He wrapped his arms around his almost-wife and pulled her tightly to him. A small shudder went through her as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

“I’ll call the therapist tomorrow,” he said. “Consider that task removed from your plate. We still need to know if anyone has been looking for Jayne.”

“Don’t argue with the doctor.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell her how we view the email and let her handle that information as she pleases. I suspect my words will later haunt her when Jayne lets her down.”

“She will, won’t she?” Ava whispered.

“Every time.”

14

Bingo barked as if a dozen wolves were in the house.

Mason was out of bed and halfway down the hall before he’d fully awakened. He dashed into the kitchen, where Bingo leaped and snarled at the back door. His nails scratched the glass and paint as he threw himself at the door over and over. Seeing no one through the glass, Mason yanked open the door, and Bingo launched himself off their deck. The interior house lights still off, Mason watched as Bingo tore about the yard, barking at the top of his lungs.

Mason saw nothing to make his dog act insane. As he scanned the backyard, he felt Ava stop behind him.

“See anything?” she whispered.

“No.”

“He’s a good alarm. Do we need to call the police?”

His concentration was fixed on the dog, who’d stopped to sniff a patch of grass. “What do we tell them? Our dog is freaking out? Come drive through the neighborhood?”

Ava sighed. “I know. It sounds ridiculous.”

“Bingo’s calmed down. Whatever it was is gone.”

“Whoever it was,” Ava corrected. “He wouldn’t do that over a squirrel.”

“I thought he was going to break down the back door. He heard something he didn’t like in the backyard.”

“I hope he scared whoever enough to keep him out of our neighborhood.”

“Now I’m having second thoughts about those prints you saw in the backyard,” said Mason. “It’s possible someone has been prowling around here.”

“I wish the new dog door would get here.”

Mason didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he liked the idea of his dog in the backyard with someone who could hurt him. Anyone who saw Bingo would see a cute medium-size black-and-white dog. But anyone who heard him first would believe they were being chased by one of the hounds of hell.

“No one can fit through that dog door,” Ava stated.

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” admitted Mason. “I don’t like the idea of Bingo coming face-to-face with a prowler.”

“Afraid we’ll get sued? Because Bingo will kick his ass.”

Mason smiled, knowing she was trying to make light of a situation that was bothering both of them. “It’s twice in a few days . . . assuming someone recently made those prints you saw.”

Ava called the dog back to the house. Bingo galloped across the lawn and took the few steps to the deck in a single leap. He slid to a halt at their feet, his ears forward and his tongue hanging to one side in eagerness. “He doesn’t seem concerned,” she said.

Mason closed the door and locked it. “If he’s relaxed then I say we’re safe to go back to bed.”

“He’s repaid you well for adopting him off the street.”

“He’s a good guard dog,” Mason agreed. “But I’d say he adopted me, not the other way around.”

“Smart dog.” Ava kissed him and took his hand, leading him back to bed.

15

Mason sat and stared at the huge cross on the wall behind the speaker on stage. He estimated the cross to be thirty feet high and wondered how they’d secured it to the wall. If it fell, it’d be deadly. Guilt flooded him as he realized he’d tuned out the minister’s words of comfort, and he ran a finger between his neck and collar. He hadn’t worn a tie in months. What would Denny think of all the pomp in his honor?

He’d tell them to go drink a beer in his name instead.

Mason planned to do that, too.

He’d been stunned at Portland’s turnout to grieve for his captain. Ava had insisted they hire a town car and driver to transport them to the memorial. Mason hadn’t understood why until they’d headed toward the city on the freeway. Every overpass had been lined with people who’d come to watch the miles-long procession. Signs and banners hung from the rails. He’d known the news stations had broadcast the details of the memorial along with the procession’s route, but he’d never imagined the overwhelming throngs of people. He’d gone weak at the sight of the first crowded overpass, overcome with emotion, and been thankful he wasn’t driving. Ava had made a smart suggestion.

Patrol cars from every police department in the state filled the procession. He also spotted cars from Idaho, Montana, and Arizona. As they’d slowly driven down the street to the huge church, they’d passed beneath three sets of fire truck ladders that’d formed arches over the street, huge American flags hanging between them.

The flags had made his eyes water, and he hadn’t believed anything else could rip his emotions that bare, but it happened again as they walked through the parking lot to the church. A band of rugged-looking motorcycle riders had lined the path for the attending police officers. The leather-and-denim-clad riders had alternated, half facing the walking officers and half standing with their backs to them, but not in disrespect; they’d been watching the crowds for threats.