Only two days had pa.s.sed, and already Alex was going crazy without his job. He understood the department's policy. Being responsible for the death of another human being was something that weighed on him more than he could've known. No matter how badly he wanted to rid the streets of crime, he didn't want to kill anyone.

So maybe a little time off was a good thing. But still he couldn't get past the fact that he felt like he was being punished.

He was almost to Clay and Jamie's house, ready for a night of lasagna and listening - which was what he liked best about these dinners. By listening, he had learned to feel for the families who gathered at the Michaels' house, and by feeling he could keep his focus. Fighting crime, so that one more person wouldn't feel the pain of losing someone to another lousy bad guy.

The sun was still bright in the sky, and Alex wore his darkest Oakleys. He tried to imagine how different life would be this very night at Clay's house if the gunman had killed him, if the shot had hit him in the neck or if it had pierced his bulletproof vest. Jamie knew nothing of the pain that would've consumed her that day if Clay had never again walked through the front door. Her heart would've been torn apart by a bullet fired half a city away, and the kids? Neither Sierra nor CJ would ever be the same again.

Satisfaction warmed his veins and cast a calm over the stormy seas in his soul. He never intended to kill a suspect, but in this case Clay was still alive because Alex had taken the right action. His determination to keep people from the pain that had torn his family apart was working.

He steeled his gaze at the road ahead of him.

While he was off work, he would keep an eye on the REA. The meeting was tonight - after another delay, according to Owl. Alex could hardly wait. He would have dinner with his friends, and then leave earlier than usual. He had his disguise in the trunk - dark sweatshirt and sweatpants, a ski mask, and an ankle holster so he could add a third gun to the ones he'd be wearing around his waist and thigh.

The others were all there when Alex parked his truck and took Bo from the backseat. As the two of them headed up the walkway, he could hear them already laughing, sharing stories about kids or something funny that had happened. Alex wrapped Bo's leash around the porch post and hooked it so it was secure.

Bo gave him a tired look, as if to say, "Really? I'm staying out here by myself again?"

"Not for long, boy ... just an hour or two." Alex sat on the step beside the dog and patted his head. Light from the setting sun made it easier to see the small missing piece in Bo's ear, the place where a bullet had nicked him during a drug bust a few months ago. Neighbors had reported drug activity, and two squad cars had been dispatched to the scene.

The missing piece wasn't much, maybe a quarter-inch. But it told the story of Bo's uncanny ability as a police dog, and his unending loyalty. Alex ran his knuckles against the side of Bo's face. Two years ago when the dog had come home from the Netherlands, green with only basic training, his eyes were forever earnest and willing, always giving Alex the same message. Sort of an, "Okay, boss ... tell me what to do ... tell me what to do."

But that look had long since been replaced by one of utter control and confidence. Alex trusted Bo with his life now, no question. He and Bo had spent more than eight hundred hours training together, finding bad guys in empty buildings and alleys, tracking would-be perpetrators through chest-deep marshes and thick swamps and dense brush. Since Bo had no police training in Europe, his training was all in English. But for every verbal command, he was equally adept with a hand signal or physical cue.

Alex looped his arm around Bo's neck and leaned against him. A K9 officer never went anywhere without his dog, so after two years the bond between them only intensified the effectiveness of their training. It was part of what made them so good at catching crooks. Alex had read somewhere that for a K9 deputy, his dog was his friend, his partner, and his defender. For Bo? Alex rubbed the dog's ear again. For Bo, Alex was his life, his leader, his everything.

After 9/11, Alex withdrew from people, all people. Working with a police dog was the only crime fighting Alex ever wanted to do - from the moment he made his decision to be a deputy. Not only did the job give him a reason to be a loner, to focus on the bad guys, but also K9 teams were always on the frontlines, the first guys into a building or chasing down a suspect. No deputy could have a better partner. Alex's intense training on his off hours, his determination and focus, were sometimes only an attempt to match Bo's complete devotion.

The smell of lasagna drifted onto the front porch. Alex patted the dog one last time as he stood. "You're a good boy, Bo. Good dog."

Bo wagged his tail and, at Alex's hand command, stretched out his front legs and lay down on the porch. He watched Alex walk to the front door and inside the house, and Alex smiled to himself. Whether he was in the house a few minutes or a few hours, Bo would keep his eyes on that front door the whole time. Watching for him, waiting.

Alex found Clay in the kitchen slicing garlic bread. "Brady, look at you." He tried to look serious, but there was a light in his eyes that belied the fact. "You're turning into a slacker."

"Sir?" Alex leaned against the nearest kitchen counter and crossed his arms.

