years younger, all spiffed up and shiny in his patrol uniform, walking his beat in a city that had yet to be devastated by Hurricane Katrina. The vision became reality, one steeped in familiarity.
He smelled stale beer and urine. Felt the hard, uneven pavement of the sidewalk beneath his feet. Recognized one person after another. Merchants. Streetwalkers. Juvenile delinquents and bums. Some he liked. Others he didn’t. But he protected them all. And he was suspicious of them all.
DeMarco groaned, long and hard, and the sound bounced off the walls of his bedroom. Yet it didn’t wake him. In some part of his consciousness, he knew he was dreaming. That he really wasn’t back in New Orleans, patrolling Rampart Street and chatting with the locals.
But it felt real.
So the dream continued.
In a few weeks, he’d be leaving his beat behind. He was being promoted to detective, a change he was really looking forward to. He wouldn’t miss seeing the people on Rampart Street, of course—not enough for it to matter. But he knew them, knew things about some of them that even their families probably didn’t, and in some ways that made them part of him.
That included William “Billy” Dahl, the seventeen-year-old kid who, despite having nimble fingers and a long theft record, had a good sense of humor and loved his mother to distraction.
DeMarco had already busted Billy twice that year, once for snatching a woman’s purse, and once for robbing a local grocery store—with a gun that had turned out not to be loaded. Billy had spent almost a year in juvy hall for that one, but when he’d gotten out, he’d returned to the streets. Every time he’d seen DeMarco, he’d greeted him as a friend would. They’d joke around, no hard feelings in sight. Billy had even threatened to set DeMarco up with his sister, whom DeMarco had to admit was mighty fine.
On the last night he was scheduled to be on patrol, DeMarco stumbled upon Billy’s latest theft attempt.
Once again, the images in his mind morphed. DeMarco, who’d been walking and chatting with those he encountered, froze as he caught sight of Billy.
The kid had cornered a couple, tourists by the looks of them, and was shouting at them to hand over their money. DeMarco was about twenty feet away when he saw Billy waving the gun.
Damn it, Billy, he thought.
He drew his weapon. Shouted at Billy to put down his.
Billy jerked in surprise, then, to DeMarco’s utter disbelief, grinned.
“Hey, DeMarco,” he called out, his voice slightly slurred as if he was drunk or high. “You know the kind of guns I carry.”
He turned back to the frightened woman cowering against her companion, pointed the gun at her and said, “Just give me the purse before I shoot you. I’ll give you until five.”
He started counting.
One.
“Billy, don’t!” DeMarco shouted. “Put down the gun.”
Two.
“Put it down now!” DeMarco waited for Billy to comply, but he didn’t. He just kept counting.
Three.
Billy turned to DeMarco and winked.
Oh, shit, DeMarco thought. He’s trying to tell me the gun’s not loaded. But I don’t know that. I don’t know that, Billy!
Four.
He had a split second to make a decision.
To take a chance that he was right about Billy and put an innocent woman’s life in danger.
Or to take Billy’s threat seriously and shoot.
He did what he had to.
What he’d been trained to do.
He shot.
Five.
As it turned out, Billy’s gun really had been empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY
NINA WOKE TO THE MEMORY of being held in Simon’s arms, but the bed next to her was empty. She rubbed at her eyes, still gritty with tears, and struggled to a sitting position. She didn’t have to struggle to remember what had happened. She knew with utter clarity that a man had been attacked, the initials BD carved into his back just like they’d been carved into Six. She knew that Simon had apologized for having to leave her, but that he’d needed to do his job; even so, she’d barely held on to her sanity in the hours afterward, despite the way Carrie Ward had tried to distract her. She knew that when Simon had finally arrived, she’d been filled with a feeling of relief so intense that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from throwing herself into his arms.
And she knew that he’d held her as she’d cried for hours. And kissed her lightly before she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She was so grateful it had been dreamless. She’d feared her mind