"Thank you." Alex looked from Clay to Joe and back again. "What's up?"

"A deputy went down." Joe's voice was thick with discouragement. "East LA. Responded to a disturbing the peace and took a bullet in the neck. Suspect was a guy you arrested a few months ago."

Alex's stomach dropped, and he clenched his fists. Gut-wrenching pain took hold of him, the same pain he'd felt when he walked into the house that Tuesday morning and saw his mother watching the television screen, saw the Twin Towers in a heap of rubble with his father somewhere inside them. A pain that consumed him. Alex put his foot on the seat of the nearest chair, dug his elbow into his knee, and hung his head.

"He's been in surgery the last four hours. Critical condition." Clay rarely sounded beaten, but this was one of those times. "If he lives, they don't think he'll walk again. The bullet hit his spine."

A stifled moan built in Alex's chest and came out as an angry cry. He slammed his fist on the table and then stormed to the corner where the coffee was set up. He felt Bo beside him, heard the dog whimper softly. Alex exhaled hard through his nose and leaned down enough to touch his fingers to Bo's head. "It's okay, Bo. Down, boy." His dog kept his eyes locked on Alex as he took a few tentative steps back and then settled down on the cool floor. Alex felt weary, physically beaten. He looked over his shoulder. "The suspect?"

Clay was on his feet coming toward him. "Shot and killed at the scene. Two others were arrested."

The bad guy wouldn't kill again, but still he represented another death, more heartache on the streets. Somewhere tonight the criminal's mother and father, his siblings, maybe even his children would be changed forever because he was gone. He'd arrested the guy a few months ago, but the effort wasn't enough. The guy hadn't changed, hadn't gone home and become an upstanding citizen. So how had Alex's arrest mattered at all? The evil on the streets was still winning if a deputy could make a routine house call and be shot in the process. He hung his head again and gripped the edge of the table where the coffeemaker sat.

"Alex ..." Clay put an arm around his shoulders. "There was nothing you could've done. The courts let him back out."

"I know." Alex squeezed the words through a locked jaw. He lifted his head and motioned to the s.p.a.ce around him. "But if all this, the department and the deputies and the dogs and the SWAT teams, can't stop that from happening, can't even make a dent in the war out there, then what's it all for?"

Clay's eyes grew hard. "Come on, Brady. We need to talk."

Alex was about to argue, but he wanted to hear Clay out, hear what reasoning his captain could possibly have to justify their work at an hour like this. He gave Bo the command to stay, and he followed Clay outside to a small fenced courtyard with a few empty picnic tables. Clay sat on the edge of the closest one and put his feet on the bench. "This talk's a long time coming." Curiosity disarmed Alex's pain and hopelessness for a moment. He blinked and waited.

"You have it all wrong about the evil around us." Clay's voice was intense, his tone louder than usual. "Now, I know you used to have faith in Christ. You've told me yourself, so what I'm about to say I want you to hear with the ears you used to have. The ears you had before 9/11." The wind swirled around them, pushing through Alex's hair and stinging his eyes. He wanted to run back inside, get his dog, and hit the road. But he squinted against the wind and listened, half hoping Clay would say something that might make sense of everything he was feeling.

"The other day I found a Bible verse that might as well have been written for you." Clay leaned closer, his forearms on his knees. He must've read the reluctance in Alex's eyes because he raised his brow. "Yes, a Bible verse. It's still the best wisdom around, whatever you think."

Alex folded his arms and there was that feeling again, the confusing sense that he was somehow back in his senior year, his dad sitting where Clay sat, talking to him, leading him. Alex stuffed his emotions and waited.

"The verse said, 'There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads only to death.'" Clay straightened and pointed at Alex. "That's you, Brady. You think you can go out there on the streets of LA and rid the world of everything bad." A sad-sounding laugh came from Clay. "Can't you see? That's never going to happen. You keep thinking like that, and you're going to get yourself killed." He hesitated. "Then we can all sit around and talk about you and wonder what it's all for ... because this department needs you. But we need you to be a deputy, not a machine."

Alex couldn't help but let the Scripture Clay had just quoted play again in his mind. There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads only to death. He swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say. He didn't want a Bible verse right now; he wanted real answers. Like how could a felon be back on the streets and able to shoot a deputy? And what had gone wrong in the suspect's life that he was out shooting people in the first place? But the words of the verse wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't let him go. They were exactly how he'd been feeling earlier, that sense of futility that everything he'd believed was only going to lead to his death. Maybe not today, when Bo had saved him from a bullet. But someday, sometime, when the bad guy at the traffic stop got a shot off a little sooner. Or when he got the routine house call to some ex-felon's place, and ended up being the deputy rushed into surgery, clinging to life.

