DR. COLLINS WAS HELPFUL. He didn’t blame Abby for not taking his initial advice, and he was glad she planned to go home.

“Abby, we talked about this. I know you have in you the ability to be resilient, to move past this. It may take time, and that is no reflection on you. You have a strong base of support —your church, your aunt, your friends. You’ve been through significant trauma —I would never minimize that —and being honest about how you feel will go a long way in helping you get through this.”

She promised she’d call him if she needed to talk. Trouble was, Abby couldn’t put her finger on what exactly she did need. Collins had mentioned church, which was Abby’s normal refuge. But she didn’t want to go there and answer questions about the shooting. Well-meaning people would want to pray, and for some reason the thought of that made her squirm.

It was after noon by the time Abby left work. She went home to change her clothes and pick up Bandit. She thought the expression “cat on a hot tin roof” fit what she felt like at the moment. Unable to sit still, she got back into her car with the dog and drove around aimlessly for a while. At one point she ended up on the Huntington Beach pier. It was windy and a little chilly this close to the coastline, but she ignored the cold and walked out onto the concrete structure. A couple of surfers in wet suits were out on the water, but the swells were small and choppy. No one was on the sand volleyball courts.

Still not sure what she was looking for, or what would help, Abby took Bandit back to the car and drove toward home, this time ending up at Serenity Park. The park had sprung from the ruins of her parents’ restaurant, the Triple Seven. She parked in front of the memorial plaque dedicated to her parents and Luke Murphy’s uncle. They were the three people thought to be inside when the place was torched. If it hadn’t been for Luke’s uncle, with his dying strength, getting Abby out, four people would have died there twenty-seven years ago.

For some reason the shooting of Clayton Joiner had brought the case of her parents’ murders spewing back up in her thoughts like lava from a volcanic eruption. The revelation that Abby’s father could have escaped the inferno in his restaurant twenty-seven years ago, that the body next to Abby’s mother was really that of a drug dealer named Piper Shea, had stunned her. In fact, she’d been tased once in training, and that total body hit was not unlike what she felt now. In a painful haze, there were no clear answers for Abby, though she thought she’d made peace with it. She thought she’d finally been able to put the unsolved past behind her and into the hands of God. Her father must be dead; he would never have abandoned her. That’s what everyone who knew him said. So she’d left the doubts and the wondering behind her, moving forward with her future in relative peace.

But like the Taser had shattered her composure, the turmoil of the shooting shattered her peace.

She sat on the grass in front of the plaque and tried to pray but nothing came. Like peace, she felt God had left her as well. Why did God let her bullets kill Clayton Joiner?

Why?

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, thinking and asking questions to which she got no answers, when someone walked up behind her.

“Hey, kid, how are you doing?”

Even though she’d heard him walk up, Woody’s voice behind Abby made her jump.

“How’d you know I was here?” she asked as he knelt in front of her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your new job?”

“New job start got postponed, and I’m an investigator; I followed a hunch. Bill called me. He’s worried about you. What’s going on?”

Abby sighed. “I took some more time off. I need time to think.”

“Is that because of the shooting?”

“Yes and no.” Abby’s mouth went dry, and she struggled with how to tell her friend she felt like she was losing it. “I . . . I just think I need to get away for a bit.”

“It’s not about the Triple Seven, is it?”

“No . . . maybe.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know, Woody. I just don’t know.”

He settled down on both knees and for a moment said nothing.

When he did speak again, he asked, “Can I buy you a late lunch/early dinner? We’ll talk. It doesn’t have to be about this; you can just listen to me.”

Abby swallowed the lump in her throat, wanting to hug Woody. He was a good friend, part of her support structure, a big part, but she wasn’t certain even he could help her now. A meal might be a good idea. She wasn’t hungry but should eat. Maybe it would clear her thoughts to figure out her next move.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like to hear why your new job was postponed.”

“Deal.”

They stood.

“Hmmm. River’s End?” he asked.

“Always.”

