Olivia was all for him quitting; she claimed it would give them more time together with the baby. But his grown daughter Kristi thought the idea preposterous. “Oh, yeah? And what would you do?” she’d asked, her eyes twinkling. “Stay at home and play pat-a-cake with Ginny all day? That I’d love to see.” She had chuckled at the mental image before adding, “You know you’d go out of your friggin’ mind within a week. Right? You’re a cop’s cop, Dad. You live to be a detective, and don’t argue with me,” she’d warned, wagging a finger at him. “You know it. You love the chase and live for the arrest, sending all those bad boys up the river. Otherwise you would have given up before.” She’d held his gaze. “You fought hard to win back your badge after the Valdez incident.”

“Not an ‘incident,’ Kristi,” he’d reminded her. “I killed a kid.”

“Who you thought was aiming a gun at your partner.”

“Nonetheless—”

“Nonetheless nothing. You didn’t quit then and you’re not quitting now. Face it, Dad, you’d curl up and die reading Pat the Bunny and Goodnight Moon for the ten thousandth time. Give it a rest.” She’d flashed him that incredible smile, the one that reminded him of his first wife. “You can retire when you’re old. I mean really old.”

He’d let the subject drop. Until now, when Montoya brought it up again.

“Not sure what I’m going to do.” He tapped a knuckle on the window and considered his future as they sped past a lowland farm.

“Well, let me know, would you?” Montoya gunned the car, speeding around a slow-moving hay truck with bales that looked as if they might topple at any second. “If you’re really going to quit, give me a heads-up, okay, so I can request a new partner. Damn, but I’d hate to get hooked up with Brinkman.”

Bentz didn’t blame Montoya. Brinkman was a pain in the ass and a know-it-all at that. A decent enough cop who had been with the department for years, Brinkman was a loudmouth who always knew the worst off-color jokes and never passed up a chance to put the screws to his fellow officers. Yeah, Brinkman had all the social skills of a water moccasin on a bad day. “You could request someone.”

“Sure.” Montoya squinted through the bug-spattered windshield. “Because you know if I ended up with Brinkman, I might just kill the son of a bitch.”

“You’d be doing the department a favor.”

“That I would.” Montoya laughed. “And end up in jail. Look, just stick around, Bentz. Come on, man, now you have a real reason to stay. Father John. We need to take him down. Whether you like it or not, the sick bastard just made our job a lot more interesting.”