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social arena. Leah accompanies me to various public appearances. And I return the favor. That’s all.”
    The older detective cleared his throat. “Where’ve you been for the past two days?” he asked, his tone friendlier than his partner’s.
    â€œOut on a fishing boat with a couple of my late father’s friends. It’s an annual event.”
    Thomas waited for the next question. And all the questions after that. He could handle them. And then he’d be free to get on with his life.
    Even if that meant living in a house that was empty and far too quiet. Going to bed alone. But then he’d never been one to require much sleep.

3
    T he little guy went down without a fuss. It wasn’t all that unusual. Taylor was a great kid. He played hard. Ate well. And slept when it was time. He was a tribute to the woman who’d borne him.
    The woman who was pouring a diet soda before joining Scott in the living room Wednesday evening. There was only one lamp burning softly on a small table in the corner. As was the case most evenings when he and Tricia were home together, the television remained silent. He’d put a couple of new age jazz CDs in the player, turning the volume down low. And was sitting in the middle of the L-shaped sectional sofa, dressed in one of the pairs of silk lounging slacks from his old life that he’d never quite been able to abandon and a ten-year-old faded blue San Diego Fire Department T-shirt. He rested his arm along the overstuffed cushion.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want anything?” Her voice, as she called from the kitchen, sounded normal enough.
    â€œNo, thanks.” What he wanted was a beer. But if hestarted drinking, he wasn’t apt to stop, and hungover wasn’t the way he wanted to begin his four-day-off rotation. Hungover—or worse, drunk—wasn’t the way he wanted Taylor to see him. Ever.
    Taylor. Why couldn’t the baby have fussed a bit tonight? Distracted them? Cut into the time Scott generally lived for—time alone with the most fascinating woman he’d ever held in his arms.
    â€œI brought you a beer,” she said, walking around the corner. She didn’t hand him the bottle, setting it on the low square table in front of him, instead. Then she curled up a couple of cushions down from him, balancing her glass of soda on one jean-clad thigh.
    Most nights she changed into pajamas right after Taylor went down.
    â€œThanks.” He picked up the bottle, taking a sip since she’d opened it for him. Couldn’t have it go to waste.
    â€œYou looked like you could use a drink.”
    Scott nodded.
    â€œSo, are you going to tell me the rest of the story?” Her voice was almost drowned out by the soft music.
    He’d known the question was coming. Had felt it in her look, her tentative touch, all day. Ever since Blue’s Clues had ended that morning and Taylor had let out a wail protesting against being ignored any longer.
    That had been right after he’d told her about driving his Porsche into the side of a mountain. Taylor’s cry had been like divine intervention. Saving him.
    â€œNothing lasts forever, huh?” he asked now, glancing at the woman who’d found a way into his life despite the dead bolts he’d firmly attached to any doors that might be left.
    She shrugged. Sipped. “Some things do.”
    â€œYeah?” Divine intervention sure didn’t. Taylor wasn’t crying tonight. In fact, the rescue that morning had only bought him part of a day.
    Or nothing at all. Because he’d spent the ensuing hours reliving the horrors. In one form or another.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œName one.”
    â€œLove.”
    Maybe. Finding out wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
    â€œTake Alicia, for instance. Whatever happened between the two of you, wherever she is now, the love you felt for her obviously still exists.”
    Obviously. He stared at her,