She held out the covers. “C’mon, soldier. Life is short. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He hesitated, then quickly slipped under the welcoming duvet, trying to calm his nerves as adrenaline shot through his body. “I’m just … shocked. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” He turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because a family was in distress. I thought it would have been a distraction. It was a judgment call. If I made the wrong decision, sue me.”

Decker slumped against the pillow. “Now here’s a sobering thought. I compromised your life by dragging you along. And that bastard saves you.” His laugh was bitter. “God almighty, I actually owe the son of a bitch!”

“I’m sure he evened the score in the warehouse. So consider the slate cleaned.”

Again he laughed—hard and angry. Suddenly tears welled up in Decker’s eyes. Before he could blink, they were running down his cheeks. “If anything had happened to you …”

“But nothing did happen to me.” She leaned into his body and threw her arm around his chest. “I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too.” His body was quivering with what might have been, his nerves raw and tender. He was still angry, of course, but not quite as angry. The bastard had been good for something other than plugging him with holes.

God had His reasons.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, love you, love you.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

Decker burst into laughter, hugging her fiercely. He remained entwined with her, neither of them talking, allowing the contact of skin against skin to speak volumes. Holding her … feeling the rhythm of her heart until he heard her breathing slow and lengthen as she drifted into sleep. Gently, he disentangled himself and rose from the bed.

“Where’re you going?” she said sleepily.

“I’m getting dressed.”

“It’s not light yet.”

“I’m meeting Cindy for breakfast.” He stretched lethargy from his aching bones. “I might as well get an early jump. I’ll take Hannah to school.”

“Are you sure …” Her voice was already in dreamland.

“I’m sure.”

“And later on, you’ll help me with Omah?”

“What?”

“My grandmother?”

Oh, that. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Anything you want.”

“I didn’t die. Stop being so nice.”

He felt himself chuckle. It was a legitimate expression of joy. Though still burdened by his abject failure—that wasn’t going to disappear overnight—he felt lighter than he had in months. In an instant, a searing holocaust of hatred was reduced to … well, maybe a bonfire, burning hot and bright, but controllable. Her confession had opened a pressure valve, and for the first time in weeks, he could see again with impartial eyes.

He took a bullet for me.

Potent words. They gave him a whole new perspective on things. Now, maybe, maybe, he could concentrate enough to do his friggin’ job.

6

I was running late, going over the canyon and into the Valley: poor form because Dad had made a special effort to meet me. By the time I got to the deli, it was past nine, and Dad was already sitting in a booth, sipping coffee, reading the Calendar section of the Times. My father was a handsome guy with a full head of hair, although there was lots of white where once it had been orange. His mustache still had color. It was full and bushy and made him look like the macho guy he was. His cheeks were smooth and without shadow as in a recent shave. He had on a white shirt and a dark blue tie. His brown eyes went from his watch, then over the top of the newspaper. When he saw me, he put down the paper and smiled. But there was irritation in his expression.