“Let me do my job.”

Maria kept her expression flat in the face of Ryan’s angry glare. “I can’t. Not until I feel confident that you’re recovered from the stress of your wife’s death.” She pulled her calendar toward her. “I have this same time open next Thursday.” She held out an appointment card to him, her hand in the air a full ten seconds before he took the offering.

Rising to his feet, Ryan clenched his fist around the card without looking at it. “You’re making a big mistake.”

Even though he was giving her a hard time, his gaze was so full of pain and grief, a wave of sympathy hit her.

“I’m sorry you see it that way. I believe if we work together, I can help you.”

“And if I don’t want your help?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Lieutenant.”

He gave her a look that would have made a lesser woman quail. Maria simply stared back. A second later, he stalked out. As he reached the hallway, she heard the sound of paper ripping. The scraps of her card fluttered gently to the carpet.

Dear Reader,

The Listener is the last book in the SWAT team trilogy that I wrote for Harlequin Superromance. It follows The Negotiator and The Commander. Each story has presented a different view of a SWAT team. It’s dangerous, emotional and draining work, the likes of which few “civilians” witness or understand.

This last book tells the story of Maria Worley, a psychotherapist, and Ryan Lukas, the sniper for the SWAT team.

When I started this series I knew I wanted to delve into the emotional life of a sniper. What could be more fascinating than the motivations and conflicts of a man who must take one life to protect another? Then I started to think…. What if that sniper had just suffered a tremendous personal loss? And what if the therapist who was supposed to treat him discovered she was more attracted to him than she should be? How could these people handle that kind of stress? How could they deal with all the possibilities? Just to make the story a little more interesting, I decided Maria should be a single parent, too.

I hope you enjoy reading The Listener, and I hope you find it a satisfying conclusion to THE GUARDIANS series. If you’d like to contact me, please visit my Web site, kaydavid.com, or write to me at kaydavid@kaydavid.com.

One last thing…don’t forget that May is Get Caught Reading month. Obviously, if you’re reading this, you love to read, so why not share your passion? When you finish The Listener, pass it on to a friend or a relative…or even a stranger! Reading is one of the greatest pleasures we can give ourselves, and encouraging others to “get caught reading” is a gift to them, as well.

Sincerely,

Kay David

The Listener
Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all the wonderful listeners

I’ve had the great pleasure of knowing through the years.

While some have been professional,

like Dr. Amelia Kornfeld or Max LeBlanc,

others have listened because that’s what they do best:

my mother, Pauline Cameron; my best friend,

Marilyn Amann; my husband, Pieter Luan.

We all need people to listen to us—

there’s nothing more important—

so my thanks and my love go to the people

who always have time to listen.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“DO YOU ENJOY ruining people’s lives or is it just me you have it in for?”

As he towered over her desk, Ryan Lukas’s wrath was so intense, so powerful, it filled Maria Worley’s office with an almost physical presence. She was accustomed to handling angry men, but his fury was different. Above a clenched jaw and beneath an angry frown, the black ice of his eyes revealed a storm just waiting to be unleashed.

At her.

She spoke quietly, calmly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

At her question, his expression turned fractionally darker and his mouth, already a violent slash, narrowed into a line of disbelief. He was so tightly wound the changes were subtle, but Maria was an expert at reading faces. It was her job. For the past three years she’d been the chief psychologist for the Emerald Coast SWAT team. Mainly men, the cops who were her clients were officers on the edge, trapped between their own realities and the rest of the world. They were men who didn’t know what to do with themselves or the disasters they’d become. Men who didn’t know where to turn.

Men like Ryan Lukas.

“If you put me on some kind of bogus leave, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing!” He glared at her. “I want to work and I should be working. The team needs me. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“If that’s really the case, then you can return to active duty in record time. Until then, because of the tests I conducted during your routine assessment last week and the talks we’ve had so far, I feel the need for further evaluation of your situation. As soon as I’m comfortable with your progress, I’ll release you.”

“And Lena agrees with this bullsh—”

“Lieutenant McKinney and I have discussed the matter, yes.” Lena McKinney was Ryan Lukas’s boss and commander of the SWAT team. Maria didn’t envy her the job. “Lieutenant McKinney believes, as I do, that you need some time off. That’s why she moved up your yearly evaluation. She was concerned about you and wanted me to assess you before things got out of hand. Taking everything into consideration, Lieutenant Lukas, surely you can understand the conclusion—”

“I understand one thing,” he said icily. “I understand that you’re screwing with me…and I’m going to pay the price. One way or another.”

Maria looked out her window and tried to gather her thoughts. The office faced the Gulf of Mexico, and in the distance, the sparkling water glinted. Generally she didn’t argue with her patients, but Ryan Lukas wasn’t like most of her clients. She turned back to him.

“Lieutenant Lukas, anyone who went through what you have would need to talk about it. Anyone. If you don’t believe me, look at the problems you’ve experienced lately. Emotions escape any way they can, even if it means more trouble for us. Don’t you think you should deal with these feelings in a more productive fashion?”

“I am dealing with them.” His eyes locked on hers. “My way.”

She waited for him to elaborate but he wasn’t going to—it was his way of taking control. During his initial visit, he’d sat without saying a word for more than half the session. It was the first time she’d had to break a client’s silence. She’d never been outwaited before.

“Well, your way isn’t working. Ignoring your problem is not a good solution.” She paused a moment. “And don’t try to convince me you have no feelings about what happened. That’s impossible.”

At his sides, his hands clamped into fists. She wondered if he was conscious of the movement.

“I never said I had no feelings about what happened.” He stopped for a second, then seemed to gather himself. “I do. But I don’t intend to share them with you or anyone else.”

“Even if it means your job?”

“My wife’s…situation had nothing to do with my job.”

She noted the word he used; he couldn’t even say death. It was time to be blunt.

“That’s a lie, Lieutenant, and you know that as well as I. You’re one of the most important members of the SWAT team. You have to be sharp, on your toes. What happens at home impacts your ability to think and to make decisions. Everyone understands that. Surely you do, too.”

His eyes glittered, two black sapphires, dark and hard. “Do you perform marriage counseling?”

The unexpected question took her by surprise and she answered without thinking. “Of course. That is a primary focus of my practice.”

“Are you married?”

She saw the trap too late. There was nothing to do but answer him. “No,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’m divorced. But my personal situation isn’t pertinent—”

“And neither is mine. I can do my job, just like you can.”

“That’s not a fair comparison. I don’t shoot people for a living.”

He waited a moment to reply, but somehow it felt longer to Maria. When he finally did speak, his voice was deliberate, each word distinct. “And do you have a problem with what I do?”

“You’re a valued member of the team and your job is necessary. How I feel about that is not important. What matters is how you feel about it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not relevant.”

“It is to me.”

“And why is that?”

“I need your approval. You’ve already told Lena I can’t do my job right now. If you have some kind of hang-up with what I do—”

She interrupted him, something else she rarely did with patients, her exasperation getting the upper hand over her professionalism. “Lieutenant Lukas, I assure you my evaluation of your situation will not be influenced by your position on the team. I’m paid to look at you as an individual and that’s exactly what I do. What I think about your career choice simply isn’t germane to this.”

