The receptionist who had been standing there in silence half coughed and said, "Officer Denton?" She said this as if calling him Jake would spark another outburst of G.o.d only knew what from Jill's mouth. Jake stood up.

"Right this way, please," she said and glanced at Jill.

As Jake reached the threshold to back there, he looked back at Jill. She winked at him and mouthed, "You'll be fine," as she flashed two thumbs up. Then the door closed behind him and he was gone.

Jill sat there utterly alone. Free to fall apart but not willing. It just wasn't an option. Be good to him. Don't make me come back there.

The receptionist opened the office door for him, and time seemed to slow down as Jake stepped across the threshold and absorbed his new surroundings. Jake thought he could feel Dr. Emmitt studying him. The doctor rose to greet him, but watched as Jake took in the environment. It was a nice, comfortable office with dark blue carpet, wood paneling around the room, several bookshelves with plenty of s.p.a.ce to grow, and incredibly, a skylight just above the desk. It was actually between his desk and the two chairs facing the desk. It gave Jake the impression that the good doctor here had G.o.d on speed dial.

There were huge windows behind him that looked out onto a small blot of the original landscape-a piece of land the developers had left undisturbed when they put up this complex. A view that reminded these interlopers what this had once been. What was still there and had been for centuries. There were live oak and pine trees, manzanita, other shrubs, and in the distance, the other side of the canyon. Jake took comfort in the view and mourned for the greater wilderness that had been lost.

Jake had yet to make eye contact with the doctor. It was because he knew he had the eyes of a predator. Sharp, intense, and wary eyes. He knew he could scare this man just by looking at him. He had perfected something Jill called his "sniper glare" and it was the closest thing to rattles on a rattlesnake when it came to letting someone know they were perilously close to a point of no return. "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" No place for that here, though.

Jake let out a sigh. He was putting off the inevitable. The horrible reality was he was going to have to sit down and answer this man's questions. And if he gave the wrong answers, his life would be forever changed. The thought that his future was in someone else's control was nothing short of terrifying. He had always been the master of his own destiny. Relied on no one but himself. And to know his professional future was, in this man's hands, torture.

The receptionist said, "Dr. Emmitt, this is Officer Denton," and closed the door on her way out.

Finally, Jake's eyes met Dr. Emmitt's (who looked barely old enough to shave), and time resumed its normal pace. Jake smiled sheepishly and said, "I'm sorry."

"Not at all. Welcome," Dr. Emmitt said and offered his hand. Jake looked down and was delighted to see the good doctor sported sensible loafers, not sandals. At least that's what he wore here in his office. Jake saw no point in thinking beyond that. What he had in the closet at home was his business.

The two men shook hands. The handshake was quick and firm. Jake noted the man's comfortable and confident grip. Jake often tested the handshake waters, applying pressure as necessary. A politician or a door-to-door marketer was likely to feel the bones shift in his hand. He had a special handshake for guys who were shaking his hand but eyeballing Jill at the same time. He'd studied faces, gauged reactions, and perfected techniques. When he rolled their knuckles there was no doubt of the message conveyed. His politician handshake said, I'm on to you, Skippy, don't blow smoke up my a.s.s. He'd yet to find a Hallmark card that conveyed that message quite as well.

In the presence of Dr. Emmitt, however, he was professional and respectful. No need to tweak this man's knuckles, not with his future hanging in the balance. Besides, the guy had a very open and friendly face. Normally this sort of boyish face would put Jacob on edge immediately. Boys were not meant to hold authority. Since suspicion usually rose in him immediately, Jake was surprised to discover he believed this man. That he was exactly what his face and handshake said he was. Young, but sincere. He hoped to G.o.d his instinct was right. He needed it to be right. For everything to be all right.

Dr. Emmitt said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Denton. Or is it Deputy? Do you have a preference?" He motioned to the chairs across from his desk and Jake moved to the first chair.

"Either's fine, but please call me Jake."

"Okay Jake, please feel free to call me Sam."

Dr. Emmitt walked back behind his desk and sat down. He had a file there, and he flipped it open. He looked down briefly, then leaned back, pressed his fingertips together, and studied Jake for a moment. Then he started a slow side-to-side swivel in his chair. Jake could feel himself tensing up. All the good feelings were gone now. He just wanted to choke this p.r.i.c.k out. Jake now realized what it felt like when he gave people the sniper glare. It was this same sort of studied silence that put people on edge. Made them nervous. Only this time Jake was the one under the microscope. The predator was prey. This guy was giving him the shrink stare. And he f.u.c.king well hated it. Perhaps that was the point. Just when he felt he couldn't stand it another second the doctor spoke.