"Your suntan." He took a nearby dish towel and flicked it in Alex's direction. "You asked me what to bring, and I told you." He shook his head in a mock show of disappointment. "So what'd you do, spend the last two days thinking about the REA?"

Clay was kidding, so Alex didn't dare tell him that he was dead-on. He forced a yawn. "You know, Sarge ... caught up on my sleep, lazed around in the recliner."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Why do I doubt that?"

A buzzer went off near the stove, and Clay tossed Alex a pair of hot pads. "Get the lasagna." He carried the plate of sliced bread to the dining room. "Set it on the stove."

As Alex took the gla.s.s dish from the oven, he caught a glimpse of Jamie and Sierra in the backyard. They were talking to the others, showing off something in their vegetable garden. Funny, Alex thought. Sierra could easily be Eric's daughter, something about the shape of her face, or her eyes, maybe.

The lasagna needed a few minutes to cool, and after everyone had served their plates they gathered in the backyard again. This time Jamie had set up a card table for the smaller kids, and another one for the teens. Someone always prayed before the group ate, and tonight Clay took the lead.

"Dear G.o.d, we gather here as friends and family, grateful for Your love and provision. Thank You for this food and the hands that prepared it." He paused. "And we ask You, Lord, to help us lean on You and not on our own understanding. In everything we do. Amen."

A round of hearty amens followed, but Alex had the sudden urge to excuse himself from the table and spend the meal out front with Bo. Why had Clay added that last part? Alex had a feeling the words were directed straight at him. He lifted his eyes slowly, glancing at the others and making sure no one was staring his way. Only then did he let the words. .h.i.t their mark. They had to be intended for him. Everyone else around the three tables already relied fully on G.o.d. He was the only one who leaned on his own understanding.

Alex took a piece of lasagna and kept his thoughts to himself. Clay had never talked to him about G.o.d, not directly, anyway. Probably because it was clear where Alex stood - he wasn't interested. Either way, he didn't want Clay using tonight to get into a discussion about dependence on G.o.d. He was two hours from meeting the Owl, something he'd worked out all on his own. A talk about needing G.o.d was the last thing he wanted.

There were no awkward silences with this group, which was one reason Alex liked coming. As soon as everyone was served, the conversations around him picked up. Josh Michaels was boasting about taking on the rest of the group in the basketball game Around the World, and laughing about the unlikely possibility that Sierra would make it past the first two shots. To her credit, Sierra was holding her own, giggling and promising to show them all wrong.

At the adult table, Joe was launching into a story about little Will and the family goldfish bowl. He dragged a napkin across his mouth. "So all along we've known Will has a fondness for fish, right?" He kept his voice low enough that Will and the other little kids couldn't hear him. "I mean a real fondness."

"He regularly drags his blanket from his bedroom and curls up for a nap right beside the fishbowl." Wanda made a face that suggested Will was a few crayons short of a box. "The sort of fondness where he talks to the fish, you know what I'm saying?"

"Anyway, so yesterday Wanda and Will come in from a trip to the market, and the goldfish are gone."

"Both of them?" Laura set her fork down, taken in by the story.

"Both." Wanda waved her hand in the air. "Disappeared."

"So Wanda looks at Will and points to the fishbowl, and Will walks a little closer." Joe leaned in so the others could hear. "Then he turns those big brown eyes back up at her and smiles. 'Fish sleeping,' he says."

Jamie jumped back and bit her lip. "No!"

"Yes!" Wanda glanced at Will, busy eating his dinner ten feet away.

"Those fish were sleeping, all right."

"So Wanda marches Will upstairs, and sure enough, there were the goldfish right smack on Will's pillow, blankets pulled up all nice and snug."

For the flash of a moment, Alex caught himself yearning for the life these three couples shared. He glanced at Will and CJ and Lacey and imagined what it would be like if he were a father, if one of the little ones at the next table belonged to him. Then, without warning, a memory came to life. He and his dad, sitting beside each other at the table after dinner one Thanksgiving. His mom must've been in the other room, because it was just the two of them, and his dad leaned back in his chair and put an arm around Alex's shoulders. "Of all the things I'm thankful for," he messed his fingers through Alex's hair and grinned at him, "you're at the top of the list. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I love being a dad." His father's eyes grew more serious. "I love being your dad."

Even with night falling and the smell of sweet wildflowers in the late summer air, even with the rea.s.suring pressure of the gun against his waist and the sound of the voices all around him, Alex could still see the way his dad looked at him that Thanksgiving Day. He blinked and tuned back into the conversation. Clay was asking if Will understood, if he'd learned anything from the fish tragedy.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we all learned something. Apparently, we need to read that boy the book of Genesis. The part where G.o.d created water so the fish would have a place to live."