“Then let me do my job.”

“I can’t.” She made her expression flat, her voice unequivocal. “Not until we’ve talked more and I feel confident you’ve recovered from the stress of your wife’s death.” She pulled her calendar toward her and ran a pen down the edge of one side. “I have this same time open on Thursday next week. I’d like to meet with you then, but if that’s not convenient, you can check with my receptionist on the way out for a different time. One way or the other, I want to see you in here this coming week.” She put down her pen then picked up one of her appointment cards and held it out to him, her hand in the air a full ten seconds before he finally took the offering.

Rising to his feet, he clenched the card without looking at it. “You’re making a big mistake.”

Even though he was giving her a hard time, behind his rage, his gaze was so full of pain and grief a wave of sympathy hit her. He was hurting.

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” she said quietly. “But I believe if we work together, I can help you.” She stood and held out her hand. “I really can.”

He ignored her outstretched fingers. “And if I don’t want your help?”

She dropped her hand. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Lieutenant.”

He gave her a look that would have quailed another woman’s resolve. Maria simply stared back. A second later, he pivoted sharply and stalked out. As he reached the outer hallway, she heard the sound of paper ripping. The scraps of her card fluttered gently to the carpet and then he was gone.

MARIA EDGED her five-year-old Toyota into the traffic on Highway 98 and headed west. It was the first week of May, the beginning of tourist season in Destin, and the town was already packed. Families in minivans, college kids in Beetles, retired folks in Cadillacs—everyone was on the road and trying to get somewhere else. Up until the seventies, Destin had been a sleepy little fishing village; then its clear waters and beautiful white beach had been discovsered. Now high-rises lined the shore and restaurants and shops took up the space that was left. Maria appreciated the growth, but every summer she longed for the town she’d come to fifteen years before as a wide-eyed newlywed. It’d been a lot different.

Then again, so had she.

She’d had a simple life with no child to worry about and no career to juggle. It’d been her and Reed and a rosy future…or so she’d thought. Once she’d gotten her degree and started her career, things had changed drastically. Reed didn’t care that she’d worked for years for her Ph.D. He still wanted a wife who made him the focus of her life. She’d started her practice, a practice that took time and energy away from him, and he’d left her. The only good part of their union was Christopher, their fourteen-year-old son. She loved him so much it hurt. But she worried constantly about him and whether or not she was balancing her job and motherhood successfully.

The thought brought her full circle to her newest client. Ryan Lukas. When Lena had first called Maria and set up Ryan’s initial meeting, the other woman had told Maria how he’d changed since his wife’s death. Gregarious and friendly, he’d been one of the most popular members of the team before that. The first one to arrive, Lena had said, and the last one to leave, no matter how hard the call. Now he was a loner. He did his job then disappeared.

Even without the description of his changes—even without meeting him—Maria had expected Ryan Lukas would be a difficult client. Despite her earlier denial, she did have some feelings about his position on the team. Anyone who killed people for a living—even bad people—had to be a complicated individual with complex motivations and tangled emotions. The interior life of a countersniper had to be a labyrinth few could understand.

Even taking that into consideration, something about Lukas was still very different from what she’d anticipated. A lot of her male clients hid their real emotions behind the single feeling they felt safe with—anger—but he’d gone a step further. Unable to put her finger on the exact disparity at the moment, Maria knew it’d come to her. She had an innate intuition about people and their emotions. Even as a child, she’d been supersensitive to the imbroglios that had floated through her parents’ home. Lord knew there had been plenty of feelings in the mix. Good and bad.

In the meantime, she had to figure out how to help Ryan Lukas, and she wasn’t looking forward to the job. Uncooperative clients were always a challenge. She’d have to approach him just the right way or they’d never make any progress.

She considered the problem all the way home, but twenty minutes later thoughts of the troubled sniper fled when Maria turned into her driveway. Christopher had—once again—left his expensive bicycle, which his father had purchased, smack in the middle of the approach. She couldn’t even pull into the garage. How many times had she asked Christopher to put his bike away when he got home?

She parked the car in the street, then grabbed her briefcase and started up the sidewalk to the front door. Before the divorce, Christopher had been the perfect kid, but the minute Reed had left, Chris had turned into someone different. His grades had plummeted and the boys he wanted to hang around with weren’t helping matters at all. He was distant and uncommunicative. Maria understood his conflict; he felt abandoned and left behind, and he wanted acceptance somewhere—so he’d looked to those kids. All her efforts to help him, however, had only made matters worse. Trips to the zoo, quiet time just talking, rock concerts he’d selected—she’d done everything she could think of to reconnect with him and nothing had worked. She was running out of ideas—and patience.

She unlocked the door and started yelling, something she’d never done in the past. “Christopher! Are you in here? Come down right this minute….”

Nothing but silence greeted her, the house echoing in an empty way that told her he wasn’t just hiding. She threw her briefcase on the entry table and shook off her high heels as she went into the living room. His backpack was in the middle of the rug, his jacket on the couch, an open bag of chips on the floor by the recliner.

Just like his father, she thought wearily. Reed couldn’t have picked up after himself if his life had depended on it. When he’d come home two years ago and announced he was leaving, she’d almost been relieved…but Christopher had been shattered, and Maria knew then she’d never forgive Reed for the way he’d treated their son.

A father shouldn’t do that to his kid.

She snatched up the sack of chips and then the backpack, but the nylon bag weighed a ton. For one brief second, she juggled both, then lost her grip on the backpack, a confusion of books, papers and CD cases flying from the unzipped compartments, then plummeting to the floor.

Cursing softly, Maria set the bag of chips aside and began to pick up the mess. She retrieved a library book and a battered blue notepad then reached over to get a second book. As she did so, the notebook flipped, the pages fluttering open to dislodge a folded piece of paper. Her fingers stilled when she saw what it was.

Christopher’s progress report.

From two weeks before.

It was covered with the kind of pen and pencil drawings Christopher constantly produced—a fantasy birdlike figure—but her eyes looked past them and went directly to the grades. They were lower than they’d been the last time! And the comments she could hardly believe them.

“…didn’t turn in homework. Grade: 0…”

“…not paying attention in class. Grade: 74.”

“…sloppy work and bad attitude. Grade: 60.”

But that wasn’t even the worst part. When she read the signature at the bottom of the card, she gasped out loud. Dr. Maria Worley. Her name had been scribbled poorly—in fact, it was barely legible—but apparently that was all that was needed. Every one of his teachers had checked the boxes at the bottom of the report indicating they’d seen and accepted the fake signature.

Maria rocked back on her heels, a hodgepodge of anger, shock and disappointment wiping out any other emotions. He must have intercepted the mail and pulled out the report before she’d gotten home. What on earth did he think he was doing? Had her son really believed she’d never find this out?

