“Even cops go on vacation and you know the ropes,” Decker said. “Not a bad idea.”

“You think?”

“It’s easier than training a temp, although you’ll have to bone up on your shooting skills. I’m not working with anyone who can’t use a firearm.”

“That can be arranged,” McAdams said.

“What do you mean technically you have summers off?”

“Summer is traditionally the time where lawyers-to-be grab coveted legal internships. So being the contrarian that I am, I’m figuring that while most of my classmates will be slaving away with long hours and great food allowances at white shoe firms, I’d like to be back here in Greenbury, rescuing cats from trees, bitching about mankind’s stupidity, and working on my screenplay.”

“You’re like shingles,” Decker said. “I can’t get rid of you.”

“There is a vaccine for that,” McAdams said. “But you’ve got to be old to take it.”

Decker threw a potato chip at him. “So I’ll see you next summer?”

“That would be a definite yes.”

“About your screenplay, Tyler,” Rina said. “What about making the protagonist a woman?”

“It’s a possibility. I do have some good role models for it. But I don’t think I could write it as good as the real thing.”

Rina grinned. “So make it a man. You’ve got a lot to choose from there.”

“I do.”

“What’s that I hear?” Decker cupped his ear. “Is that Hollywood calling your name?”

Tyler laughed. “I don’t know about that. But you know what they say. Write what you know. And I know some pretty gutsy people.” He stood up and grabbed a handful of cookies. “For the train.”

“Help yourself,” Rina said.

Decker stood up. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Stay where you are, Old Man,” McAdams said. “I can see myself out.” He hugged them both. “Thanks.”

“For getting you shot? You’re welcome.”

“No, I could have done without that. But at least I’m walking on my own two feet. More than that, Old Man, thanks to you, I’ve learned how to stand on my own two feet.” A genuine smile crinkled the corners of his hazel green eyes. “I’ll see you and the rest of Greenbury’s finest next summer and that’s a promise.”

After he left, Decker sat back down and took a swig from the long neck. “I think I’ll miss him . . . maybe.”

“You’ll miss him. Admit it.”

He thought a long, long time about that. Then he turned to Rina and smiled. “Maybe.”

About the Author

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FAYE KELLERMAN lives with her husband, New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman, in Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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Also by Faye Kellerman

Also by Faye Kellerman

The Beast

Gun Games

Hangman

Blindman’s Bluff

The Mercedes Coffin

The Burnt House

The Ritual Bath