"What I meant by ninja joke," she told him, "is this: Hey, Lindsey, what are you some kind of ninja or something? Yo, Lindsey, way to ninja out there. Six different people made a ninja comment at the Bug tonight."

Jenk interlaced their fingers. "I'm pretty sure it was meant as a compliment."

"Yeah," she said. "I know. It's just...It feels wrong. Like people telling Lopez that he'd pulled a Zorro, or saying that Alyssa did an awesome Harriet Tubman."

He had to laugh. "No one would ever dare say that to her."

Lindsey propped herself up on her elbow. "That's my point. Why do they feel it's okay to ninja me?"

He kissed the palm of her hand, enjoying the way the covered lamp made her bare skin glow slightly blue. Although she would look beautiful in any light. "Maybe because a ninja is the ultimate. A grand master. We're all good at kicking ass, but a ninja...A ninja is something we all secretly want to be. I'd love to be ninja-ed. If you want, though, I'll talk to the team about it. Tommy, too. We'll make sure it stops."

"No," she said. "Thanks, but I'll handle it. It just bugs me. Kind of like when anyone has a question about sushi, and everyone looks at me. I hate sushi, and no, I don't know how to use chopsticks or a wok either. No, I don't know kung fu or karate, but I can take a man more than twice my size to the ground if I have to-because, thanks to the LAPD, I've had training. Yes, I speak two languages, but they're English and Spanish. The Spanish came in handy on the job in East LA."

Silence seemed to ring in the room.

"Sorry," she said. "I get a little passionate. I'm as American as you are, and I'm betting you don't get asked recipes for sheep brains or whatever you crazy Scottish people eat. So that's mine. What's yours?"

Jenk knew exactly what she was talking about-or at least he thought he did. He checked to make sure. "You're talking intimate secret, right?"

Lindsey nodded, chin in her hand as she watched him.

"A few months ago," he told her, playing with her hair, pushing it behind her ear. "I thought I was going to die and...It was pretty eye-opening."

She nodded again. "I got myself shot a few years ago, so I get it. A near-death experience can trigger major revelations. Mine was to quit the force. But, I'm sorry. Go on. It's your turn. What did you discover?"

"I guess I discovered that there's a lot I haven't done that I still want to do." Jenk touched the scar on Lindsey's back. It was small, but he'd noticed it. "I was wondering what this was from. What'd you do to get back shot? Push someone out of the way?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, it was a...misjudgment of character."

"A what?"

"No fair. It's your turn."

"Yeah, but that's freaking cryptic. Misjudgment of character-what does that mean? You were shot in the back by a friend?" He'd gotten it right, he could see from her face. "Jesus, Lindsey."

She tried to downplay it, but it was too late. "I thought he was a friend-the perp. He was someone I thought I knew, but apparently didn't. He was going for suicide by cop, and I...I couldn't see it."

Oh, man. She was pretending it was nothing, that even talking about it wasn't any kind of big deal. But Jenk knew better. He tried to imagine having to shoot Izzy. Or having Izzy shoot him.

"So he just shot you?" Jenk asked. "Your alleged friend."

She nodded. "He wanted me to shoot him, but I wouldn't even draw on him. I was so wrapped up in talking him down, you know? I was clueless. So he discharged his weapon to get my attention. I dove for cover, he kept shooting and actually hit me. I think he was as surprised as I was. God, talk about spilling secrets. I haven't talked about this with...Well, Tom knows, but he doesn't bring it up."

Jenk's heart was in his throat, but he made his voice as matter-of-fact as hers was. "Did you have to kill him?"

"No, I was, you know, too busy bleeding. He settled for suicide by SWAT team. They killed him to get me to the hospital. So what haven't you done that you still want to do?"

For about four seconds, Jenk considered following her lead. He considered just letting the headlines news version of the story she'd told him remain as a matter-of-fact as she'd intended. But he couldn't do it. "If you ever want to talk about it...I live in that world, too. I've had friends die. Not like that, but...Close enough."

Lindsey gazed at him, searching his eyes. For the first time, probably since he'd met her, amusement wasn't lurking somewhere on her face, ready to slip out through her constant almost-smile, or sparkling in her eyes. She looked wary and vulnerable, and quite possibly even a little afraid.