As soon as she had the thought, her anger turned inward. Of course, he’d assumed he could do it and get away with it. She did everything she could to stay on top of Christopher’s life, but it’d been crazy at work lately, and she’d been too involved with her own problems. She should have known it was time for his progress report and been on the lookout for it. She should have been keeping better track of the time.

She considered calling Reed then dismissed the idea immediately. He wouldn’t help. He couldn’t even admit he was part of the problem. She stood up slowly and was replacing the rest of the items in the backpack when the front door flew open and slammed into the opposite wall. Christopher’s startled eyes met hers before they dropped to the bag she still held.

“What are you doing with my stuff?” he demanded rudely.

She resisted the urge to correct his tone and tried instead to focus on staying calm. “I’m picking it up—something you should have done when you got home instead of leaving it here.”

Kicking the front door shut, he walked into the entry with the kind of bravado only a guilty kid could affect. “I was in a hurry. The guys called right after I got home and I left. I’m sorry,” he added in an offhand manner.

“I’m sure you are.” She paused. “And you’re going to be even more sorry when I ask you about this.” She held out his report.

For just a second, his brown eyes flickered with uncertainty and he was a little kid, a scared little kid. “Wh-what’s that?”

“It’s your progress report. From two weeks ago. It has a signature on it that’s supposed to be mine, but it isn’t. What do you know about this?”

It took him only a moment. “You were busy,” he said defensively. “I thought I’d help—”

“Don’t even try that, Christopher,” she said abruptly. “You should have given this to me and you know it. I can’t believe you forged my signature. What were you thinking?”

He stared at her defiantly and said nothing.

“Why did you do this? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“You’re never at home,” he snapped without warning. “You’re always working so I just did it. If you hadn’t been snooping through my bag—”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was picking up and even if I had been snooping, that’s my right. I’m your mother, Christopher, and I have the responsibility to know what’s going on with you.”

“You didn’t even know it was time for the cards. You don’t care what happens to me!”

“That’s not true! I love you and you know that! If I didn’t, why would I care what kind of grades you make?”

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand—except for a single phrase. “If Daddy was here…”

She stood stock-still. “Do you think your father would approve of this?”

He scuffed the carpet with one dirty sneaker, then looked up. “It wouldn’t have happened if he was here! He always checked my cards…and my homework, too.”

She actually opened her mouth to contradict him—Reed had never shown the slightest interest in Chris’s homework—she’d always been the one who helped him. Every night, until last year, she’d sat down with him right after dinner and gone over all of his work. When he’d announced he was too old for that, she’d hesitated, then acquiesced.

She snapped her mouth shut instead of pointing all that out. She’d made a vow when Reed left that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t criticize him in front of Christopher. She’d seen too many kids in her office, confused and upset, to visit the same grief on her son. When one parent disparaged the other, it sent a single message. “Your father is a bad person. Therefore you are, too….”

She counted to three silently and forced herself to calm down. “Well, then…checking your homework is something we’ll start doing again, you and I. Every night. All of it. Just like we did before.”

He mumbled another answer she couldn’t understand, then he tried to grab the bag from her hands. She held on to it and for just a moment, they were connected by the nylon straps. It made her think of all the ways they’d been joined before. In the womb, by holding hands, by the hugs he used to give her. Now this—a link of anger and lies.

The realization made her feel awful and her pique fled, like air suddenly released from a balloon. If she wanted to be upset with someone, it shouldn’t be Chris, it should be herself and Reed. This was all their fault. When he’d left his son behind like a old pair of shoes he no longer wanted, she should have taken up the slack. Checking out his friends, keeping track of where he went, watching over him as closely as she could…it wasn’t enough. Christopher was hurting inside and handling it like any normal fourteen-year-old boy would. With anger. The weight of responsibility she constantly carried on her shoulders got a little heavier.

She relinquished the bag with a sigh. “Christopher, this is important, okay? I understand that things aren’t the way you want them to be right now, but you can’t come up with solutions like this. It’s not acceptable.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she held up her hand and stopped him. “Tomorrow we’ll sit down and discuss this some more and I’ll decide how I’m going to handle it. I’m going to visit with your teachers, too. At the very least, you’re grounded until further notice.”

He was protesting before she even finished speaking. “That’s so not right—”

“No!” She spoke louder than she intended and he fell silent. She shook the report in her hand. “Forging my signature like this is what’s not right, and you’re going to suffer the consequences. Now go to your room and start your homework.”

His backpack bouncing behind him, he ran out of the living room and pounded up the stairs. Maria dropped to the couch and covered her face with her hands.

THE PHONE RANG shortly after eight. Maria pulled off her reading glasses and reached across her desk to answer it. She’d been going over Ryan Lukas’s report one more time, but she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t really paying attention; she was thinking instead about Christopher and wondering where she’d gone so wrong. What kind of psychologist was she if she couldn’t even control her own kid?

“Maria? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Lena McKinney’s voice reached through the fog of Maria’s thoughts and brought her back to the present. Their relationship had started out as a professional one, but it had slowly evolved into a more personal connection and Maria was glad. She admired Lena tremendously; anyone who could manage the kind of men she did possessed more psychological skills than Maria.

“No, no. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

Lena chuckled. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be, then again, who knows?” She rubbed her eyes wearily and spoke. “What’s up?”

“Well, two things, actually. I’ll give you the easy one first.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I think you can handle it. I wanted to remind you about the open house next week. You’re still coming, aren’t you? To Angel’s Attic?”

Maria drew a blank, then Lena’s words registered. She and Lena both volunteered at the local women’s shelter. Always short on funds, the home for abused women and children ran a secondhand store called Angel’s Attic but it never had enough money. To supplement the budget, a buffet dinner and auction had been planned. “Oh my gosh, the benefit! That’s next week?”

“Monday night. It’ll be at the shelter. Starts at six and everyone’s included. You can bring Chris.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Things have been so nutty around here, I had completely forgotten.”

“No problem…now for the second reason I called.” Lena paused for a moment as if gathering herself. “I wanted to know how it went with Ryan today. I’ve been worried.”

Maria remembered his angry eyes. “Well, he wasn’t happy. He thinks the leave is going to ruin his career.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’ll ruin his career if he keeps going like he has been.”

“I tried to explain that, but he wasn’t buying. He’s in complete denial about everything.” Maria twirled her glasses thoughtfully. “When you called and set up his initial appointment you mentioned something about the way he approached his job. I can’t remember exactly what you said then, but I have a feeling it was important. Can you tell me again?”

“You probably don’t remember because I didn’t know how to explain it. It might not have even made sense,” Lena answered. “The only thing I can say is that he does his job with perfection. Too much perfection.”

“He’s too perfect?”

“He’s like a robot. He hits the target every time.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Yeah,” Lena said softly. “It is. A good sniper depends on more than perfect aim. And until Ginny died, Ryan had it all—compassion, intelligence, insight—and excellent shooting. Now all he’s got is his steady hand. That bothers me.”

“He’s in a lot of pain.”