A round of m.u.f.fled laughter pa.s.sed over the table, and Eric looked from Wanda to Joe. "Let me guess, the Reynolds house has a couple of new goldfish."

"Wanda took Will to pick 'em out, so that she could show him how all the fish in the store were in water - not wrapped in blankets."

Alex smiled at the story and pushed his fork through his salad. The food was good, but he wasn't hungry, and he was struggling to stay focused on the conversation. What if Owl somehow knew he was a cop? The meeting could be a setup, and in his zeal to catch the REA, he could walk straight into a trap. He had to consider the idea, the way he'd been trained to consider all possibilities.

He took a bite of lasagna and looked up. As he did, he caught Jamie looking at him. Not just with a curious glance or incidental look, but really studying him. As if she knew he wasn't truly there tonight. She locked eyes with him for a second or two, and then she turned back to the conversation. Something about Laura and Eric's little girl, Lacey.

Between Clay's prayer and Jamie's strange way of watching him, Alex had a feeling about tonight. The group wasn't just including him in another dinner; they were worried about him. Loner sheriff's deputy Alex Brady, unable to process his feelings about shooting a bad guy. Alex finished his meal and quietly surveyed the others. Or maybe not. Maybe the things he was feeling were only in his imagination. But either way, he didn't belong here tonight.

He had an appointment to keep.

The meal was still going on, and Alex didn't need to leave for another half hour, but he needed time alone, time to think about the task ahead of him. As soon as the timing felt right, Alex excused himself and went out onto the porch with Bo.

He sat next to his dog and stared into the fading sunset. What was it about being here, the way it both drew him and confused him? No matter what fleeting thoughts had descended on him during dinner, he didn't want to be a father. Far from it. There was no room in his life for that kind of love. First, because he was incapable of loving that way, and second because he was driven to fight crime with every breath, with all his time and energy.

He ran his hand along Bo's side. Being here stirred feelings in him he never had otherwise. Questions about what it would've been like if he hadn't sent Holly away. Because if his ability to love was truly dead, then how could he explain the sensation that surrounded him even in this very moment - the feel of his dad's arm around his shoulders?

THIRTEEN.

All through dinner, Jamie watched the young deputy at the opposite end of the table, and when he stood and excused himself, she took his action as her cue. She silently prayed, asking G.o.d for wisdom and the right words. Then at the next break in the conversation, she put her hand on Clay's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

He didn't have to ask where she was going. His eyes told her he already knew, and that he was hesitant about her determination to help Alex. Hesitant, but not opposed to it. They had talked a few more times about Jake's journal, and whether the situation with Alex was drawing her heart back to the grief she'd known after the terrorist attacks. Jamie had been honest with him, because she wasn't really sure if that was happening.

"I just know I have to help him," she'd told Clay last night. "Please ... understand, okay?"

In the end he gave her his promise. If she felt G.o.d was leading her to talk to Alex, to share what Jake had written in his journal, then so be it. She had his blessing. But his expression now told her he also had his doubts. Jamie would talk to him later. She tucked that a.s.surance into the corner of her heart as she reached the front screen door and stared out. On impulse, she grabbed her camera. Photography was a new hobby for her, and she'd always wanted to take pictures of Bo. She made sure the camera had a fresh battery and an empty memory chip.

Alex was sitting against the house, one knee pulled up, his eyes distant and focused on some unseen person or place, as if he wasn't really there, but somewhere far, far off. His dog lay on the porch beside him, his head on his paws, and they both looked at her as she stepped out. Jamie lowered her camera and resisted the desire to turn and head immediately back to the table, back to the safe conversation about goldfish and children.

Help me, G.o.d ... give me the words. She took a step closer. "I got a new camera." She gave a lighthearted shrug. "Can I take a few pictures of you and Bo?"

Surprise registered in Alex's eyes. "Uh ... sure, I guess." He smiled, as if maybe he was relieved that she wasn't going to ask anything deeper.

She made casual talk about dinner and the kids as she grabbed a dozen shots of Alex with Bo, and of Bo by himself. "He's a beautiful dog."

"The best ever." Alex patted Bo's back. "No dog like him anywhere."

Jamie's heartrate picked up speed. Picture-taking could only last so long. She opened the door and set the camera down on the table just inside. When she came back out, she slipped her hands in her back pockets. "Can I join you for a minute?"

Alex looked immediately uncomfortable with the idea. Jamie knew he had no intention of letting his guard down around her, but she needed to try. It was a job she felt compelled by G.o.d to do.

Bo yawned and set his chin down on his paws again. Alex watched him, and then gave Jamie a nervous look. "Uh, actually ... I was coming back in. Just checking on Bo." He seemed to realize that his excuse sounded weak in light of the way she'd found him. "I guess ... I don't know, I got distracted."