He cleared his throat, his eyes locked on Clay's. "Then what's the answer?" His tone was bitter, unbelieving. "If the way that seems right leads to death?" His voice rose a notch. "Because the G.o.d you serve stands by and watches while firefighters climb sixty flights of stairs to their deaths or," he waved his hand toward the fence at the edge of the property, "while a deputy loses his life. So if G.o.d won't take out the evil around us, who will?" He let his voice fall to barely a whisper. "We're the only ones who can."

"No!" Clay's tone was intense again. "You've got it all wrong. Christ didn't die so we could go out and win the fight against evil in the world." He stopped, and his eyes grew softer. He pressed his open hand to the place over his heart. "He died so we might win the fight against evil here. Within us."

Alex stared at his friend, baffled. The wind gusted through the patio area, and he had to keep his voice raised just to be heard. "Here? Inside us, Clay? I thought we were the good guys."

"No one's good, Brady. You gotta remember at least that much." He slid closer to the edge of the table, his voice ringing with sincerity. "That's the role of the Holy Spirit ... to change us and mold us so we can be more like Christ - more loving and patient and kind, more forgiving. We'll never be perfect. That's His job. But G.o.d wants to work on the evil inside us. Only then can we do things bigger than ourselves." He wasn't finished. "The deputy that got shot? You know him. His name's Jennings. Guy loves G.o.d so much he leaks joy everywhere he goes. Whether he lives or dies, people will be changed because of his story, his life story. Not because he was bent on ridding the city of bad guys, but because he stood for everything good and right and true. That's why Christ came. To give people the chance to be like Jennings, joy-filled because he's been forgiven."

Alex had to blink again, because for a moment the voice speaking to him didn't belong to Clay, but to Alex's father. The words were the same his dad would say if he were here today. Before Alex could make a move, the door opened and Joe stepped out. The hope on his face told the story before he said a word. "Jennings is out of surgery. They were able to fix his spine." There was a catch in Joe's voice. "Looks like he could make a full recovery."

Emotions Alex hadn't felt in years came at him from all sides. He held Clay's stare a few seconds longer, and then he nodded to both men as he left. Inside, he rounded up Bo and strode hard and fast for his squad car. Even now he felt eighteen again, and no matter how hard he tried to block out the message Clay had spoken to him, he couldn't do it.

The words had cut through the brick and mortar around his heart and hit their mark dead-on.

He'd been striving for the same goal since he came to LA, but now for the first time he saw the reason for his feelings of futility, the reason why once in a while on his quest to get the crooks, he would simply come to the end of himself. Was it really possible that the only evil he could control was the evil within him? And if he were taken out on the next call, what would people say about him at his memorial service? That he was a talented cop? Was that all his legacy would ever be?

The idea was too sad for him to contemplate. He tried to dismiss everything Clay had said. Whatever evil existed inside him, it was nothing compared to the darkness on the streets. Alex mustered up a determination he'd never felt before. His father would be alive today if it weren't for the evil out there. As long as he had breath, he would fight against crime and terrorism. But in case he died trying, he would do one more thing before the night was up. He'd drive to Jamie Michaels' house, knock on the door, and do the thing he should've done weeks ago.

Read the journal entry.

TWENTY-ONE.

Jamie never slept well when Clay worked overtime. She was at peace with his job, the sort of peace she'd never had when she was married to Jake, back when she didn't want to believe in a G.o.d who would let firefighters die in the line of duty. After Jake's death, his Bible and his journal had led her into a life-saving relationship with G.o.d, one that brought with it a peace that pa.s.sed all understanding. A peace that wives of police officers rarely felt.

But that didn't mean she slept well.

Sierra and CJ were long since asleep, and she was surfing the Internet looking for a Michael O'Brien CD on iTunes when she heard a knock at the door. For a split second, she didn't move or breathe or allow herself to process the sound. Then, in a rush, the possibilities came slamming into her. Clay wouldn't knock, so if someone was at her door at this hour it could only mean ... She exhaled. Not again. This couldn't be happening again. G.o.d ... whatever it is, You're with me. Gradually, her panic leveled off enough so she could move through the house to the front door. Please, G.o.d, not Clay ... please ...

By the time she reached the door, she couldn't feel her legs or her feet, couldn't draw a complete breath. Help me, G.o.d ... whatever this is ... She reached for the handle and opened the door.

Standing there on the front porch was Alex Brady. He was in uniform and his squad car was parked outside, but he looked wide-eyed and half desperate. "Mrs. Michaels ... I'm sorry, this isn't about Clay. It's just that ... I ..."

