A woman rounded the corner to intercept me. At first she smiled, but her expression darkened as she examined me. I thought she might be the blonde I’d seen on my last jog-by. She was attractive in an outdoorsy kind of way, sandy hair, freckles that blended into a tan, a wedding ring on the hand she lifted to brush a long strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Can I help you?”

I thought it was already clear she didn’t want to. “I’m looking for Teo. Is he here?”

“Maybe I can help.”

I drew myself to my full height, although it was futile since she was almost a head taller, as well as muscular and fit. “I need to see him.”

The front door opened, and we both turned our heads. Teo stepped out. His hair was longer than I remembered, no longer buzzed but starting to curl. He was still slender and broad-shouldered. A khaki-colored T-shirt emblazoned with Confidence K-9’s logo hung over dark shorts, and he looked both older and younger than the man in my memory. Younger than the K9 officer who had, while seriously injured himself, killed a man to protect me. Older than the one who’d shared my bed so often and well.

I’d thought of a million possible greetings, none of which covered all the bases. But as my gaze flicked over him, assessing the changes, I stopped at the leg that had been shot out from under him by John Quayle. The leg I remembered was gone, and in its place was a prosthesis starting below his knee.

My head began to whirl and tears welled in my eyes.

By then the blonde had disappeared inside, as if she realized whatever was about to play out would happen with or without her. Teo watched my expression. When my eyes finally met his, he cocked his head. “Nobody told you?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly the kind of thing we talk about at cocktail parties.”

“Since when do you go to cocktail parties?”

I blinked back the tears. “I could use a cocktail now. How about you?”

“I was averaging five or six a day until I decided to give up my leg.”

“Did your buddies get you drunk every night to help you get through...everything?”

“Unfortunately, I preferred to drink alone. I wasn’t very good company. But you already know that.”

My fears about the way this reunion would go morphed into something far more terrible. I said the only thing I knew to be true. “This is my fault.”

“No. John Quayle’s fault.”

“You came to my rescue, and if I’d listened to you in the first place you wouldn’t have needed to. As it turns out...” I swallowed and looked away. “You were right.”

From the moment he’d arranged our interview, John Quayle had probably planned to follow me from Starbucks, maybe just to find where I lived so he could strike later. But a better opportunity had emerged almost immediately. He had stayed well behind me on the road, so that even though I was careful, I couldn’t be careful enough. Aided by the storm he’d been able to pull closer, and when I’d stalled at the rising water on the road ahead, he’d seen his chance.