"Everything's fine. Fixing some tea."

She opened the cabinet to retrieve a new tea bag and slammed the door shut. He watched as she tore off the wrapping and threw the bag into the mug of hot water. She still hadn't turned to look at him.

Jacob walked up behind her and gave her a hug, but she stiffened at his touch. He backed away.

"How was Brodie's party?"

"Fine. Good. I didn't get a code four."

"I know, I'm sorry. I was so close to home I thought I might actually beat you here."

She pulled on the tea bag string, bobbing the bag up and down in the water.

"Problems with your sister?"

"No more than usual."

Jacob shrugged out of his jacket and continued to move softly around Jill.

"So you were training?" she asked.

"Just finished."

She turned around to face him. "I can smell the alcohol, for Christ's sake."

"Well, yeah, we did the alcohol test. I only had half a beer."

"Why didn't you just bring her here like you have every other partner you've had?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want to disrespect you by bringing her here."

"If she's just another teammate, why would I be disrespected?"

"Well, maybe you wouldn't be. I don't know. It just didn't seem right somehow. I'm sorry, I've just never had a female partner before. I didn't know it bothered you."

"Yeah, well neither did I. Welcome to the club."

"If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure she's gay."

"Why? Because she didn't come on to you? Because she didn't soak her panties just being in the presence of the Great G.o.d Denton?"

"I do tend to have that effect on the ladies."

Jake had been aiming for a little humor to ease the tension between them, but he'd miscalculated. It was too early. He'd missed his mark.

"You are so f.u.c.king arrogant. Lots of people thought I was a lesbian. And look at us now. You know, a woman can be in this field and still be straight. And you know what else? It genuinely, truly doesn't matter. Your partner can sleep with whoever she chooses and it's really none of your business, is it?"

Jacob held his hands up. I surrender.

"f.u.c.k. I'm sorry. My sister started in on the 'family' thing and here I am without you-again-at another family function, and you're out with this female. Having drinks."

She turned her back to him again. Ashamed of herself.

"Every single time you've trained a partner, they've either c.r.a.pped out or left to become primary snipers somewhere else. Will you ever have a true partner who can step in as primary? Will we ever have any time off?"

"Cowell and I had her commit to three years, and she's a natural. It'll come."

He approached again and hugged Jill as before. This time she leaned back into him. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath as she relaxed into his body. Home.

"Would it help if I told you she called me an a.s.shole and wanted to kick my a.s.s?"

Jill laughed at this. She turned to face him.

"I guess she and I have more in common than I thought."

"Thought you'd like that."

They kissed and hugged each other tight.

"Well, she won't be kicking your a.s.s on my watch, I can tell you that much."

"That's my girl."

The Sheriff's office took Lee Staley up on his ultimatum. They got a warrant for his rifle. It was a close call on the legal end. Probable cause was a subjective area of law. Oswald had the sniper skills, a possible ax to grind, owned the type of weapon used in the commission of the crime, and he lived in the area with an unsubstantiated alibi. But there was no concrete motive (he'd never made an actual threat) or even a witness who saw someone matching Oz's description in the area. Nothing actually tied him to the crime, but for probable cause, circ.u.mstantial evidence could be enough. In the end, Oswald was their only suspect, and he had pointedly refused to give up his weapon voluntarily when there was no logical reason for the refusal. The judge agreed with the S.O. and signed the warrant. The Winchester was sent to a lab for ballistic fingerprinting that would take a minimum of a week to complete.

During that time, there were no more rogue sniper shots directed at Jacob. No death threats against anyone at the S.O. It was an uneventful week all around. No SWAT activations. Kathryn started Phase Two of her training. Things were good between Jacob and Jill, and he started to feel less guilty for not telling her about the potshot someone had taken at him. He was hoping it was an isolated incident and not connected to Captain Bryant's murder. Or, at the most, a warning to keep his nose out of it. If the shooter had wanted him dead, Jacob knew that his body would be in a metal drawer at the morgue. A part of him also realized that once Oswald's weapon had been taken away from him, the shootings had stopped. If Oswald really had been behind it, it would also make sense that he had fired those warning shots at Jacob: Stay away. And according to the interrogation room sign-out log, Oz had departed the S.O. with enough time to track Jacob to the shooting range and set up a shot.