“I understand that, I really do. I knew Ginny, and I saw them together…but he’s too important to the team for me to let this pass. The decisions he makes are significant. People’s lives hang in the balance.” Lena’s voice lost the sympathy it’d held and hardened into resolve. “You’ve got a challenge in front of you, Maria, and it’s not one I envy. But something’s got to be done about him and you’re our only hope. I have to have a thinking, feeling man behind that gun, not just a machine.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE SAND was rock hard. It scoured his bare feet as he ran blindly down the beach in the midnight darkness. Anyone else would have needed more than the water’s phosphorescence to guide him, but Ryan Lukas had made this trip once a day—sometimes twice when things were really bad—for the past eighteen months; he had the route memorized. He required nothing but time. He pounded down the shore in silence, his breath contained, like everything else, in the tight rhythm he allowed himself. Forty-five minutes later, the final pier loomed, a blacker shadow. He made a wide turn and headed back, his toes sinking into the softer, wetter area that marked the edge of the surf.

Usually when he ran, his mind emptied. He ran for that very reason. Only when his body was in movement was he able to find a certain kind of peace. It wasn’t the ordinary calmness he’d known and taken for granted before but it was as close as he could get to the feeling and still be awake. For the most part, he lived outside his body. He went to work, came home, cooked his dinner…did all the things he had to without any of them registering. Only when he ran did he feel as he once had. Tonight, even that eluded him and he cursed in the darkness.

But he went on just the same.

His heart thundering, he reached the lights that marked the deck of the house he rented, right behind the dunes. He didn’t think of it as home. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It was simply the place where he slept and ate when he wasn’t at work. His gaze slid sideways toward the patio and he cursed.

As always, the dog was waiting. A full-grown German shepherd, he had the patience of a stone statue and the eyes of a sad saint. He tracked Ryan’s progress, but his stare was the only part of him that moved. He didn’t have a name because Ryan hadn’t given him one. When he got up every morning, the dog would be in the same spot in the kitchen. By the back door. Ryan would let him out and ten minutes later, he’d always return.

Ryan hated the animal. Each day, he vowed that day would be the last. He’d take the dog to the pound and forget about him. It never seemed to happen, though. Instead, Ryan would fling some kibble into the bowl in the corner then wash and fill a second one with fresh water. With quiet dignity, the animal would accept the offerings then reposition himself by the door for the rest of the day. On the rare occasions when Ryan was in the house for any length of time, the shepherd was his shadow, a silent, black presence that glided through the emptiness, always near but never touching.

Ginny had given the dog to Ryan for his birthday. The day before she’d died.

Slowing down, he jogged past the lights another hundred yards until he was finally walking instead of running. At that point he turned and splashed into the surf, his sweat-drenched body seeking the cool relief of the water.

He swam parallel to the beach, his strokes sure and steady. In the beginning, he’d always headed out, the lights of the beachfront homes shrinking as he put as much distance between himself and them as he could. Then he’d realized the danger in that. The temptation to keep going—until he couldn’t—was more than he could handle. Something deep inside him had made him stop and now he swam this way. Along the edge of the surf but not in it. Near the beach, but not too close. Out as far as he could…but not too far.

His strong broad strokes brought him quickly to the point where the lights twinkled. He stayed still and treaded the water, reluctant to get out, his mind going back to the woman he’d talked to today. Maria Worley. She obviously had no idea what she was doing to him. His anger sharpened as he thought about the leave. If he didn’t work, he wasn’t sure what would happen to him, but he knew one thing: It wouldn’t be good.

He emerged from the surf, salty rivulets running down his chest as his feet found purchase in the sand. He was halfway to the deck and the waiting dog when he paused and looked back over his shoulder. The Gulf waters called to him. He listened for a bit, then he continued to the deck, dismissing the temptation.

For now.

MARIA PULLED the Toyota up to the curb and shut off the engine, her gaze cutting across the seat to the other side of the car. Christopher was slouched down as far as he could possibly get, his earphones crammed so tightly into his ears, it looked painful. Despite that fact, the music still leaked out. Nine Inch Nails. “The Day the World Went Away,” his favorite. He probably wished it was “The Day His Mother Went Away.”

“We’re here,” she announced in a fake cheerful voice. “Let’s go.”

Pretending he couldn’t hear, he ignored her, his ploy so obvious it was might have been amusing under different circumstance. He was punishing her for the decrees she’d issued. Friday Maria had rescheduled all of her patients, spending the time instead at his school, talking to each of his teachers as they’d become available. She’d spoken to his counselor as well. Caring and thoughtful, they’d all tried to be helpful, but no one had a magic answer. As usual, Maria was on her own. Finally, after thinking about it long and hard, she’d forbidden him to go anywhere after school for the rest of the month. She’d also reinstated a rule she’d relaxed last year. He had to call her the minute he got home. He was supposed to do that before, but she’d eased up on that. No more.

He’d been so desperate to get out of the house, he’d actually agreed to come with her to Angel’s Attic. Now that they were here, Maria found herself second-guessing her decision. He was being so obnoxious she almost wished he’d stayed home. At least then she’d be able to have a good time.

She shook her head at her thoughts—what kind of mother was she?—then reached over and patted his arm. He turned to look at her and she nodded toward the house. “We’re here.”

He opened his car door without speaking and climbed outside.

With a sigh, Maria followed and they headed up a sidewalk already growing crowded. Someone had strung a line of Japanese lanterns along the railing of the front porch and in the warm spring evening, their lights twinkled brightly. They were miles from the expensive beachfront subdivisions but the air held a sea breeze all the same. Maria’s eyes went over the guests. They ranged from previous tenants of the shelter to cops to a group of teachers who helped run the home for battered women.

As Christopher headed for a side yard where a pickup game of basketball was taking place, Maria made her way to the dozen or so tables that held the auction items. Displayed were a variety of things that would be sold to raise money for the shelter, including a fishing excursion, dinner for two at the Marina Café and a hundred dollars worth of groceries from Delchamps, the local grocery store. It would be a silent auction; people had already filled out slips and left them in baskets by the items. The winning bids would be announced after dinner. Maria walked slowly down the line trying to decide. A full day at the new spa for her or two-hour Jet Ski lesson for Christopher? Maria reached for the slip in front of the Jet Ski offering just as Lena walked up.

“Hey! I didn’t know you liked to ride those things!” Lena smiled and nodded toward the photo of the purple-and-yellow Jet Ski on the table. “I’ve got one. I’ll teach you how to use it anytime you want.”

Maria returned Lena’s smile then acknowledged Andres, her husband, who waited patiently beside her. They’d had a few problems before their marriage last year, but they seemed so happy and contented now, Maria felt a sudden touch of envy. She and Reed had never stood that way, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, their eyes meeting frequently with silent messages that told everyone how much they really loved each other.

“This is for Chris,” Maria said, holding up the ticket. “But if I win, things would have to change before he could even think about redeeming it.”

Lena smiled sympathetically as Andres made a clucking sound. “What’s the problem, chica?”

Andres was Cuban, and the Spanish term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease.

Maria shook her head. “Let’s just say if he continues as is, he’s going to show up on the Most Wanted list for forgery.”

