"At least a little buzzed?"

"Well, yeah, I can feel something. It was just one beer, though."

"Perfect. Get your rifle."

"What?"

"Get your rifle out."

Jacob marched toward the shed, unlocked a padlock, and disappeared inside. Kathryn retrieved her Remington from the truck. She heard a switch being thrown, releasing electricity, and suddenly there was light at the far end of the field. A small row of lights illuminated targets at the hundred-yard mark.

Jacob emerged from the shack and said, "Let's go. Bring everything you'd need for a call-out. Let's move."

Kathryn grabbed a large camo bag holding the rest of her gear and joined Jacob. There was a worn area in the gra.s.s and weeds just beyond the shed where people obviously laid to shoot. It was some other type of range, but a range nonetheless.

"Okay, fire it up. I need you to shoot a cold barrel shot at target one on the left and a three-round group at target two on the right. Clear?"

"No, not clear. You want me to shoot after I've been drinking? Isn't there a policy about-"

"f.u.c.k policy. You say you're okay to drive and only feel a little buzzed. You need to shoot."

Kathryn, thinking she had latched on to the point of all of this, said, "No. I've had a beer. I won't do it."

She sat her bag and her rifle case down on the ground and folded her arms.

"Oh, I see."

"What? You're trying to check my ethics or something? I'm not shooting. I've had a beer. That's all there is to it."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

Jacob leaned back into the shed and the lights went out at the other end. He locked the padlock on the shed.

"I'll tell Cowell tomorrow, and you'll go back to entry team or off SWAT completely based on his decision." He walked by her. "We're done here, you can go."

"Whoa, whoa! What the f.u.c.k? I'm out? Just like that? You f.u.c.king a.s.shole. You set me up. You are not going to bully me into doing something I know isn't right."

"No bullying here. I can't use you."

"Why not?! 'Cause I'm not willing to risk my career on your bulls.h.i.t?"

"It's not bulls.h.i.t, and frankly, I'm disappointed. I actually thought you were coming right along, but you clearly have no idea what you're getting yourself into. So I need to move on to a new trainee."

She darted around him and stood in front of him. He just stared at her. She s.n.a.t.c.hed his truck keys from his hand, then pitched them into the darkened field.

"You will talk to me. What is going on here? You're married and invite me out for a drink? On a date? And you question my ethics?"

"Jesus. I didn't mean it was a 'date' date. It's just a phrase. I'm sorry you thought otherwise."

Now she was infuriated and embarra.s.sed, blushing wildly.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind retrieving my keys."

"I do mind. What is this? What is going on here?"

Jacob sighed.

"When you drink, how much do you drink? A beer a night? Two?"

"You a.s.shole. I hardly drink at all and usually it's only one beer or one gla.s.s of wine. Okay?"

"Okay. You feel buzzed now from the beer?"

"I told you, just a little. But it's mostly eclipsed by anger."

"So, if we had a call-out right now, this second, would you respond to the alert?"

"Of course I would."

"Then don't you think you ought to at least see how well you shoot when you've had some alcohol? Or were you planning on never drinking again?"

She just stared at him, uncertain. It took a minute, but the shoe finally dropped. Kathryn realized what he was teaching her. The "date." Him making sure she had alcohol in her system.

"I get it."

"If you do this, you have to commit to it as a lifestyle. You have to learn your limits with alcohol, sleep deprivation, freezing temperatures, being sick, all of it. And you have to live within those limits every moment of every day. Otherwise, you might as well go back to patrol where you clock in and clock out and your free time is yours to do with whatever you want."

Kathryn's shoulders sagged under the weight of this unforeseen commitment. She looked away as she absorbed what he was saying.

"It's twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five on my side of the fence. There is no 'off' time. You have to learn your limits and behave accordingly. I wanted you just a little buzzed. Most cops will admit to at least one beer at the end of their shift. So you need to see if you can still perform and how well you perform under those circ.u.mstances."

Kathryn looked at him. Her eyes weary.

"Holy s.h.i.t. I get it."

"Yeah. Holy s.h.i.t is right."

Kathryn turned to the darkened field, her back to Jacob. They stood in silence for a moment. Then she straightened up, lifted her shoulders. She pulled out a Mini Maglite flashlight and turned it on. She walked into the field, found Jacob's keys, and tossed them to him.

"Fire it back up, I'm in."

She turned and headed for her rifle.

Jacob moved to the shed, unlocked it, and fired up the lights again. Kathryn got her rifle out and dropped into position.

She said, "Cold barrel, left target, three-round group, right target?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She put ear plugs in and sank down into her rifle. Jacob put plugs in as well.

She fired. A crack in the darkness. Then slowly, methodically, three more shots crack, crack, crack.

She stared through her scope for a moment and a.s.sessed her performance. She seemed pleased. Jacob crossed to her.

"Let me see."

She stood up and handed him her rifle. He brought it up and quickly checked her shots through the scope.

"Look again," he said, and handed the rifle back to her. "And yes, I see you got two in the same hole."

She smiled.

"You smile when all three are in the same hole."

"Understood."

"You've had some alcohol, so I've no doubt you are on your way to all three in the same hole all right. Look how close your group is to your cold barrel shot."

