A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(101)

Sitting at the end of a row, with Dominic’s large body blocking the sight of him from most, gave Levi a temporary reprieve. This day wasn’t supposed to be about him; he shouldn’t be the center of attention.

The funeral began shortly afterward. Gibbs’s casket was escorted to the grave with full ceremony by the Honor Guard, and his childhood pastor gave a solemn, touching service. A few LVMPD and government officials who’d barely known Gibbs made some bland remarks-and then, as Gibbs’s mother had requested, Martine rose to eulogize him.

“Jonah Gibbs and I didn’t get along,” she said. There was a smattering of chuckles from those in the crowd who’d witnessed their interactions firsthand. “We disagreed on a lot of things. We argued almost every time we crossed paths. He was a passionate man-dedicated to his job, steadfast and unapologetic in his beliefs. He never backed down from a fight. When someone or something was important to him, he went to the mat for them, every time.”

She paused, choking up. Levi’s throat ached in sympathy.

“Jonah fought for me. He took a bullet that was meant for me, and he did it without a moment’s hesitation or concern for his own safety. It’s because of his courage, his fire, that I’m standing here today. Because of his sacrifice, my children didn’t lose their mother.”

She had to stop again and close her eyes. Dominic rested a hand on Levi’s thigh; Levi covered Dominic’s hand with his own and leaned against him.

“I’ll never forget what Jonah did for me,” Martine said, opening her eyes. Though there were tears on her cheeks, her voice was steady. “As a department, as a community, we’ll never forget that he went down fighting for the life of a fellow officer. His life ended too soon, but his legacy lives on in those he inspired.” She turned to the flower-heaped casket gleaming in the sunlight. “Rest in peace, Jonah. And thank you.”

Martine stepped down. The service continued, but Levi tuned it out, bowing his head to silently mouth the words of Psalm 16. Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge . . .

The psalm was often recited at the shiva. Gibbs hadn’t been Jewish, of course, but the God Levi believed in wouldn’t care.



After the final ceremonies, the mourners began to disperse, most planning to move on to Gibbs’s wake at a nearby bar. Levi stayed in his seat, surrounded by his family, until they were the only ones remaining at the gravesite.

Martine and Antoine stopped by his chair. She knew what Levi had to do next, so Antoine probably did too.

“Will we see you at the wake?” she asked.

“I’ll be there.”

She kissed his cheek and left, bringing Leila along. Levi’s parents and Rita departed as well, promising they’d wait in the parking lot, and then Levi and Dominic were alone.

The two of them headed in the opposite direction and slipped out the cemetery’s back gate a few minutes later. Maintaining a low profile, they walked two blocks north to another cemetery-owned by the same company as Gibbs’s, but much larger and more heavily wooded.

This cemetery wasn’t hosting a famous funeral, so the gates stood open and unguarded. Jasmine, Carlos, and Adriana were waiting outside.

Adriana’s eyes were bloodshot, her nose swollen and red. Levi extended her arms, and she rushed into them with a sob, burying her face in his chest. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and held her silently while she cried.

It didn’t take long for Adriana to pull herself together. She released Levi, sniffling, and scrubbed her hands over her cheeks. Jasmine fished a pack of tissues out of her hemp messenger bag.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Levi said to Jasmine and Carlos.

“Of course. We’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Dominic kissed Levi, then moved to stand with his friends. Levi took Adriana’s hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

With another loud sniff, she nodded grimly, her other hand clutching the tissues. They walked into the cemetery together.

Natasha’s remains-what little had been left after the explosion-were buried in the far northeast corner. The flat, simple grave marker bore no name, only dates of birth and death. In the interests of preventing defacement, misplaced hero worship, and hordes of the morbidly curious, the grave’s location was a closely guarded secret. Even Ezra had declined to know where it was.

God, poor Ezra. At least Levi hadn’t been the one to break that news. After learning the truth, Ezra’d had to be placed on a psychiatric hold in the hospital to stop him from committing suicide.

The last Levi had heard, Ezra and Jack had left the state to stay with family. If they wanted any hope of a normal life, they’d have to change their names and start completely fresh so they wouldn’t be forever identified as the husband and son of America’s most prolific serial killer.

Just two more people Natasha had fucked over.

Levi and Adriana stood at the foot of the grave, gazing at it in silence. Adriana was no longer crying.

“I hate her,” Adriana said after a few minutes.

“Me too,” said Levi.

“I just don’t get it. Natasha helped me. I mean she really, truly helped me, and she didn’t have to. It wasn’t part of her job; nobody was paying her. So why did she bother? Was it all a game to her?”

“No. Natasha helped you because she wanted to.”