"So, Jake, why are you here today?" He asked this as though Jake had just shown up unannounced. Like maybe he thought Jake was gonna hit him up for an investment in a time-share opportunity, or to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies or something.

"My lieutenant? He set this up."

Still swaying side to side Dr. Emmitt said, "Yes I know, but why do you feel you've been sent here today?"

Head games. He'd read the guy wrong. Jake was losing patience, and he knew he couldn't afford to. So he did a seat adjustment of his own and said, "My lieutenant thinks I need to talk about my shootings."

Side-to-side, slow, hypnotic swaying. "But you don't think it's necessary?"

"No, I don't," Jake said. Crisp. Now the a.s.shole was bobbing his head in a slow nod as if in deep, contemplative thought. Swaying and nodding. Like it was a f.u.c.king parlor trick. Who the h.e.l.l does this guy think he is? Jake sat straight up in his chair and favored the good doctor with one of his sniper glares. And d.a.m.ned if the guy didn't react at all. The b.a.l.l.sy p.r.i.c.k was playing with Jake's career, and Jake was about to get up, break some bones in his Berkeley hand and tell him he'd had enough. Thanks, but no thanks. Let Cowell do whatever he thought he had to do.

But then the doctor said, "You've never been evaluated for this before?"

Jake just shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response. Your move, Brain Boy.

In the lobby the receptionist was staring at Jill, who held a magazine in her lap. It was open, as if she were reading it, but Jill stared off at some distant thing. Slowly, as if she could sense the girl's gaze, Jill looked toward the little sliding window and saw that the girl was indeed staring at her. Jill forced a quick smile and picked up her magazine, only then noticing it was upside down. Great. The receptionist was probably buzzing the doctor right this second to explain that the live one was still in the lobby.

Jill raised the magazine up until it covered her face and said softly, "Good, Denton. Very cool."

In Dr. Emmitt's office, Jake and the doctor were just looking at each other. At least the p.r.i.c.k had stopped swaying, nodding, sashaying, whatever he was doing.

He finally looked down at the file and said, "So you are a patrol deputy, twenty years with the Sheriff's Office, and you also serve as primary sniper on the SWAT team. Is that correct?"

Jake nodded once.

"Okay, thank you," he said, still looking down. "And according to what I have here, you've had, uhm, seventeen confirmed, ahh, well it says here 'kills' in your fourteen years serving as a sniper?"

Another nod.

The good doctor sighed. "I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot here, Jake. And I'm sorry about that. The truth is I don't see many people like you."

Jake said, "Well, that makes two of us."

This made Dr. Emmitt smile, but Jake would not allow himself to smile.

"No, I guess you wouldn't be anxious to run to someone for support." The doctor chuckled. "Okay. Fair enough. We're even. Let's start anew and see if we can't get this done and you'll be on your way. I imagine this is the last place you want to be."

"Short of a dentist's chair, that's about right."

"Well, I'm above dentistry. Thank G.o.d." And this time they didn't have to pretend they weren't smiling, they just let the smiles come and wore them well.

The doctor sat upright in his chair and looked at the file again. He said, "Well, let me back up from the number of, uhm, encounters."

Jake was amused that the man had trouble saying the word kills.

He said, "Can you tell me about your first experience?"

"My first kill?"

"Yes."

Without hesitation Jake said, "Daylight, multiple obstacles, seventy-eight yards, no wind, head shot through a gla.s.s window." He had rattled it off so quickly and succinctly he even surprised himself. He wondered what the doctor would make of him having such knowledge at the forefront of his brain, readily available. Would he find it ghoulish or morbid?

Dr. Emmitt said, "How about, say," as he looked at the file, "your ninth? Do you recall that?"

Again, as if by rote it spilled out of Jake's mouth. "Night shot, one obstacle, fifty yards, fifteen-mile-per-hour breeze coming from the west, open head shot."

Now they were both into it. How well could Jake recall them all? Dr. Emmitt pressed on, "Your fourteenth?"

"Thirteen and fourteen went together. Early evening, cop killers, multiple obstacles, one hundred five yards, stiff twenty-mile-per-hour wind from the north, head shots through two separate windows."

Dr. Emmitt forged on as if Jake were some sort of autistic savant. "What's an obstacle?" he asked.

"A hostage," Jake answered.

This put a pause on the rapid-fire exchange.

Dr. Emmitt sat back again. "Really?" he asked. "They're not people? Human beings? They're objects?"

Jake said, "The second you make them people, you lose your edge."

