In his office, he ripped off his jacket and tie and sat down. Slightly winded, he let loose with a mighty sigh as he unpacked his briefcase, his thoughts on Nikki, the mountain, Charles, and wondering where the hell Harry was. He’d been text messaging and calling him every chance he got, all day, with no response. He knew Harry had a midmorning training class at Quantico, and they were to meet up at the Drop Zone for lunch. But Harry hadn’t shown for lunch. Jack was getting really concerned because Harry always answered his phone. Always. And the fine hairs on the back of Jack’s neck had started to prickle. Somewhere, something was wrong.

Jack sorted, sifted, and collated the papers in his briefcase before he bellowed for his secretary and the two assistant DAs. “Court’s dark tomorrow. I’ll see you when I see you. Be sure to get those papers to Judge Avalone before five-thirty. Chop-chop, guys. You, too, Melinda.” He got snorts of disgust and grimaces that he ignored. “It’s all about delegating, guys. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” A roll of rubber bands in the shape of a ball hit him squarely in the back of the head.

Jack laughed as he made his way back to the elevator, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie trailing out of a side pocket.

In the parking lot, he popped the trunk and tossed in both his jacket and briefcase.

The inside of his car was like a sauna. He turned on the AC to HIGH and then slipped in a favorite Harry Connick, Jr. CD. Sweat dripped down Jack’s face. He swiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt. He tooled along, his eyes on the road, hoping to see Harry on his Ducati, but it didn’t happen.

Traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon, when usually a lot of people headed out of the city to cooler pastures, so Jack made decent time to Harry’s dojo just as the AC kicked in, and he started to shiver.

Jack turned the corner and slowed, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the sight of the yellow CAUTION tape stretched across the dojo’s front door. What made him slam on his brakes was the sight of Harry sitting on the curb in his Armani suit, barefooted. His shoes were next to him there alongside the Ducati. He didn’t even look up at the sound of Jack’s squealing brakes. Jack slammed out of the car the moment he swerved the curb. He looked around for a sign of smoke that would mean the CAUTION tape was up because of a fire. No smoke. Christ, maybe Harry finally killed someone. Nah, he’d be in jail if he’d done that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting on the curb in his Armani suit.

“Harry! What the hell is going on? Harry, look at me! Goddamn it, what the hell is going on? Why are you sitting here all duded up in that fancy suit? Are you going to answer me, or do I have to knock you on your ass?” Jack yelled, his heart beating trip-hammer fast. When there was no smart-ass response, Jack dropped to his haunches and poked at Harry’s chest. “At least you’re not dead. You had me worried there for a minute. Talk to me, Harry. It’s me, Jack. Come on, buddy, let’s hear it.”