The Listener. Kay David

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      “This is for Chris,” Maria said, holding up the ticket. “But if I win, things would have to change before he could even think about redeeming it.”

      Lena smiled sympathetically as Andres made a clucking sound. “What’s the problem, chica?”

      Andres was Cuban, and the Spanish term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease.

      Maria shook her head. “Let’s just say if he continues as is, he’s going to show up on the Most Wanted list for forgery.”

      “Uh-oh…that sounds bad.”

      Maria nodded her agreement to Lena’s pronouncement just as someone across the room called to Andres. He excused himself and headed off and the two women turned back to each other.

      “You know why Chris is doing all this, don’t you?” Lena asked.

      “Of course, I do. He’s mad because his father left him,” Maria said. “I know why—I just don’t know what to do about it.” She made a noise that was half frustration, half resignation. “I feel so helpless sometimes. All this training, all my degrees…and I’m an utter klutz when it comes to my own kid.”

      Lena squeezed her arm softly. “Haven’t you heard that old saying about the cobbler’s kids going without shoes?”

      “Maybe that is the case. All I know is that I love him, but I don’t know how to handle him.” She gave Lena the details of the forged signature and the punishment she’d leveled. “I couldn’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s never done anything like that before. Never.”

      Lena looked thoughtful for a moment. “The kids he’s hanging out with—do you know who they are?”

      “I’ve met some of them. They’re not really the kind of friends I’d like him to have.”

      “Give me their names,” Lena said. “The juvie guys know all the troublemakers and I’d be happy to ask. Let’s see if they’re on the list of bad boys or just regular, annoying kids.”

      “That would be terrific,” Maria said gratefully. “I’ve talked to as many of the parents of his friends as I can, but it seems like there’s never enough time. I still haven’t met some of them. I’d love to know more.”

      “No problem,” Lena said. “It shouldn’t take any time at all.”

      They finished going down the line of auction items after that, Maria feeling somewhat more hopeful. It wasn’t until after dinner and they were all ready to leave that Lena pulled her aside.

      “I just wanted you to know I talked with Ryan this morning. We went over the terms of his leave. I’ve given him office duty for six weeks. If he’s made some progress at that point, then I’ll reconsider the situation and put him back on active status.”

      “Six weeks?” Maria frowned. “I thought I suggested a month.”

      “You did,” Lena replied. “But I think he needs more time than that. I’d rather err on this side than on the other, if you know what I mean.”

      “He must not have liked that….” And she’d hear about it Thursday, too. He’d come in primed, she was sure, if he even kept his appointment. “What did he say?”

      “Not much. I could see he was boiling on the inside, but he’s got too much discipline to let it out.”

      “And that’s part of the problem.” Maria felt sorry for him before she could stop herself. Her reaction was unexpected; usually she detached herself from the problems of her patients. She had to—helping them required that she see their situations objectively. Psychologists who didn’t frequently ended up in another career or went nuts themselves. Why she felt differently about Ryan Lukas, she couldn’t say.

      “He’s keeping all his emotions bottled and trying to deny them,” she explained. “The end result isn’t good. It’ll lead to a meltdown.”

      Lena nodded, her worried gaze holding Maria’s. “Do you think you can help him?”

      Maria answered “I hope so,” and Lena nodded, walking off a second later with her arm linked inside Andres’s. As Maria watched them leave, though, she wondered if she had told Lena the truth. Some of the cops who came through her office were past helping. They’d seen too much, done too much…lost too much. She hoped Ryan Lukas wasn’t one of them.

      But she suspected he might be.

      HE’D HAD ENOUGH.

      After two full shifts of office duty, Ryan knew he’d never make it six weeks. No way. Every day was torture, every hour an endurance test. How did people do it, he asked himself, his eyes blurring as he studied the report in front of him. How could they just sit like this, at a desk, in an office, hour after hour, day after day…year after year?

      When the crawling hands of the clock reached 4:00 p.m., he couldn’t stand it another minute. He grabbed his jacket, mumbled an excuse to the sergeant at the front desk, and charged out of the building to drive home. Which was an even bigger mistake.

      The dog met him at the door, the house as silent as a tomb.

      Ryan pushed past the animal and dropped his coat on the kitchen table. At the refrigerator, he pulled out a can of cold beer, popped the tab and managed one swallow before a beeping sound broke the quiet. His pager. He stared at it, frustration rolling over him in a wave as he realized what had happened. A call for the team. And he wouldn’t be there. He cursed and the dog whined softly, answering him.

      Ryan ripped the pager from his belt and tossed it to the tiled counter where it slid upside down until it hit the toaster at the other end. He then strode into the bedroom, peeling his clothes off as he went. In a matter of minutes, he was outside on the deck, stretching his calves and trying not to think. The dog padded past him to sit at the top of the stairs.

      The running did no good. In the days since he’d seen the good Dr. Worley, the physical activity had come to help him less and less. Halfway down, he simply gave up and returned to the house. Collapsing on the deck, he found himself eye to eye with the dog.

      A confusion of thoughts swirled through his mind as he stared into the German shepherd’s black eyes.

      “To hell with it…” Ryan finally said. “What are they gonna do? Put me on leave?”

      He got up and stomped into the house, the screen door banging behind him as he made his way to his bedroom. Nabbing a fresh T-shirt from the chest, he peeled off the sweaty one he’d been running in and thrust his arms into the clean one. Another minute and he was in his truck heading back to town. It took a while for him to find the address still flashing on his beeper, but when he got close, the red and blue lights led him the rest of the way.

      He slowed his truck and turned into a side street, catching a glimpse of the War Wagon down another. Along with the surveillance gear it contained, the enormous customized Winnebago was equipped with every high-tech communication device known to man. The team used the equipment to stay in touch with each other and to reach the station during a call-out. More than a single bullet hole on the side explained how it’d been used for cover once or twice as well.

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