Listening closely for any sounds of movement inside, she waited.

She pushed it again, blowing out a breath and watching it float away in the cool night air.

And waited.

She turned around and looked down the street, hoping to see the headlights from Mercy’s car. It was silent.

What if Zander is a victim?

Her adrenaline spiking, she touched the weapon at her side and stepped to the side of the door.

A footstep sounded inside. “Zander?” she called.

A curse sounded through the door. Recognizing his voice, she blew out a breath and was relieved she hadn’t drawn her gun.

“Zander? You didn’t return my texts. I just wanted to check on you.”

Clicking sounded as he flipped the locks, and she exhaled. Finally.

He opened the door, and she gasped as alcohol fumes filled the air. She waved a hand in front of her face. “Jesus Christ! What are you doing?”

He wore baggy pajama bottoms and a sleeveless shirt. She couldn’t see his face.

“Turn on the light,” she said sharply.

“Ava . . .”

“Turn it on.” She reached in the house, around the doorjamb, and felt for a switch. “Oh, my God.”

He turned away at the rush of light but not before she’d caught a glimpse of red puffy eyes and nose.

“Are you sick?” she asked, knowing that wasn’t the case. No one bathes in vodka when they’re sick.

She stepped into the house, forcing him to retreat, and turned on more lights. “What’s going on? Why haven’t you returned my calls? Mercy said you haven’t returned hers, either. I thought you were working with her today?”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye. He turned and stalked away. She followed as he headed into his kitchen. She’d been to his home at other times to pick him up, but she’d never been farther than the doorway. It was as neat as she’d expected but very plain. The kitchen was the pale oak that’d been so popular decades before, but seemed organized and clean. Except for the empty fifth of vodka on the counter and the empty knocked-over carton of orange juice.

Ava stared. Vodka and OJ was one of Jayne’s favorites. The familiar sight sent anxiety shooting through her brain.

“Why are you drinking?” she asked.

He didn’t answer as he twisted the lid on a new bottle of vodka. A loud crack sounded as the seal broke, and his hand shook as he poured the liquid in a glass.

“Can I get you some ice?” Ava offered.

He ignored her snark and opened his freezer, digging in the ice with a bare hand and dropping a handful into his glass. Vodka sloshed over the side. He picked it up and held her gaze over the rim as he drank.

“Out of orange juice?”

“Don’t need it,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

“Why are you in my house?”

She bit her lip and lowered her voice. “I was worried about you. Several people are worried. It’s not like you to not return calls.”

He took another drink, still staring at her with reddened eyes. She gazed back. He’s hurting.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“That’s right.”

He wants me to get pissed at him. “What is going on, Zander? I came here because I give a crap about you.”

He looked away.

“Did you know it crossed my mind that I might find you staked to your goddamned wall?”

His gaze flew back to hers.

Now I have his attention.

“That’s right. You went dark when officers are dying. What was I supposed to think?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” he mumbled. He set the glass down on the counter with a loud clank and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

“No, you didn’t think.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table in the dining nook. “Sit. Tell me what happened.” She pushed him into a chair and took the one next to him, giving him her full attention.

“Nothing happened.”

“Yes, something happened. This isn’t you. You don’t get smashed and avoid your coworkers. What happened today?”

“It’s the date . . . it’s my date.” He stared at his hands on the table.

Tomorrow was Halloween. October thirtieth meant nothing to her. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said slowly. “What happens on October thirtieth?”

He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers, his eyes red and moist. “My wife died on October thirtieth. Our baby, too. This is the one day a year I let myself fucking fall apart. I can get through the rest of the year if I know I have permission to crumble on October thirtieth. But today I wanted to push through it just this once so I could work the case. I didn’t make it.”

Ava wanted to cry. His anguish had ripped holes in the air in the room.

I yelled at him.

She put her hands over his on the table. “You never talk about it. I didn’t know.” Her voice cracked. She’d known his wife was dead, but she hadn’t known about a baby. “I didn’t know you had a baby.”

“We didn’t. She was pregnant when she died. Later they told me it’d been a girl.”

Her heart broke. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“I was trying to respect your privacy. I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would.” Her shoulders sagged. He was her friend and she’d let him down.