"Alex ..." Jamie exhaled with relief and clung to the only thing she needed to hear. This wasn't about Clay. She took a step back. "Come in." She was in a T-shirt and sweats. The wind was too strong for her to hear him very well. When he stepped inside, she closed the door behind him and tried to imagine what would've brought Alex here at this hour. "What is it?"

"The journal entry." Alex's mouth sounded dry. He ran his tongue along his lips, clearly nervous. "I've changed my mind. I'd like to read it, if that's okay."

Jamie was completely caught off guard. Panic from moments ago became a glimmer of joy, surging through her and giving her hope. If he wanted to know about the journal entry, then G.o.d was doing something in his heart. She took a step toward the stairs. "Let me get it. I can make a copy of that page." She was already walking up the stairs. "Would that work?"

"Yes, thanks." He shifted his weight from one foot to another and clasped his hands behind his back. "Sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble." She was at the top of the stairs, and she went to the closet and found the journal. It took her less than a couple of minutes to jog back down to the office printer and make a copy of the correct page. She tucked the journal beneath her arm and handed him the copy. "Here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Michaels." He took the piece of paper, folded it, and slipped it into his back pocket. "I ... I know it's crazy of me. Stopping by at this hour."

"Call me Jamie, remember?" She folded her arms across her stomach and tried to look beyond the crumbling walls in his eyes. Her voice was soft, and she prayed he would hear her. Really hear her. "G.o.d's doing something in you, isn't He?"

For a long while Alex just stared at her, as if the thought wasn't something he'd actually processed yet. Then he gave a slow shake of his head. "I don't know." He patted his back pocket. "But I couldn't go another night without reading this."

Jamie smiled. "I hope you hear your dad's voice when you read it." She lightly touched his arm. "We're still praying for you."

"Thank you." He nodded to her, his expression closed off again. "Thanks for taking the time." He was already at the door. "See you later." And with that, he shut the door behind him and was gone.

She waited until she heard his car pull away before she returned to the office and called Clay. Once she had him on the phone, she told him about Alex's visit and what he'd come to get. "He looked different. Like something might be starting to change in him."

"Hmmm." Clay sounded thoughtful. "He must've gone straight there after our talk."

Jamie loved this, the way they were working together now on Alex's behalf. "What'd you talk about?"

"Everything I've been wanting to say for a year. I told him about the Bible verses that have been stuck in my mind the last few months and how it wasn't possible for him to rid the city of everything bad." Clay told her everything about their talk, and how he and Joe had prayed for Alex when he left with his dog half an hour earlier. "And then he comes straight to our house."

Chills ran down her arms. Nothing beat the thrill of knowing G.o.d was at work around them. "We'll keep praying."

"Definitely." He hesitated. "How's the wind there?"

"Strong." She wandered with the cordless phone to the nearest window. "Stronger than it was earlier. Any new fires?"

"Not yet, but we're waiting. If the REA's going to strike again, it'll be soon. We all know it."

"One more reason to pray." Jamie returned to the phone's base. "Thanks, Clay."

"For what?" His voice was tender, speaking straight to her heart even over the phone lines.

"For helping Alex."

"We're better as a team." There was a smile in his voice. "Now go get some sleep."

She knew better than to make promises she couldn't keep. So instead she told him she loved him, and when the call was over, she went to the window and stared at the wind blowing the trees. Whatever G.o.d was doing in Alex's heart, she had a feeling the biggest changes were yet to come. Before another moment pa.s.sed, she silently lifted her voice to heaven, asking G.o.d that between Clay's talk and Jake's journal entry, Alex wouldn't only be ready for the battles he'd face on the streets of LA in the coming days.

He'd also be ready for the one raging in his heart.

TWENTY-TWO.

Alex was desperate for the chance to pull over and read the piece of paper in his pocket, but there was only one place he was willing to park on a windy night like this. The road leading up to the Oak Canyon Estates. He refused to think about what Clay had said or the news about the deputy or about the chase earlier that had almost cost his life. He merely kept his eyes on the road, and one hand on the wheel. With the other hand, he patted Bo. The dog was on edge, sensing something wrong in Alex.

"It's okay, Bo ... don't worry, boy, everything's okay." He said the words again and again, but they never quite sounded convincing. He wasn't okay, not hardly. His very soul felt like it was unraveling. Since 9/11 he hadn't worked this hard to keep himself from feeling. For years he'd gone through life refusing his deepest emotions, driven by a single goal. But now his heart hurt from everything he was trying not to process. He checked the clock on his dashboard. His shift was up at three in the morning, so he still had another couple hours. He sped up some, already picturing the place where he would park to read the journal entry.