“Uh-oh…that sounds bad.”

Maria nodded her agreement to Lena’s pronouncement just as someone across the room called to Andres. He excused himself and headed off and the two women turned back to each other.

“You know why Chris is doing all this, don’t you?” Lena asked.

“Of course, I do. He’s mad because his father left him,” Maria said. “I know why—I just don’t know what to do about it.” She made a noise that was half frustration, half resignation. “I feel so helpless sometimes. All this training, all my degrees…and I’m an utter klutz when it comes to my own kid.”

Lena squeezed her arm softly. “Haven’t you heard that old saying about the cobbler’s kids going without shoes?”

“Maybe that is the case. All I know is that I love him, but I don’t know how to handle him.” She gave Lena the details of the forged signature and the punishment she’d leveled. “I couldn’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s never done anything like that before. Never.”

Lena looked thoughtful for a moment. “The kids he’s hanging out with—do you know who they are?”

“I’ve met some of them. They’re not really the kind of friends I’d like him to have.”

“Give me their names,” Lena said. “The juvie guys know all the troublemakers and I’d be happy to ask. Let’s see if they’re on the list of bad boys or just regular, annoying kids.”

“That would be terrific,” Maria said gratefully. “I’ve talked to as many of the parents of his friends as I can, but it seems like there’s never enough time. I still haven’t met some of them. I’d love to know more.”

“No problem,” Lena said. “It shouldn’t take any time at all.”

They finished going down the line of auction items after that, Maria feeling somewhat more hopeful. It wasn’t until after dinner and they were all ready to leave that Lena pulled her aside.

“I just wanted you to know I talked with Ryan this morning. We went over the terms of his leave. I’ve given him office duty for six weeks. If he’s made some progress at that point, then I’ll reconsider the situation and put him back on active status.”

“Six weeks?” Maria frowned. “I thought I suggested a month.”

“You did,” Lena replied. “But I think he needs more time than that. I’d rather err on this side than on the other, if you know what I mean.”

“He must not have liked that….” And she’d hear about it Thursday, too. He’d come in primed, she was sure, if he even kept his appointment. “What did he say?”

“Not much. I could see he was boiling on the inside, but he’s got too much discipline to let it out.”

“And that’s part of the problem.” Maria felt sorry for him before she could stop herself. Her reaction was unexpected; usually she detached herself from the problems of her patients. She had to—helping them required that she see their situations objectively. Psychologists who didn’t frequently ended up in another career or went nuts themselves. Why she felt differently about Ryan Lukas, she couldn’t say.

“He’s keeping all his emotions bottled and trying to deny them,” she explained. “The end result isn’t good. It’ll lead to a meltdown.”

Lena nodded, her worried gaze holding Maria’s. “Do you think you can help him?”

Maria answered “I hope so,” and Lena nodded, walking off a second later with her arm linked inside Andres’s. As Maria watched them leave, though, she wondered if she had told Lena the truth. Some of the cops who came through her office were past helping. They’d seen too much, done too much…lost too much. She hoped Ryan Lukas wasn’t one of them.

But she suspected he might be.

HE’D HAD ENOUGH.

After two full shifts of office duty, Ryan knew he’d never make it six weeks. No way. Every day was torture, every hour an endurance test. How did people do it, he asked himself, his eyes blurring as he studied the report in front of him. How could they just sit like this, at a desk, in an office, hour after hour, day after day…year after year?

When the crawling hands of the clock reached 4:00 p.m., he couldn’t stand it another minute. He grabbed his jacket, mumbled an excuse to the sergeant at the front desk, and charged out of the building to drive home. Which was an even bigger mistake.

The dog met him at the door, the house as silent as a tomb.

Ryan pushed past the animal and dropped his coat on the kitchen table. At the refrigerator, he pulled out a can of cold beer, popped the tab and managed one swallow before a beeping sound broke the quiet. His pager. He stared at it, frustration rolling over him in a wave as he realized what had happened. A call for the team. And he wouldn’t be there. He cursed and the dog whined softly, answering him.

Ryan ripped the pager from his belt and tossed it to the tiled counter where it slid upside down until it hit the toaster at the other end. He then strode into the bedroom, peeling his clothes off as he went. In a matter of minutes, he was outside on the deck, stretching his calves and trying not to think. The dog padded past him to sit at the top of the stairs.

The running did no good. In the days since he’d seen the good Dr. Worley, the physical activity had come to help him less and less. Halfway down, he simply gave up and returned to the house. Collapsing on the deck, he found himself eye to eye with the dog.

A confusion of thoughts swirled through his mind as he stared into the German shepherd’s black eyes.

“To hell with it…” Ryan finally said. “What are they gonna do? Put me on leave?”

He got up and stomped into the house, the screen door banging behind him as he made his way to his bedroom. Nabbing a fresh T-shirt from the chest, he peeled off the sweaty one he’d been running in and thrust his arms into the clean one. Another minute and he was in his truck heading back to town. It took a while for him to find the address still flashing on his beeper, but when he got close, the red and blue lights led him the rest of the way.

He slowed his truck and turned into a side street, catching a glimpse of the War Wagon down another. Along with the surveillance gear it contained, the enormous customized Winnebago was equipped with every high-tech communication device known to man. The team used the equipment to stay in touch with each other and to reach the station during a call-out. More than a single bullet hole on the side explained how it’d been used for cover once or twice as well.

Three black and whites—the arriving officers probably—had the nearest routes barricaded. Ryan eased his truck to the curb just outside their line of sight. Despite his pronouncement to the dog, there was no need to deliberately aggravate anyone.

He looked around as he climbed out of the truck. The area wasn’t one that generated a lot of calls. An industrial park made up mostly of warehouses and loading docks, the complex was located on the outskirts of town. He couldn’t remember having ever received a call from here, and now he understood why. The place was empty. There were no tenants in any of the buildings. An air of desertion hung over the entire area.

A sudden movement near one of the black and whites caught his eye. An older man wearing the uniform of a security guard bent over as he talked to the officers inside the car. He’d probably been the one to call in. But what in the hell was going on? Ryan realized too late he should have taken the time to listen to his radio before jumping in the truck and driving over here. The awareness of what he’d done—acting so impulsively—suddenly registered. Where had his deliberateness gone? His careful thinking? He never did anything without much consideration, but the boredom and agony of sitting all day had brought him to this.

Thanks, Dr. Worley, he thought bitterly. If it weren’t for you, I’d know what the hell had happened and I wouldn’t be standing here like some ignorant kid, gawking instead of helping.

The thought barely had time to register when a shot rang out.

Ryan fell to the pavement automatically, the truck his only protection. A second report registered almost immediately, the sound coming from somewhere inside the complex. Ryan chanced another look toward the clump of buildings. He couldn’t see any team members, but he didn’t expect to. If they were doing their job right, they were already in place, as silent and invisible as ghosts. He lifted his gaze to the roofs of the nearest buildings. There were no easy holes, he thought. No place Lena could have put a shooter without someone seeing him take his place. He looked a little closer, though, and then…there!…right by the fourth building on the left. He caught a glint of metal, the hint of the slightest movement. No one else but Ryan would have seen it, and his gut tightened as he realized what it meant. It had to be Chase Mitchell, the countersniper for Team Alpha.

