Page 47

She was on duty.

Bonfire smoke hung over the lake. Someone nearby ladled steaming apple cider into paper cups, while the local band struck up a cheerful tune that carried across the crowd.

The festival thrummed with warmth and celebration.

Felicity ignored it.

Even if it was her birthday.

Get a grip, Felicity. Birthdays aren’t special.

At least, not in the way normal people celebrated them.

A bitter laugh escaped.

She had learned that the hard way on her thirteenth birthday.

It had been a Wednesday.

The day her grandfather had first paid very special attention to her.

Her stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat, burning. She swallowed it down, blinking rapidly.

And fucking hell. Now she was even hearing the Happy Birthday tune in her head.

Except … it wasn’t in her head.

It was here.

She scanned the crowd, her gaze settling on the group gathered at the water’s edge. Bella and Sunny. Their husbands. Ruth. The kids.

And Ronan.

Then the world dropped out from beneath her.

They were singing to him.

A half-crazed laugh escaped her.

She and Ronan shared a birthday.

Her real birthday. Not the one on her records now.

How the hell had she not known that?

Ruth stepped forward, holding a cake crowned with flickering candles.

The sight of them made Felicity’s stomach lurch. Cake. Icing. Candles. Another stupid ritual people insisted made birthdays special.

The nausea rose again, hot and sour in the back of her throat.

Her radio squawked.

“Deputy Graham, you available? We’ve got a situation on the south side.”

She tore her gaze away from the water’s edge.

Away from cakes and candles and happy birthdays.