But I was where I was only partly due to that.

Mostly, a man was out there who was desperate enough to rob a gas station (for fuck’s sake) and, in more desperation, engage in gunplay with cops. He’d been seen in my ’hood. And my boy had only me to make sure we stayed safe.

So I was on my couch, awake, on the lookout, my son asleep, my gun close.

I caught light reflecting on the quiet, dark houses across the street and looked from the window across the room to my cable box.

It was one thirteen in the morning.

Maybe a neighbor just got off a late shift.

My back went straight when I found it wasn’t a neighbor but instead Merry’s Excursion pulling to a stop in front of my house.

Okay, I’d hoped he’d call or text.

But him showing in person was way better.

I jumped off the couch but kept an eye on him and saw him get out of his truck and round the hood.

I’d noted long ago the chief of police had no dress code for his detectives. Some, like Colt, wore jeans and sports jackets, making both look nice and professional just because he had that ability. Others wore nice slacks and jackets.

Merry wore suits, no ties. His suits were nice. They fit him well. They always complimented his coloring. They made the statement he took his job seriously. Even though he wore them extremely well, what they didn’t do was make the statement that he was up his own ass and knew how hot he was.

And earlier, he’d been in one of them, a dark gray one with a midnight-blue shirt that didn’t do much for him in the muted light of an alley, but I’d seen him in that combo before, and with good lighting, the shirt specifically did fabulous things for his eyes.

Now he was not in that suit.

He was in jeans, boots, a button-up shirt, and a leather jacket.

Apparently, you didn’t go man hunting all dressed up.

I filed this away with the other useless but interesting information in my brain and headed to my door.

I had it unlocked and opened, the storm door the same, and I was holding it slightly ajar with my hand by the time Merry made it to my stoop.

Eyes to me, he pulled it all the way open.

I didn’t hesitate to shift back.

He didn’t hesitate to walk right in.

He kept his fingers splayed on the glass of the door to soften the noise it’d make in closing. Once it clicked, he turned his head so he could pay attention while he locked it.

I shuffled back further to give him room to clear, close, and lock the front door.

He did this and turned to me, dipping his chin down.

“They get him?” I whispered.

“Yeah. Marty tackled him behind the Dairy Queen.”

Something about this made me want to laugh.