Ryan spoke Maria’s name like a curse. He should have been up on that hot, humid roof. It should have been him doing the job, not Chase.

When the third shot sounded, Ryan was prepared. Listening closely, he cataloged the popping noise, relaxing as he did so. He wouldn’t have bet his life on it, but he was ninety-nine percent sure he’d just heard an air rifle go off and nothing more. Peeking around the edge of his tire, he caught sight of the security guard and two uniformed officers. The excited gestures of the older man led Ryan to the obvious conclusion. This is what had brought out the team. The old guy had heard something or seen something, then the uniforms had shown up and shots had been fired.

As soon as Ryan had figured it out, the situation appeared to be over. The front door of the nearest building banged open. Sliding cautiously up from his spot behind the vehicle, Ryan looked over at the building. Three men wearing black came out. He squinted in the dying sunlight and made out their faces—Peter Douglas and John Fletcher, two of the rear-entry men, and J. L. LeBlanc, a front entry officer. In between their cordon was a figure in jeans and a T-shirt.

From his long distance vantage point, Ryan couldn’t tell much more, but their body language confirmed his initial assessment. No one looked too nervous, and in fact, when Peter said something into the headset microphone the team members wore, he grinned as he spoke. He wouldn’t have done that if there had been a serious gun involved. The three officers walked the suspect to the black and white and a few minutes later, the uniforms took off with their shooter in the back seat. Ryan caught a quick glimpse as the car sped by. The only thing visible was a blond head hanging down—a young kid headed in the wrong direction, in more ways than one.

Ryan stuck around for another half hour, but there wasn’t anything else to see. What he did witness—the team gathering around the War Wagon for their debriefing—only made him wish more that Maria Worley would take a flying leap off the top of her office building and land in the Gulf. Ryan thought briefly of storming up to the Winnebago in defiance, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Lena would kick his ass all the way back to the office and he’d look like a fool.

Finally, after a bit more useless watching, he trudged back to his truck and climbed inside, the summer sun fading, as it could sometimes do, seemingly within an instant. In that moment—in that quick second between light and total darkness—he happened to look west, directly into the glare, and a movement caught his attention. He blinked, then blinked again, holding his hand up to shade his eyes against the blinding rays.

He saw nothing but the orange ball of the sun against a glowing sky and finally decided he had imagined the motion. Then he saw it again. A small figure behind one of the warehouses, a black baseball cap on his head, a blue backpack hanging off one shoulder. Ryan’s breath stopped in response, the adrenaline flowing before he assessed the situation. It was just a kid, he realized, a kid watching the action just as Ryan had been doing. As Ryan watched, the youngster turned around and loped away. A few minutes after that, Ryan left the scene as well, the bitter taste of exclusion his primary sensation.

He was sitting on the deck after midnight when the question finally hit him.

How had a kid gotten to a deserted warehouse so far out on the edge of town?

He reached for his cell phone he’d brought to the deck out of habit, but before he could finish dialing the number, he stopped, his fingers growing still. If he told Lena what he’d seen, she’d be pissed because he was there. She might even add more time to his “sentence.” Chances were, the kid’s appearance meant nothing anyway. Ryan had passed a trailer park a mile or so before the complex. The boy had probably walked over from there to see what all the excitement was about. He ought to be home studying instead, Ryan mused. Why did he even care?

Why did Ryan?

Dropping the phone, Ryan answered himself. He was off active duty now. It didn’t matter what he thought about the case. He was out of the picture. Leaning his head back into the recliner, he stared at the endless black sky above him. He could see Ginny’s face in the stars and for one crazy minute he even thought he smelled her perfume. Cursing to himself, Ryan closed his eyes. Beside him, the dog sighed softly, then settled in to wait.

CHAPTER THREE

MARIA ADJUSTED the fresh tulips and freesias that sat on the corner of her desk—for the third time that morning. The fussing was pointless, but she had to do something and she didn’t want to look at her watch again. If she did, she’d only get more angry than she was already. After a second, she gave up and looked anyway. It was twenty-five past the hour.

She stood suddenly and crossed to the window. A summer storm was threatening to move in, with billowing clouds hovering over the water, turning the green sea into a metallic gray. She watched a line of sailboats head for the marina and thought about Ryan Lukas. She’d been pretty sure he wasn’t going to show up for his appointment, but the inconsiderateness still irked her. She could have used the time to meet with Chris’s counselor again. She’d wanted to have a follow-up meeting this week, but because of her schedule had been unable to do so. How much trouble would it have been for Ryan to pick up the phone and call her?

She was kidding herself, of course. Ryan Lukas wasn’t going to acknowledge her in any way; to do so would mean facing his problem, admittedly in a minor fashion, but even that was more than he could handle. Full and complete denial was his only mode of operation at this point.

Her aggravation fled as the observation registered. Ryan needed help and needed it now. He was aching inside and didn’t know how to ease the hurt.

She turned away from the glass and buzzed the receptionist. “Sher, I’m going to make a call. If my 3:00 p.m. comes in, would you beep me on the other line?”

“Sure thing.” Sherlyn Eliot was a cheerful motherly type who handled all the calls for the five therapists who shared Maria’s suite. “He’s the hunky one, right? Lieutenant Lukas. I remember him.”

“Uh…right. Lieutenant Lukas.”

Maria put the receiver down, the woman’s words ringing in her mind. She never saw her patients as anything other than patients. Ethics demanded this, and in addition, Maria had simply stopped looking at men after she’d married. She’d considered herself out of the race, and for all the reasons every single woman understood, she hadn’t bothered to start looking again.

She wasn’t about to change that, either. With Christopher’s problems and her stressful workload, a man was the last complication Maria needed. Especially someone with an emotional life as tangled as Ryan Lukas’s. Even if he wasn’t a client, he’d never be the kind of person she’d date. The one man she’d seen since her divorce had proved to be such a disaster she need only remember him for encouragement—he’d wanted free therapy, not a real relationship.

Having been there for Maria then, she could imagine what Jackson would think about Lukas. He’d roll over and die, she was sure.

With that thought, she lifted the phone again and speed dialed his number. Jackson Maxwell had been her therapist and consultant on various cases for the past ten years. Now they were best friends. He always listened with a neutral ear and guided her toward the right decisions without actually telling her what to do. It was a skill not too many people had, but Jackson had perfected the art. And Maria loved him for it.

“Powell’s Antiques.” Richard Powell, Jackson’s partner, answered the phone on the first ring. He and Jackson had been together for twenty-five years and when Jackson had retired from his practice, Richard had immediately recruited him into his business. Claiming forced labor, Jackson had complained, but Maria knew deep down he’d actually been scared. Leaving the profession he’d loved and having spare hours to fill could be a frightening prospect. She wasn’t sure how well the arrangement was going, but personally, she couldn’t imagine having all the time in the world to do whatever caught her fancy. She’d always had more work, at the office and at home, than she could handle.