Then it happened.

Up ahead, a pale green Honda exited the freeway on the off-ramp before Las Virgenes Road. The same type of car spotted by witnesses leaving the scene of one of the arson fires set last week. Alex ran the plates as he followed the car. The search turned up nothing, but that didn't matter. The REA arsonist hadn't been caught yet, so of course there wasn't a warrant out for the guy. At the base of the exit, Alex flipped on his lights. He expected a chase, so he was surprised when the car's driver slowed down, put on his blinker, and made a safe lane change before pulling into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven.

Alex kept Bo in the car for now. As he approached the vehicle, he had one hand on his gun and a flashlight in the other. The wind beat against his face. For the second time that day, his adrenaline went into overdrive. This was it. The occupants of the car were clearly on their way to set another fire, but he'd caught them before they could do the job. In a few minutes, he would have the leaders of the REA, the arsonists themselves, and that would be that. No more fires, no more threat to innocent families living at the base of a tinder-dry hillside. No more danger to LA firefighters. Alex moved slowly. The occupants of the car were bound to be dangerous. Capable of anything. He circled his fingers tightly around his gun as he made a cautious approach to the driver's side.

About that time, the driver rolled down her window, and Alex aimed the flashlight at her. She was a freckled redhead with blue eyes and an innocent smile. Seventeen, eighteen tops. She squinted against the glare of the light. "Was I speeding?"

Alex's breathing was jagged, his body ready for a fight that was never going to materialize. He straightened and removed his hand from his gun, willing his heartbeat to slow down. He lowered the flashlight a little and thought as quickly as he could. "Your speed was okay." He was scrambling, trying to save face. "But you were weaving between lanes." He crossed his arms, hoping she couldn't tell how awkward he felt. "This one's just a warning."

"Really?" She looked genuinely surprised. "That's so nice of you. I have to pay for my own insurance if I get a ticket." She peered out the windshield. "My parents warned me about the Santa Ana winds, how it's hard to keep control of the car when it's this windy. But I didn't realize I was weaving - "

"Drive safely." Alex was already backing away. He didn't have time to visit.

"I will." She gave him a weak smile, waved once, and then safely left the convenience store parking lot and reentered traffic.

Bo was waiting for him back at the car, his expression slightly bewildered, as if even he was confused by Alex's traffic stop. "I know." Alex slid behind the wheel and slammed the door of the squad car. "That was crazy." He thudded his fist against the steering wheel. He was becoming obsessed. There were more criminals on the streets than just the members of the REA. So what was he going to do? Pull over every pale green Honda Hybrid? The girl hadn't been weaving even a little. He could've gotten more information on the plates and figured out the car was licensed to a teenage girl, right? Or made a note of the vehicle and the owner's address. But pulling someone over for no reason other than the color and make of the car? More than a week after the fires had been set? If he wasn't careful, he'd become a liability to the department.

He pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the freeway. He would be more careful next time, but still there was just one place he wanted to go, one place where he wanted to park and read the piece of paper in his pocket. He reached back and patted Bo's head. "Get some sleep, Bo ... Lie down, boy."

Bo did as he was told. Alex only had a few more hours before they'd be done for the night, and unless he was called for backup, Bo was probably done for the shift. Alex reached the road to the Oak Canyon Estates in ten minutes and noticed a new guard station partway up the drive. Good. The developers finally took the threat of arson seriously. He drove up and introduced himself to the guard.

"Just wanted to spend a little time looking for anything suspicious," he told the man.

"Thank you." The guy was older, retired maybe. He looked alert and concerned. "The extra patrol up here can only help."

Alex agreed. He flipped a U-turn around the guard shack, drove back down to the base of the road, and parked his squad car facing the main street. That way he could get a good look at any vehicle that might come up this way at such a late hour.

The wind had let up a little, but it still howled through the canyon. Alex killed his engine and took the piece of paper from his back pocket. Before he opened it, he stared at the dark, empty road ahead of him, and the flickering lights from the neighborhood at the base of the hill. He shouldn't be here on the West Coast, working as an officer in LA. If life had gone as planned, by now he would've been moving his way up in the FDNY, maybe even working at the same station as his father.

His wonderful, brave dad.

Alex swallowed back the sorrow that suddenly surrounded him. Memories rushed at him, and he was six years old again, sitting in the front row of Mrs. England's kindergarten cla.s.s, and there was his dad, standing at the front of the cla.s.s next to the American flag, decked out in his firefighter uniform, talking to the kids about fire safety. And Alex was the proudest kid at Franklin Elementary School.