So he brought her back to her comfort zone. "So what haven't I done that I still want to do? My notepad is around here somewhere." He pretended to look for it. "Have amazing sex with Lindsey Fontaine was pretty high on my list. Where's a pencil? I can cross that one off."

She shoved him. "I'm being serious here. I just told you...and now you're making a joke?" She was pretending to be indignant, but he could see her relief.

"I'm being serious, too," he said, grabbing her hands as she started tickling him. He twisted, throwing his leg across her to pin her down. Although he suspected if she hadn't wanted to be pinned, he wouldn't have succeeded. "This whole night has been amazing."

And there it was again. That hint of fear. What was she so afraid of? "It has been, hasn't it?" she whispered.

He kissed her, and, God, she kissed him back so sweetly, he felt his bones melt.

So he told her the truth. "The thing I regretted most-when I thought I was going to die-was that I didn't have a family. You know. Of my own."

"A family," she repeated. "Like, two point five kids, a dog, and a minivan?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "It was...weird. I was trying to dig myself free, but...fully expecting to be blown into a million pieces, and I was thinking about Charlie. You know, Paoletti."

Lindsey shifted slightly away from him. "It's one thing to babysit. Because you get to go home afterward."

"I know," Jenk said. "I do. It's just...Tommy's so...satisfied. I've known him for years and...I know things aren't perfect for him. Last year, after that sniper attack, when Murphy's wife was killed-that was some serious bad shit. Larry Decker, he was team leader of that op, and he's still running at pucker-factor five thousand. He's being eaten alive by the fact that she died-what was her name?"

"Angelina," Lindsey told him.

"That's right. Deck's still dying from it, still carrying Angelina's death with him every single day. I've seen it happen in the teams, when officers lose men, when guys lose teammates. Some of 'em can't forgive themselves, even though it's not their fault. And it ends up killing them, too. They change-not for the better.

"But Tommy," Jenk continued, "he had Kelly standing beside him. And it wasn't that long after Angelina's funeral that Charlie was born. I know that helped, too. It's not that Tommy didn't mourn or grieve or even feel responsible for any mistakes that were made. But he handled it, he processed it, he implemented some new rules, stepped up your training levels, too. I'm sure he thinks about her every day. Shit, I think about her a lot, and I didn't even know her. But Tommy's found peace, and I know his path was easier because he had Kelly and Charlie to hold on to." He paused. "That's what I want. That's what I realized after Izzy saved my life."

He had no idea what Lindsey was thinking. He only knew that she'd pulled herself free from him, pulled the blanket to cover herself as she curled up, one arm beneath her head, just watching and listening to him talk.

"At the risk of bumming you out," Lindsey finally said, "I've come to know both Tom and Kelly pretty well and...I think they're the exception rather than the rule. Most people's relationships don't come close. Take my parents, for example." She shuddered.

"Divorced?" he asked.

"No," she said. "But I'm not sure if they ever really talked." She paused. "My mom lost her fight with cancer, not quite two years ago."

"Wow," Jenk said. "That must've sucked."

Lindsey nodded. "Yeah. She was diagnosed when I was eleven. She fought a good fight, but it kept recurring. She made the decision to have home hospice care about a week before I was shot. That's why I quit the force. I spent all that time in the hospital, and she never left my side. And all I could think was, what if I get hurt again, when she's confined to a bed? And I wanted to take the time, you know, to be with her while I could. It was...good. That I did it. I always intended to go back, but then Tom called me and..." She shrugged. "Here I am."

She'd had an extremely tough couple of years. Jenk would never have guessed it. She was always so upbeat, so ready with a smile.

Unlike Tracy, who walked around with a list of complaints, ready to rattle them off at the slightest hint of an invitation.

It was the first time he'd even so much as thought of Tracy in hours and, almost as if he'd conjured her, his cell phone rang.

It was her. He'd given her a special ringtone.

Lindsey sat up. "Is your phone really playing 'Here Comes the Bride'?" She started to laugh.

Jenk nearly tripped over the bedcovers as he hurried into the hall, where his phone was blasting majestic organ chords from the pocket of his pants. He silenced it, double-checking the number. Yep, it was definitely Tracy. Holy crap, it was after 0300.