“Richard, this is Maria. Is Jackson around by any chance?”

“Maria! He’s supposed to be here somewhere, but I swear he’s hiding. I told him to dust the crystal vases in the back room and he disappeared.”

Maria laughed. “I’d disappear, too, if you told me that. Last time I was in there you pointed to one and said ‘Twenty thousand.’ That’d scare off anyone!”

“Well, we’ll be drowning in crystal if someone doesn’t get back there and clean it up so I can sell it. Just a minute, though, I’ll see if I can unearth him….”

She heard him drop the phone and yell Jackson’s name. A few seconds later, an extension clicked on, Jackson’s voice coming out in a whisper. “Come save me, Maria! I swear to God, he’s driving me crazy…. Is this really what he does all day?”

Maria laughed again. “You wanted a new life,” she warned. “This is what you got.”

“I’m ready to go back to the crazy people, then. Do you want a partner?”

“Maybe we could work out a deal…. What do you think about switching with me? You take my whole life and I’ll take yours.”

“Is Christopher part of the package?” Jackson and her child had always been close; Christopher was the son Jackson didn’t have. “I might consider a switch if he comes with the deal.”

“I don’t think you’ll feel that way after you hear why I’m calling.”

With as little fanfare as possible, she told Jackson what had happened. “I don’t understand what’s going on with him,” she concluded.

“He misses his daddy.”

“I know that.”

“And he feels abandoned.”

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem? Cut the little guy some slack, for God’s sake!”

“You don’t understand.” Sighing heavily, she realized her mistake; Jackson would defend Chris as staunchly as he could. “You haven’t seen him for a few months, Jackson. It’s not just the grades—he’s changed. He won’t talk to me at all and when he does, his attitude is surly. And the music he listens to…you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Do you think he’s doing drugs?”

“No.” If there was one thing she was sure of, it was this. “We’ve had a lot of discussions about drugs and he’s always talking about the ‘stupid’ kids he knows who do that.”

“Things can change.”

“Of course,” she agreed, “but not that. I’m sure.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. But he doesn’t talk back.”

“Then you’re going to have to find another route. You’ve got to get the lines of communication open, Maria. That’s the key.”

Frustration filled her voice…and her heart. “I know,” she said. “But what I don’t know is how.”

“Bring him out here. He and I have always seen eye to eye. Maybe he’ll talk a bit to me and that’s all it’d take.”

The suggestion immediately sounded like a good one, but Maria hesitated. “Are you sure? He’s not exactly fun to be around….”

“Neither am I right now,” Jackson snorted. “We’ll get along just fine. Bring him out.”

They talked about the situation a few more minutes and Maria ended up promising Jackson that she and Chris would visit soon. Just before they finished, almost as if by afterthought, she spoke casually. “By the way, I’ve got a new client who seems interesting…or at least I should have a new client. He’s the countersniper for the SWAT team. He didn’t show up for his appointment today.”

“The countersniper? That should be a fascinating brain to examine. Wait just a minute….” She heard the sound of a paper rustling. “I see him,” Jackson said over the noise. “The team’s photo is in the Log today. Something about a rally they’re holding.”

Maria walked from behind her desk to a table by the window, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear. She’d brought the local newspaper, the Destin Log, with her this morning and stuffed it into her briefcase, hoping to scan it at lunch. Lena had already told Maria about the event—and was holding tickets for her at the station. Maria reached into the case and brought out the paper.

“Page five,” he said.

She quickly flipped to the proper page. The photo was front and center, and Ryan Lukas’s face immediately jumped out at her. Except for Beck Winters, a blond giant who was the team’s former negotiator, Ryan was the tallest person in the photograph. Dressed in the black uniform of the team, his hair ruffled in the wind, he wore a stony expression.

Maria realized without warning that Sher’s description had been accurate. Ryan Lukas was a hunk. Dark hair, compelling eyes, a body ready for anything.

Jackson’s words jarred her. “He does look the part, doesn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got a thousand-yard stare, for one thing. But for another…”

“But for another…what?”

“Just something about him, that’s all. He looks like trouble.”

“That’s what he’s been so far. He’s certainly not been too cooperative in session.”

“How’d he get in therapy?”

Maria gave him a brief case description, including the death of Ryan’s wife. She and Jackson consulted on so many of her cases they almost had a special language of their own to describe clients.

“I guess that explains everything,” Jackson said after she finished. His voice changed slightly. “You sound as if you’re worried. Don’t you think you can handle him?”

Not surprised by his perception, Maria started to answer then stopped. She was more worried about Ryan Lukas than she should have been. She spoke slowly. “I think he’s in a lot of pain but he’s made it clear he doesn’t want my help. I guess I just hate to see anyone suffer like that.”

“It’s nothing else?”

“Why do you ask?”

A slight silence built. Jackson finally broke it. “You aren’t thinking of mounting a rescue attempt, are you?” He chuckled then. “So to speak…”

It took her a minute to understand. “No, God…Jackson, it’s nothing like that. I’m not attracted to him, in any way.”

“He’s a handsome man.”

“He’s a client,” she protested at once. “And that’s all he is. And all he will be, I assure you.”

Jackson took a second too long to answer and she realized her mistake. She was being too defensive. Jackson might be retired but his clinical radar was still intact. He’d think she was covering something up. He started to come back at her, but she said goodbye and hung up quickly. She didn’t have the time to explain, she told herself later. Her evasiveness had nothing to do with Lieutenant Lukas being so attractive. Nothing at all.

RYAN SPENT the weekend doing household chores and trying to read the latest David Lindsey novel. By the time Monday rolled around he was actually glad to see it even though it meant another torturous day at the desk. Heading into the station that morning, he thought again about the kid he’d seen at the call-out last week. He hadn’t said anything to Lena and still didn’t intend to, yet something about the incident continued to bug him.

His mind was focused on a blue backpack and a black baseball cap when he rounded the corner to see Maria Worley in the corridor.

She was standing next to Lena and she had on a dark-gray suit with some kind of silky blouse beneath the jacket. Ryan knew little about women’s clothing, but the way it flattered her figure meant the outfit had to be expensive. Snuggled against one hip, she held a black leather notebook. As he watched the two women talk, Maria lifted her right hand and absentmindedly tucked a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. The movement was graceful and fluid, full of the kind of femininity he had once appreciated seeing in a woman. Once.

He wasn’t conscious of it, but he must have made some kind of noise. Both of them looked up. He met Maria’s eyes and ignored Lena. As she recognized him, the doctor’s gaze went from startled to wary.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” she said in a neutral voice. “How are you this morning?”

He ignored her question. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

Lena held up a warning hand. “Ryan, don’t start—”

Maria cut her off. “It’s all right, Lena. Let him talk.”

Her support, even as insignificant as it was, made Ryan angrier, although he would have been at a total loss if asked to explain why.

