color video feed cleared up as the dust settled.

“You need to go back there to the press area,” the officer repeated his command.

But my eyes were glued to the screen Hodges was watching. It didn’t take long for the lifeless body of Brandon Huxley to appear. He was sitting on the floor, his body slumped against a TV tray and wood-paneled wall.

“Suspect appears to be down,” Hodges relayed the grim news as he turned his attention to the infrared footage displayed in the top left screen. “Standby for confirmation.”

It took almost thirty minutes for Brandon to be confirmed deceased. When they rolled out the body bag on the gurney a couple of hours later, Detective Ava Robinson asked me if I wanted to see his face.

I started to nod my head, and Ava reached for the zipper on the body bag.

“No, I don’t want to see him,” I blurted out before she could unzip.

Her caramel skin gleamed in the shitty sodium light coming from the trailer home behind me. “You sure?”

I nodded. “I’m done with death. I have to get home to my wife.”

“I understand. If you don’t mind, I’ll need you to come in to the station any time between nine a.m. and six p.m. tomorrow to give a written witness statement before you leave for Portland.”

“Of course,” I replied, feeling so exhausted, it was a wonder I was still standing upright.

A tired smile flickered on her face. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Stratton.”

“Thanks. I’m definitely going to need it.”

I left Sean next to his cherry-red Porsche with a generous payment for his services, and a promise to return soon to grab a beer. “If I can ever do anything for you… or Rosie, you name it. She deserves justice, too.”

Sean flashed me a shrewd grin. “There’s a sound my brain made when I was at war with everyone and everything I thought was standing in the way of finding Rosie’s killer. It was a loud, screeching wail. Well, sometimes it was loud, sometimes it was faint, but it was always there.” He paused for a moment as he seemed to get a bit emotional. “It took me a long time to realize that it was Rosie, screaming at me, trying to tell me to let go of her.” He stood tall and nodded. “I made peace with not knowing a long time ago. You take care of yourself, Jack. I hope you never need my services again.”

I nodded. “Ditto.”