I couldn’t. It had been a terrifying experience, and I had nearly died. “I won’t deny anything you said. But I do love you. I can’t deny that, either. I’ll quit the police force if that’s what it takes.”

“No.” A softness came into her eyes. She shook her head back and forth. “That would be all wrong. For both of us.”

We held each other on the porch, and I knew we were in trouble. I didn’t know how to resolve it. I had no idea. Maybe if I left the force, became a full-time therapist again, led a more normal life for Christine and the kids. But could I do that? Could I really quit?

“Ask me again,” she whispered. “Ask me again, sometime.”

Chapter 8

CHRISTINE AND I had dated since that night, and it just felt right, easy, comfortable, and romantic. It always was that way between us. Still, I wondered if our problem could be fixed. Could she be happy with a homicide detective? Could I stop being one? I didn’t know.

I was brought out of my reverie about Christine by the high-pitched, stuttering wail of a siren out on Twelfth Street, just turning off E. I winced when I saw Sampson’s black Nissan pull up in front of St. Anthony’s.

He turned off the siren on his rooftop but then beeped the car horn, sat on it. I knew he was here for me, probably to take me somewhere I didn’t want to go. The horn continued to blare.

“It’s your friend John Sampson,” Jimmy Moore called out. “You hear him, Alex?”

“I know who it is,” I called back to Jimmy. “I’m hoping he goes away.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like it.”

I finally walked outside, crossing through the soup-kitchen line and receiving a few jokey jeers. People I had known for a long time accused me of working half a day, or said that if I didn’t like the job, could they have it.

“What’s up?” I called to Sampson before I got all the way out to his black sports car.

Sampson’s side window came sliding down. I leaned inside the car. “You forget? It’s my day off,” I reminded him.

“It’s Nina Childs,” Sampson said in the low, soft voice he used only when he was angry or very serious. He was trying to deaden his facial muscles, to look tough, not emotional, but it wasn’t working real well. “Nina’s dead, Alex.”

I shivered involuntarily. I opened the car door and got in. I didn’t even go back to the kitchen to tell Jimmy Moore I was leaving. Sampson jerked the car away from the curbside fast. The siren came on again, but now I almost welcomed the mournful wail. It numbed me.