His pause was enough warning for me. I shook my head. “You never should’ve harmed my daughter,” I said softly, bringing up the Glock.

“Tessa, come on. I told you what you needed to know.” He rattled his cuffed wrists. “Jesus Christ, this is crazy. Let me go. I’ll help you get your daughter back. We’ll find Purcell together. Come on …”

I smiled, but it was sad. Shane made it all sound so easy. Of course, he could’ve made that offer on Saturday. Instead, he’d informed me to sit down, shut up, and oh yeah, he’d be by in the morning for my beating.

Good Brian. Bad Brian.

Good Shane. Bad Shane.

Good Tessa. Bad Tessa.

Maybe for all of us, that line between good and bad is thinner than it ought to be. And maybe for all of us, once that line’s been crossed, there’s no going back. You were who you were, and now you are who you are.

“Shane,” I murmured. “Think of your sons.”

He appeared confused, then I saw him connect the dots. Such as cops who died in the line of duty received death benefits for their families, while cops who went to jail for embezzling funds and engaging in criminal activities didn’t.

As Shane had said, he was a fuckup, but not a total failure.

Good Shane thought of his three sons. And I could tell when he reached the logical conclusion, because his shoulders came down. His face relaxed.

Shane Lyons looked at me one last time.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” I said.

Then, I pulled the trigger.

Afterward, I drove the cruiser out of the driveway and onto the street, eventually pulling in behind a darkened warehouse, the kind of place a cop might go if he spotted suspicious activity. I climbed into the back, ignoring the stench of blood, the way Shane’s body still felt warm and pliable.

I dug through his pockets, then his duty belt. I discovered a scrap of paper with digits that resembled GPS coordinates tucked beside his cellphone. I used the computer in the front seat to look up the coordinates, then wrote down the corresponding address and directions.

I returned to the backseat, uncuffing Shane’s hands, then placing his duty belt back around him. I’d done him a favor, shooting him with Brian’s Glock. I could’ve used his own Sig Sauer, raising the possibility that his death was suicide. In which case, Tina and the boys would’ve received nothing.

I’m not that hard yet, I thought. Not that stone cold.

My cheeks felt funny. My face curiously numb.

I kept myself focused on the business at hand. The night was young yet, and I had plenty of work to do.