All he ever wanted in life was to be as good and right and true as his dad, so that people might say, "Alex Brady is doing his father's memory proud, a real good guy just like his dad."

He and his dad would've worked together and fished together, and one day when Alex married Holly, his dad would've stood beside him, his best man. The best man Alex ever knew.

No one understood what he'd lost on 9/11, because the loss had been so great for everyone, the numbers so vast. With hundreds of firefighters dead, there was no way to take a look at each one and let the world know what sort of person had fallen victim to the terrorists. Alex narrowed his eyes. Maybe that's what made the loss even greater. The country hadn't only lost four hundred firefighters and police officers. It had lost four hundred heroes. Four hundred heroes like his dad.

He pursed his lips and let his cheeks fill up with the air from his lungs. As he released it, he forced himself to find the strength to read the journal entry. Whatever it said, the words were sort of a final message from his father. That's why he couldn't wait another day to read it - not when any day on the job might be his last.

The car was too dark, so he flipped on the overhead light and opened the folded sheet. At the top of the page was the journal date - August 7, 2001. Alex tried to remember what he must've been doing that day. It would've still been summer break, and he would've been at football practice, maybe ... or swimming at the city pool a few blocks from their home in Staten Island. Alex steadied himself and started at the beginning.

Sometimes I come across someone in the department who personifies courage and commitment, the sort of firefighter people talk about with words like bravery and loyalty, strength and honor. That's the way I feel about my friend Ben Brady from the station a few blocks from mine.

Alex read the description of his dad once more. Brave and loyal, strong and full of honor. They were words Alex could've written. He blinked back the dampness in his eyes and continued.

We worked a call together yesterday, and I found myself watching him, the way he took charge of the blaze and set an example for the other men from his firehouse. Ben and I know each other. We've talked a number of times. But yesterday we talked on a deeper level, about what drives us. I wasn't surprised when he told me he was a Christian.

Guilt stabbed at Alex. His father had shared his faith as easily as he lived it out. Alex liked to think that somewhere in heaven his dad was proud of his police work, proud that Alex was his son. But what would his dad think about the fact that Alex had walked away from G.o.d? Alex pushed the question from his mind and found his place again.

"I take G.o.d with me on every call," he said. I liked that. It's the way I feel, the way I live. But I guess I never heard it put that way before. He said something else too. He told me he knows he can only do so much to keep the city of New York safe from fires. "When you live with constant danger," he told me, "you have to remember John 16:33." He winked at me. "That's what keeps me sane. John 16:33." I was familiar with the verse, so I understood. Jesus used that part of Scripture to tell his friends a simple, profound message: "In me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." He also told me he hoped one day his son would embrace the verse.

The knife in Alex's conscience went a little deeper. He knew his dad thought about him often, but at work? The fact that his father had talked to another firefighter about his hopes for Alex somehow made his loss even more real. How important the Bible verse must've been to his dad, for him to talk about it with Jake Bryan. Tears burned in his eyes, but he held them off and kept reading the things his father had told Jake.

"So far, my family has had very little trouble. Life is good, love is sweet, and time seems like it'll last forever." His eyes held a bittersweet shine. "We all know that isn't true. Especially working for the FDNY."

His words stayed with me all day and even now, as I write, I can hear them in my heart. He's right. Today is like that for me and Jamie and Sierra too. Life is good, love is sweet, and time seems like it'll last forever. But it won't. It never does. And so we stay strong in the hope of John 16:33 ... because in the end, Christ has overcome the world. That's what I have to tell myself every now and then.

Every now and then.

That was about how often people thought about September 11 anymore. Once in a while, every now and then when an anniversary came along or someone mentioned Ground Zero. Alex allowed himself to focus on his father's words, the thoughts that really did form his final message to all of them. His dad had described their life before 9/11 perfectly.

Alex set the piece of paper down on the seat beside him and stared into the darkness again. Life had been so good ... love, beyond sweet ... and there had been no signs that time as they knew it was about to stop forever. Alex sat unmoving for a few minutes, remembering how great life had been, but gradually a thought came into view, something he hadn't considered before.

His dad had known the life they were living wouldn't last, that by working for the FDNY there was always a chance he could report to the station one day and not come home. But the fact hadn't made his father bitter or driven to conquer every fire in his way; it hadn't made him angry or determined to live cut off from the people who loved him.

Alex picked up the piece of paper and read it again straight through. No, the knowledge of danger and darkness in the world around him only made his father more keenly aware of the truth about life and love and time. And the way he'd kept his focus was not through some fierce determination of his own doing, but through his faith in G.o.d, his belief in the Bible. He believed that trouble was a certainty in this world, but he was not to worry because G.o.d had already conquered the evil in this world.