Detectives Cortez and Hasan otherwise made no progress in their ongoing investigation. No additional physical evidence was found. They had the one sh.e.l.l casing, and the bullets recovered from the scene, but until the ballistic fingerprint results came back (or another suspect was identified), they were useless. Everything was pinned on Oz's rifle. Still, they knocked on doors in Vista Canyon, questioned neighbors, made the rounds of local gun clubs and shooting ranges, interviewed people involved in gun culture. They pulled old case files and cross-matched with recent parolees who might hold a grudge against the captain (from any point in his career), or simply had the expertise to pull off such a shooting. Just trying to come up with another viable lead. Meanwhile, Lee Staley remained their only person of interest.

The bullet that was shot at Jake had gone through the Expedition's back window, hit the rearview mirror, exited through the windshield, and was stopped by a half-buried rock in the embankment. It was the same .308, 168g Sierra Hollow Point Boat Tail bullet (preferred by snipers far and wide) as used in Bryant's murder, but the bullet was too damaged to determine if it had been fired by the same rifle.

And during all of this, Jacob had Friday's psychiatric evaluation to consider. He'd been evaluated when he first signed on with the S.O., but that was a long time ago, and consisted of just a few standard questions from a bored M.D., which, as he recalled, focused mainly on how easily he might get angry or frustrated.

The psychiatrist Cowell had set him up with was the real deal, though. This doctor would hold Jacob's career in his hands. If he didn't like what he saw when he peered inside Jake's mind, he could pull the plug on everything. The problem, the real worry, was that Jacob wasn't sure if he himself liked what he saw when he looked within himself. It was an odd career choice. Maybe the people who refused to shake his hand were the sane ones.

He just didn't know.

And if they took his rifle away, what would he do then? And what would Jill think of that? Maybe she wouldn't feel safe around him anymore. Maybe she would always be wondering what was broken inside her man.

So he worked hard and trained Kathryn hard. She would either be his "next man up," or his replacement.

He came home Thursday night and peeked to see what Jill had on the stove while she sat at the counter and reviewed his stack of targets.

She flipped through them and said, "Oz called this afternoon. He started the security job. Likes it. Said to tell you thank you. He said it was time to put the past away."

"Good. He needs to get out of his head."

"Look who's talking. Since we're going to be in the Canyon tomorrow anyway, I told him we'd stop by and say h.e.l.lo."

"Why tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is your appointment with the psychiatrist. The fancy Vista Canyon shrink. You've hit the big time."

"Yep. Swimming pools. Movie stars."

"Well, it's tomorrow. Must have slipped your mind."

"Must have. I clean forgot."

They both laughed at the lie.

CHAPTER 19.

Here they were. In Vista Canyon. Jill normally would have saluted her tree (or the absence thereof) in her usual way as they were forced to pa.s.s the area on the way to the psychiatrist's office, but knowing what had happened there to Captain Bryant made her somber.

As a deputy, Jacob had never liked patrolling the Canyon because of the condescending att.i.tudes of the people in the ritzy neighborhoods-the sense of ent.i.tlement-which included some of the S.O. bra.s.s who located here. It was a desirable address, but not for Jill and Jacob.

The office was located in one of the newer buildings in the ever-expanding Canyon, part of a complex of medical facilities with several doctors in private practice covering a wide array of specialties including psychiatry, orthopedic surgery, pain management, neurology, an outpatient surgery center, and a state-of-the-art diagnostic/imaging center.

After checking the lobby directory, Jill and Jacob made their way through the ma.s.sive building, holding hands like children lost in a dark forest. Once they made it to their destination (without the help of bread crumbs), they both scrutinized the psychiatrist's office lobby, looking for clues, trying to draw out information from what was present in the immediate environment. The walls were painted a muted green that was oddly calming. Light and dark blues and greens on accent pieces like picture frames, tables, and blinds provided a nice contrast in color. No chattering television mounted overhead. The framed paintings on the walls weren't corporate art, but well-executed originals that leaned toward the abstract.