“Well?” he continued rudely before she could say more. “What are you doing here? Ruining someone else’s career or just bad-mouthing me?”

“Actually I came by to pick up my tickets for the rally this weekend. I also stopped to tell Lieutenant McKinney that you failed to make your appointment last week.” She looked at him coolly. “Which concerns me greatly.”

“These sessions are mandatory, Ryan.” Lena spoke sternly. “If you don’t intend to keep them, then we need to talk—”

“My appointment?” Ignoring Lena, he stared at Maria and drew a complete blank.

“I gave you a card the day you were in my office. It had the date and time of our next scheduled conference, which happened to be last Thursday but you never showed up.” She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “I’m assuming something important must have kept you?”

For one long second, all he did was stare at her. She had brown eyes, he saw now, and they were deep and dark. She would never believe him if he told her he had completely forgotten about the appointment, but he had. A glimmer of remorse, which he immediately ignored, shot through him.

“I was busy,” he said abruptly. “I couldn’t make it.”

“I charge for missed appointments.”

“So send me a bill.”

Lena sighed loudly. “The department will take care of it, Ryan, but in the future—”

He shot her a warning look. “I understand.”

“Good. I’ll expect to see proof of that shortly.” She turned without another word and disappeared into the office behind them. The door clicked firmly as she shut it. Too firmly. That wasn’t a good sign, but Ryan didn’t care.

Maria made no effort to move. He wondered what she was waiting for, then she spoke and he wished he’d made his escape when he’d had the chance.

“When can you come in?” Her voice was crisp as she opened her notebook. “I have the Thursday after the rally open again. Is that convenient?”

“No.” He had no intention of letting this woman probe his brain. “It’s not.”

“Then when?”

“I’ll let you know after I look at my schedule.” He started to walk off, then he felt a hand, light as a bird’s wing, brush his arm before dropping. Surprised, he turned back.

“Lieutenant Lukas…” Two lines had formed across her forehead. It gave her an air of concern he didn’t believe for a minute. “You’re facing an emotional crisis and you need help. Forgetting these appointments—”

“I didn’t forget it,” he said. “I was busy.”

Conceding the point even though both of them knew better, she nodded slowly. “Well, then not making time for these sessions is a symptom of how strong your denial really is. You can’t continue in this fashion.”

“I can do anything I damn well please.”

“Not and keep your job.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Her expression stayed calm and even in the midst of his anger, Ryan marveled that she could be so cool. He was doing everything he could to annoy her, but it wasn’t working. Her collected demeanor almost made him envious. He’d been that way once.

“I’m not threatening you at all,” she said quietly. Her expression shifted and this time he couldn’t deny the apparent genuineness of her attitude. Either she really cared, or she was the best damn actress this side of Hollywood.

“You’re a grown man and you can screw up your life any way you want to. But you need help and I can provide it. It’s what I do and I do it well.” She surprised him by smiling slightly. “Lieutenant Lukas, neither of us has a choice here. If you want to keep your job, you have to come talk to me. And if I want to keep mine, I need to listen. It’s really that simple.”

Just as quickly as it’d come, her smile disappeared. From the side pocket of her notebook she pulled out another card, carefully wrote something on it and handed it to him. “That’s an appointment for next week,” she said, businesslike. “I suggest you work your schedule around it, instead of the other way around.”

She turned and walked quickly down the hall—so quickly he could say nothing more. She was persistent, that was for sure.

He looked down at the card she’d given him. She’d printed out the date and time, her handwriting as neat and streamlined as she was, the letters extending above the printed line exactly where they were supposed to be.

Thursday. 3:00 p.m. On the side, she’d scribbled something else. He had to turn the card sideways to read the words.

No excuses.

RYAN TRIED to concentrate the rest of the day but Maria Worley’s image kept interrupting. He fought the dark hair and brown eyes each time they disrupted his train of thought. He didn’t want to think about her. For some crazy reason, it made him feel as if he were being unfaithful to Ginny. Leaning back in his chair, he put his hands behind his head and stared out into the parking lot. The sun was hot and strong, beating into the asphalt and sending shimmers of waves along the blackened surface. He followed their path until they disappeared in the distance.

But could she be right?

Was he heading for disaster?

He immediately dismissed the questions, telling himself he was letting Maria’s sympathetic manner and warm smile get to him. He was fine. He’d been at the range the day before and never missed once. The heart of his paper target had been shredded in seconds, the one-inch circle gone in a puff of smoke. Yet somehow Maria Worley, and her questions, wouldn’t leave him alone.

Everything else aside, he couldn’t deny the logic of her argument. Lena could keep him behind this damned desk until eternity if she wanted to…and she wouldn’t have any qualms about doing so, either. Despite how her obstinacy affected him, he had to admit it was one of the qualities about his boss he appreciated. She was a stand-up person who believed in right and wrong, no matter how tough the situation. He’d watched her face off with men twice her size and mean as hell. Every time, she’d won.

Something told him Maria Worley might be just as stubborn.

But they were both wrong, dammit! He was fine, and furthermore, he didn’t need to talk to anybody about what had happened. Ginny was gone, he was alone, and nothing he could do would bring her back. His throat tightened and burned. That was it. End of story.

With an angry, muttered curse, he turned to the file before him, his front chair legs hitting the floor with a screech. The report was on last week’s situation. The one he’d spied on.

Flipping past the paperwork that meant nothing but was always required, he found the on-site notes Lena had taken during the actual confrontation. He skimmed them quickly and saw that his immediate impression had been right on target.

Hearing shots and voices coming from inside the abandoned buildings, the security guard had phoned the local police department. The arriving officers had investigated as much as they could, then had requested support. They couldn’t penetrate the interior of the buildings without being seen. Lena had issued the call, her notes indicating she’d initially ordered a skeleton crew only. That told him a lot; she hadn’t been too concerned but had not wanted to blow it off, either.

He skipped over the minute-by-minute account and found the sheet on the perp. He was only fifteen, and the gun had been the air rifle that Ryan had thought it was. The case was headed for juvie court.

Then something else caught his eye.

Peter Douglas had gone into the building after it had been secured and cleared. Sweeping for evidence, he’d found nothing but half a dozen empty CO2 cartridges, five cigarette butts and two crushed beer cans. He also listed some “miscellaneous drawings,” at the end of the report. It had all been checked into evidence.

Ryan tapped his pencil on top of the desk and reread the last line. “Miscellaneous drawings.” What the hell did that mean? It was probably nothing, but the description bothered him and for no reason other than that, Ryan headed down the hall to the evidence room.

Ten minutes later, he had the box in his hand. Pushing aside the various plastic bags, he came to a larger one with several sheets of crumpled paper inside. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves then opened it up, removing the sheets and smoothing them so he could get a better look.

They were covered with pencil sketches, the same image depicted over and over. It took him a minute to recognize the stylized birdlike shape and another five to puzzle out where he’d first seen the form. When he did recall, he whistled softly to himself, not understanding fully, but understanding enough.

The drawings were identical to one Maria Worley had framed and hung behind her desk.

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