“Chief Sheridan, are you okay?” Annette King asked, bending over him. “Is something wrong?” He barely heard her, barely registered her voice. He was shaking all over. Hope, however frail, never died. Never. It sprang to life in his chest, stronger and fiercer than ever. He didn’t remember starting to cry. Tears ran down his face into the stubble of his beard. His nerves raw and vibrating. Everything was raw and bright and beautiful. He swallowed hard. “I—can I hear her voice? Can I talk to her?” “I’ll do you one better!” Bishop bellowed. “Get your son. Get Milo. We’ll be at your house in
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