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