That was the only reason he answered it. "Jenkins."

"Thank God, you're there!" It was Tracy, and she was crying. "I'm so sorry, Mark, but I didn't know who else to call. I just didn't know what to do, I'm sure Lyle's at my apartment and-"

"Whoa, whoa," he said. "Slow down. Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm in a cab." She started to cry harder. "Lyle's looking for me. He was so upset."

Shit.

Lindsey, meanwhile, had found the towel Jenk had worn out of the shower. She'd wrapped it around herself, apparently not as comfortable as he was to stand there, naked, in his hallway. She met his eyes briefly as she slipped past him and into the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind her.

She was smart. She'd no doubt figured out that it was Tracy on the other end of the phone.

"Tracy," Jenk spoke over her noisy sobs. "Honey, I can't understand what you're saying. You have to slow down and breathe, okay? Where are you? You said you're in a cab-where's the cab?"

"Outside your apartment," she told him, and his entire world tilted.

"You're where?"

"Right outside," she said again. "But I don't have any money to pay the driver. Will you...Will you pay the fare so that I can come up?"

Lindsey opened the bathroom door. With her clothes back on. "Where is she?" she asked silently.

"Downstairs," he told her, hating the surprise and then realization that flashed in her eyes. You're wrong, he wanted to tell her. Whatever it is that you're thinking, you're wrong.

He stepped into his pants, taking his wallet from his pocket. He could fix this quickly by giving Tracy some money to get a hotel room. She'd clearly had too much to drink. Sleeping it off would be a good idea. But, crap. He didn't have that much cash.

"I'll be right down," he said to Tracy, then snapped his phone shut. "I've got to handle this," he told Lindsey. A quick trip to the nearest ATM would solve the problem. Or he could just go with Tracy to that motel over by the Ladybug, use his credit card.

"Of course." Lindsey went to get her jacket from the dining room chair where she'd left it.

"I'm just going to make sure she's somewhere safe, then I'll be back. Twenty minutes, tops." He pulled on his T-shirt. Whoa, was that really what he'd smelled like for most of the evening? He took it back off again.

Lindsey was already halfway out the door. "I have to go."

"Please don't."

She didn't stop. "I have to. Don't worry, I won't let her see me."

"Linds..." The hell with it. He put the T-shirt back on, jammed his bare feet into his boots, and clattered down the stairs after her.

But she'd pulled another ninja.

She was already gone.

CHAPTER.

NINE.

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2005.

Sophia trashed the paper target. It shredded, exploding into confetti as the force of the weapon she was firing jolted her to her very spine.

The ear protectors she was wearing brought the noise level from unbearable to merely hellish. She couldn't imagine firing this thing without them, on a battlefield. It would be insane.

She ran out of ammo-it didn't take very long at all to empty the magazine-and the silence settled around her.

"Excellent," Dave proclaimed, as she set the weapon on the table, following the shooting range's strict rules. "Much better. Do you remember how to reload?"

She took off the headphone-like ear protectors and picked up the clip. "I think so."

"The MP5's much too big for her." Sophia spun around to see Decker standing there. How long had he been watching?

He turned to her, actually meeting her eyes. "You should try the MP4. It's lighter and smaller. Of course, it doesn't have the same range. It's nicknamed the 'room broom' because it's good for indoor situations. But it's definitely more your size."

It shouldn't have been a surprise to see him there. This was the closest range to the Troubleshooters office. And Sophia knew Deck believed in a strict daily practice regimen. It was, he'd told her once, an essential part of staying on top of his game.

"This is the equivalent of the weapon I had last night," she told him. "I wanted to feel what it was like to use it correctly."

He nodded. "You did okay with it. Considering it was your first time."

"I killed Tom, and I killed you," she said. "I don't consider that okay." Was this really happening? Were they actually standing here, having a civil conversation? She glanced at Dave, who was preoccupied with his Palm Pilot.

"That trick you pulled on Lopez and...who was it?" Deck actually settled in, leaning slightly against the wall. He was dressed as if he'd come from a meeting, in one of his ill-fitting suits, standard white dress shirt, also a size too large. He'd taken the jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He looked as if he'd worked his entire life in a cubby-divided office, mousy and meek, clothes hanging off his skinny frame.