Dr. Emmitt picked up a pen and started writing in the file, which made Jake worry. He looked up and said, "Do you always remove yourself from the emotional aspects in this manner? Dissociate? Compartmentalize?"

Jake paused to see how this definition fit in his ear and was surprised to see that was exactly what he did. He finally shrugged and said, "It's the only way. Hostages are obstacles to shoot around and bad guys are nothing more than moving bull's-eyes on a target."

Dr. Emmitt said, "I see." Then wrote in the file again.

Jake hoped he wasn't being too honest. He didn't really know any other way to be, but he wasn't sure if his answers would save him or condemn him. He was completely out of his element here.

The doctor finished writing, sat back, and said, "Well, no matter how you rationalize it, you really are killing one or more other human beings. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't get off on it if that's what you mean," Jake growled.

Dr. Emmitt raised one hand and said, "No, no, of course not."

Jake felt he had to explain to this educated man what the streets were really all about. "Look," he said, "most of these people forfeited their rights to be 'human beings' a long time ago. They don't play by the rules of humanity and they don't care."

"So they deserve it?"

"When they harm other innocent, law-abiding people, you bet they deserve it." The second it came out of his mouth Jake wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h it back, but he couldn't unring that bell. At some point, this guy might go completely Berkeley on him and ask him to turn over his weapon. He could do that. He held that power.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Dr. Emmitt said, "How have you been able to do this job for so long without it affecting your emotions?"

Jake leaned forward. "The bottom line?"

"Please," said Dr. Emmitt, "that's why we're here."

"I don't know them," he said.

"Excuse me?"

Jake rushed into the void, anxious to clear this up. "The people I've shot. I don't know any of them. I've never even known a hostage. I've just been lucky, I guess."

Dr. Emmitt nodded and he weighed Jake's statement. "If, by chance, you knew any of the people involved, could you still take the shot?"

Jake took a moment to look out the window and ponder this very point. The precise point Oz tried to drive home to him. Jake looked back at the doctor and said, "I'd like to think I could still do my job, but I won't know the answer to that until it happens."

Dr. Emmitt nodded. "Have you ever shot a hostage by mistake?"

"Never."

"Well, if you killed or wounded a hostage by mistake, how would you deal with it?"

Jake sat back in his chair. His right trigger finger started in as he thought. Tap, tappety, tap tap. He suddenly realized he was doing it and stopped. As far as he knew, the doctor hadn't caught that. He'd have to thank Jill for pointing that out to him for sure now.

He said, "Well, I'd feel awful about it. But I can't control every situation. The hostage could move, the ammunition could be bad, there are any number of variables that wouldn't necessarily mean I made a bad shot. Jill would remind me of that."

"And who is Jill? Your wife?"

Jake smiled. "Yes, Jill is my wife."

"You seem very pleased about that."

"I am."

"So am I correct in a.s.suming you have a solid support system at home?"

"I do."

"Good for you, Jake, that's a rare commodity." Dr. Emmitt wrote in the file for a moment and then set the pen down with an air of finality.

This was it. A decision had been made. Jake could feel it coming. It was all going to come down to what came out of this man's mouth. Jake thought how strange it was in that moment to know that a whole set of other lives would be impacted based on the mere utterances of this man's next sentence.

Dr. Emmitt said, "Well Jake, I think you're dealing with your situation in a realistic manner considering the nature of your work. I don't see any reason for concern. I'll fax a report to that effect to your lieutenant today."

Jake nearly fell out of the chair. Even he had underestimated how important this moment was to him, and here it was behind him now and in his favor. He couldn't wait to tell Jill.

The doctor stood up, and Jake pulled himself up, too. They met near the door and Jake shook his hand again. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Emmitt said, "I'd like you to take one of my cards and if you ever need to talk about a particular scenario or you start having difficulties, I hope you'll give me a call."

"Thank you," Jake said, still shaking his hand. He realized the appropriate point of release had long pa.s.sed and said, "Sorry!" and released Dr. Emmitt's hand.

The doctor shook it as if to restore blood flow and said, "That's quite a death grip you've got there."

Jake laughed out loud. The doctor reached for his office door. He opened it and they stepped into the small corridor. Dr. Emmitt patted Jake on the shoulder and said, "Keep up the good work, Jake. I admire what you do."

"Thank you."

And just like that, Jake opened the door from back there and he was free.

When the back there door finally opened, Jill looked up. Her eyes met Jake's and she exhaled a long breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She saw it in his eyes. They were fine.

Officially.

Jill stood as Jake introduced her to Dr. Emmitt.