Kathryn looked and was pleased but wasn't sure if she should show it.

"Go ahead and smile. Excellent job tonight."

And nothing followed. No rebuke, just the compliment.

"Just one last thing." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable Breathalyzer unit. She gave him a you're kidding look but quickly shook it off. Jacob Denton was not one to kid. She took in a breath and blew into the unit. It beeped after several seconds.

Jacob stared at the digital readout, then looked at his watch.

"It's been forty-five minutes since your last drink. The legal limit for driving is .08. You blew a .02."

She smiled broadly. As much in relief as anything else.

"So I'd say one is your max. What do you say?"

"I say, yes, sir."

Jacob smiled. Just a little. "Don't call me sir."

He put the Breathalyzer back in his pocket and went back into the shed. Suddenly the entire field lit up. To Kathryn, it looked like a junkyard at first. An abandoned car. Seemingly random construction debris. Castoffs.

"Welcome to Phase Two."

Kathryn smiled widely as she started to make sense out of the menagerie before her. She saw an old car, but with all its gla.s.s in place. The construction materials in another spot actually formed a small office cubicle. Farther down were walls with doorways and windows to practice breaching.

Simulations of situations they might encounter, right down to racks of shelves piled with rocks, though they could easily be the stocked shelves of a convenience store.

Suddenly it all went dark again. Jacob exited the shed and locked up.

"I think that's enough for one day. What do you think?"

"I think I want to kick your a.s.s."

"Perfect. Pack up. We're done for tonight."

Kathryn stared back at the field of fun she had glimpsed so briefly and then whimpered like a pup denied a toy.

"I know, I know. We'll come back, I promise."

Kathryn laughed for the first time that night. f.u.c.kin'Denton was finally starting to make sense.

Jill arrived home to a dark house. Even though she knew Jacob's schedule and that tonight was the night of the fabled alcohol test, she frowned at the digital clock on the cable box. She frowned at the emptiness and darkness. It was times like these that she missed Wyatt Morgan and Maggie most of all. When you have dogs, you never come home to an empty house. It was enough to make her think it was time to get a couple of Saint Bernard puppies. This home needed life in it.

She looked at the clock again. And frowned. Again. She thought, Where's my code four? Even though she knew where he was and what he was doing, they had a system, and tonight, for whatever reason, he wasn't following it. If he was going to be late, for whatever reason, he was supposed to call in code four to Jill. Code four, meaning safe. He never had to say why he was late. He could go grab a coffee with someone, go shooting, or just be writing reports. Because when you are married to a cop, you discover that you're also married to a clock. Your eyes watch and wait. And the later it gets, the tighter the knot in your stomach becomes. So that was the deal they'd made. He didn't have to answer to her, but he did have to let her know he was safe.

It wasn't a huge oversight, because he'd already told her where he'd be and why. But still. A female partner. And he seemed to be hiding a secret. Or maybe he was just worried about seeing the shrink. The man was hard to read.

She moved through the house, turning on lights. She turned on the lamp by the sofa, and put her keys and purse down with too much force. She stomped into the kitchen turning on more lights. She slammed cabinet doors, looking for something, but not sure what. All she could think about was the fact that her husband was out working late tonight. And that work consisted of having drinks-private drinks-with his female partner. And she hated herself for feeling jealous. She hated herself for letting her mother and sister get under her skin.

She pulled open a drawer, still looking for nothing in particular. There was a .38 in there. Most people kept pens and paper clips and bits of string and rubber bands and old twist ties and a.s.sorted c.r.a.p in their junk drawer. Jill had a .38. There was one in the cabinet over the stove, too. And a .45 under the coffee table in the living room. And a Glock mounted behind the headboard of their bed. For emergencies. There had been death threats aimed at Jake over the years. It was part of the life. And she knew how to shoot, too. She enjoyed it. She was her husband's wife after all.

Jill also carried a 9mm on her hip around the house. Even if she had company or a student over for tutoring. It was concealed, so they never saw it. If she ran out to the store to get a jug of milk, the gun came with her. Tucked inside her jeans with a light clip holster in a natural spot against her hip. It was essentially invisible. She had a concealed carry permit, and she understood that a gun was for personal protection only. To protect your life. Not to protect your car, your purse, or your wallet. It was to protect your life.

As one of her uptight writer friends once observed, Jake and Jill were "steeped in guns and gun culture."

True. But right now, she was just p.i.s.sed.

She slammed the drawer shut. And went on to the next one.

Finally, she grabbed a coffee mug down from the cabinet, filled it with water and put it in the microwave. She turned the microwave on and opened another cabinet, pulled out a tea bag. She slammed this door, too. She opened the tea packet but managed to tear the tab right off the string.

"f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k! G.o.d!"

The back door opened and Jacob walked in. He smiled broadly.

"Were you calling me? I thought I heard my name."

Jill turned her back to him and took the mug out of the microwave. She didn't want him to see her eyes. The anger, jealousy, and suspicion.

"You wish," she said. Easy breezy. Not quite.

Jacob entered with caution, setting his gear down quietly. Even if she was busy putting out a fire, Jill wouldn't keep her back to him when he walked in.

"Is everything okay?"