And then there was the door. Two doors, actually. The exit door was just off to their right. And to the left was another door. It looked innocent enough, but that door led back there somewhere, and it was closed. A half wall with a countertop and a sliding, opaque gla.s.s window served as the receptionist's access to contact with patients. So far, so good.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. When they'd first checked in with the receptionist, Jill introduced herself and asked to confirm her husband Jake's appointment. The woman confirmed the time and said, "Oh! Jake and Jill!" Then in a singsongy voice she started, "Jake and Jill went up the-"

Jill cut her off, "Hill, yep, Jake was never seen again and Jill was arrested for loitering with intent." Jake almost cracked a smile, especially when he saw the receptionist hadn't the vaguest clue what to do next.

They had long grown accustomed to and become a bit weary of this reaction each time they met new people, but he'd have to say this was one of Jill's better retorts. He knew her quick wit was an anxiety response on her part. He pulled the girl safely out of Jill's crosshairs by saying, "We're a little early." And she plunged right back into Jill's scope when she said, "Oh, great, he's running ahead of schedule today, anyway." She flashed an everybody wins smile.

"Suicide cancellation?" Jill blurted.

The girl's eyes went big and she looked horrified, but since Jill had asked it in the form of a question, her face indicated she and her brain were struggling for an answer. "No, not that I'm aware of," she squeaked.

Jake smiled and said, "We're just joking."

The girl looked somewhat relieved and said, "It shouldn't be much longer."

Jake grabbed Jill's arm gently before anything else escaped her mouth.

They sat down in side-by-side chairs. Jill leaned over and whispered, "Sorry."

He said, "I know. I think she'll live."

As they settled into comfortable wood and padded leather chairs, they continued to scrutinize the office. The magazine selection was a bit bigger than most and covered a broader span of subjects. There was Muzak on the overhead, but not at an annoying volume. All in all, it was comfortable. Jill finally selected a magazine and Jake followed suit. The New Yorker for her, Field & Stream for him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes perusing their pages. The silence grated on Jill. She finally said, "Good magazine?"

"Yeah it's great. How's yours?"

"I don't know. I'm not reading, either."

They abandoned their magazines and both began scanning the office again. Their heads scanned left to right, in synchronized viewing mode. Suddenly Jake's head stopped moving. A split second later, Jill's stopped, too. How had they missed it during the first inspection? They both stared at the requisite framed medical license on the wall. Jill saw Jake's jaw tighten just a little, which usually made his ears jump in a cute way.

"If he's wearing Birkenstocks, I'm outta here."

Jill scoffed. "You cops. What is it about Birkenstocks and a Berkeley certificate that makes your brain shut down?"

"How much time do we have?"

Jill just shook her head and said, "Never mind."

Jake leaned further back in his chair and Jill joined him. This felt safer somehow, as if they'd found a secret hideaway in plain sight. They spoke quietly.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for anything. I've been trying to tell people you're crazy for years."

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

She made a dismissive shrug and with great confidence replied, "Nope."

"Why not?" he asked, like she had a secret that could save him.

She did. "If there was something wrong with you, well, I mean not counting the usual stuff, don't you think I'd be the first to know?"

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Oh, look who's talkin'. Didn't you have your shirt over your head the other day?"

Jill raised her head in a haughty posture and sniffed, "That was therapy."

"Ah!" Jake proclaimed as if he'd finally grasped some complex theory.

Then the receptionist opened the door. Not the exit door. The one that led back there. Where Jake's future hung in the balance.

Jill's eyes narrowed and she stared back there, where they played for keeps. Where a stranger would judge her husband and proclaim him fit or unfit to perform his duties. She could feel tension in Jake's body. Heat and raw fear were suddenly palpable and they scared her. Jake's right forefinger started tapping on the arm of his chair. His trigger finger. Tap, tappety tap, tap. She knew he wasn't consciously aware that he did this. Twitching that finger. She had told him a few times before when he'd done it that it was a tell. "If we were playing poker, you just told me you have no idea how to play this hand." And then, of course, the times they'd argued and she'd said, "Don't you dare twitch that finger at me, mister!"

With Jake's anxiety showing, at least to Jill, she knew it was all hands on deck time. So she did what she always did. She sat up straight, turned toward him and ran her hand through his hair and down to his shoulder. He turned toward her in this comfortable dance that brought peace and balance. They were eye to eye, foreheads touching.

She gave him a rea.s.suring smile and said, "Easy, big boy. In just a few minutes we'll be walking out of here and you won't ever have to have that conversation with Cowell again."

Jake's eyes darted to the exit door and then back to Jill. She radiated absolute rock solid confidence. They both knew what was at stake here.