Jamie's confidence grew. She lowered herself to the porch and sat cross-legged, facing him. "I'm sorry ... about the shooting."

"Yeah. It happens." Alex stroked the top of Bo's head, his eyes on his dog. "I don't really need time off, you know."

She thought about her years at St. Paul's Chapel, how driven she'd been never to miss a day in her quest to bring meaning to Jake's death. A car drove by and the distraction gave Jamie time to gather her courage. When it pa.s.sed, her voice filled with a depth that hadn't been there before. "I understand, Alex. More than you know."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed just enough that his unspoken question was as clear as if he'd said the words.

Jamie held his gaze. "I know about your father. How he died."

Alex's expression hardened. "I'm over it. A lot of people died that day."

"Including my first husband. He was FDNY." It still hurt to say the words. "He died in the Twin Towers."

For the first time since he had come into their lives, the walls around Alex's heart crumbled just a little. Jamie could see the change in his eyes. "You ... were married to a firefighter?"

"Yes." She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. "His name was Jake Bryan."

"How come ..." he turned his eyes straight ahead again. "... Clay never said anything?"

"Wanda too. Her husband was a firefighter in New York." Alex sat straighter, his back rigid, eyes wide and unblinking. "I never ... I had no idea." Slowly he regained some of his composure. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"The guys thought it would scare you off." Jamie could feel the sadness in her half-smile. "Too much pain."

He was quiet, processing the information. "So why tell me now? What brought you out here?"

Jamie breathed in slowly, allowing G.o.d to turn her thoughts into words. "For a long time, I've wondered whether your father might've known my first husband." She looked out past the rooftops of the houses across the street. "Wanda and I have talked about it, and there was no connection between her husband and Jake. But I wasn't sure about your father."

"What would it matter?" The muscles in Alex's jaw flexed. "They would still be gone."

Bo must've heard a change in Alex's tone. The dog lifted his head long enough to size up the conversation. When he was satisfied everything was okay, he stretched out again.

Jamie's heart pounded harder than before, and she tried to find the right words. She wanted to tell him it mattered because the terrorists were still waging war seven years later, right here in Alex's heart and soul. But she didn't want to make him run. "My husband kept a journal. For years while he worked for the FDNY, he wrote about his thoughts and ... and the people he met." She felt Jake's loss like a knife that never quite dislodged from inside her. "He had a very strong faith."

Alex released a quick, angry-sounding sigh and stood, restless. "Ma'am? I guess I don't get it. Why are you telling me this?"

Bo lifted his head again, alert and ready, his eyes locked on his master.

"Call me Jamie." Her tone remained kind, unshaken. She dropped her knees back to the cross-legged position. "Please sit back down. I have something to tell you."

He paced a few steps toward the walkway, and then back again. "Ma'am ... Jamie ..." He stopped, his struggle clearly intense. He spoke through tight jaws. "I don't do this. I don't talk about him."

I feel You, G.o.d ... be with him, please. A quiet strength came over her, and she watched him, undeterred. "It won't take long." She motioned to the spot where Alex had been sitting. "Please."

For a few seconds, it looked like Alex might call his dog and run off without another word. Instead he breathed a few times through his nose, the battle playing out in his expression until finally he came closer and slowly lowered himself back to his spot beside Bo. He pulled up both his knees and rested his forearms there. "Go ahead."

She tried to imagine the ma.s.sive twist of anger and pain that tied up the heart of the young man across from her. The same anger and pain that bound the hearts of countless people Jamie had talked to at St. Paul's. She leaned closer. "The other day I looked through Jake's journal. It was a long shot, but I had to know - whether Jake knew your dad or not. Whether they'd ever talked."

Alex looked down at his dog and waited.

"I found an entry, an entire page about your dad." She held her breath. "They knew each other. But more than that, Jake wrote that - "

"Please." His eyes flashed, his tone sharp. "I don't want to hear it. There's nothing he could've written that would change anything now." His voice softened. "I'm sorry, I just ..." He let the air gather in his cheeks, and he released it in a rush. At the same time, he pushed his fingers through his hair, his frustration tangible. After half a minute, he shook his head and made a sound that was half-groan, half-cry.

She didn't know whether to apologize or argue with him, so she stayed quiet, watching him.

"Don't you see?" His expression begged her to understand. "It's different for you." He motioned to the front door. "You have Clay and your kids. You have a life." He stood and unhooked Bo from the porch post. "I have a job to do." He waited until Bo was up and at his side. "I'm not looking for healing." He took a step back. "Thank you for dinner. Tell the others good-bye for me."

She stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. "Alex?"

He was already at the end of the walk, but he turned back to her. "Yes?"