Woody had been retired for about three months, and Abby missed him more than she thought possible. The few times she and Bill had been called out after midnight were missing something because Woody was not there, not in his patrol car, not on the beat. She’d always looked forward to seeing him on those late-night/early morning callouts.

She knew that if she could open up to him about what was going on in her head, he’d help, and whatever he told her was true, solid, good as gold. What she wrestled with now —the flashbacks, the nightmares —it wasn’t because Woody hadn’t tried to help.

What I was trained to do: make a hard choice.

Abby rolled the phrase over and over in her mind as she followed Woody to River’s End. She knew that nothing in her training would have insisted she hesitate while a distraught man pointed a gun at her in a threatening manner. And he fired two shots. It was pure luck that neither she nor Bill nor their prisoner were struck.

In her heart of hearts she wished there had been something else she could have done. She understood Clayton Joiner all too well. He’d wanted justice for a loved one who was taken from him in a horrible way.

Don’t we all?

She thought about the last thread to her father’s case. Woody and Luke had tied that up with their trip to Idaho. They’d closed Asa Foster’s house, finished carrying out his last wishes. Woody had been evasive about the visit, and Abby had let him evade. Asa Foster’s death was connected to her parents’ cold case because he claimed to know the truth. If he did, it had died with him —like everything else about her parents’ case, dead or a dead end. She chastised herself for thinking of Asa. His memory brought up the rub about the partial solution to her parents’ murders. She had more questions than answers and knew she needed to stop obsessing about it.

She forced her thoughts to Woody’s new gig, the cold case squad, and wondered why it wasn’t happening right now. Because Woody was still such a hardworking, active cop, she’d been surprised when he retired but not surprised he’d decided to take this new job. Working a cold case was like working a puzzle and Woody liked puzzles. He was also good at seeing the whole picture, which was something Abby often looked for him to help her do.

He and Luke had become good friends, something Abby hadn’t seen coming. Whatever happened in the governor’s house the day Asa died had cemented their relationship. She was happy Woody had a buddy now that Asa was dead, but that it was Murphy gave her pause. Her feelings about Murphy were so conflicted, and knowing she’d likely see more of him because of Woody chafed.

What about Ethan? She owed him a genuine effort to work through their relationship issues, and it bugged her that this attraction to Murphy grew more intense.

She changed the direction of her thoughts back to the Triple Seven and her old homicide mentor and partner, Asa Foster. Memories of Asa and that horrible day in June when he died and Gavin Kent killed himself reminded Abby of Lowell Rollins and his official bid for the US Senate. She wondered what Woody thought of the announcement.

Suddenly her phone rang. It was Ethan.

“Hey, you’re there already?” she said when she answered.

“Yep, I made great time. How’s your return to work going?”

Abby braced herself. She’d been anticipating —and to a certain extent dreading —the question all day.

“It didn’t go so well. I . . . I, uh, think I’ll be joining you. I mean, at least I’m thinking I’ll drive up and stay with Dede for a few days.”

Silence momentarily and then Ethan said, “I’m sorry things didn’t go smoothly for you. But I am glad you’ll be joining us. There’s no shame in saying you need more time. When do you think you’ll be up here?”

No shame. Abby wondered if it was shame she was feeling. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant. “Not sure. I’ll call when I am.”

They said their good-byes and Abby disconnected. More time with Ethan might help her settle a lot of things. Maybe he was right and this shooting was a door marked Exit. That the thought didn’t sting like lemon juice in a cut gave her pause and made her struggle to concentrate on the here and now and lunch with Woody.

She’d parked a couple spots over from him. Working to stop being so self-absorbed, Abby studied her old friend as he got out of the car in front of the River’s End Café. He looked good, relaxed, and healthy. Retirement and no more graveyard hours obviously agreed with him.

She zipped up her sweat jacket as she climbed out of her car. Across the flood control channel from Serenity Park, River’s End was on the water in Seal Beach, and the early October evening rippled with cool ocean air. The breeze made her decide to leave Bandit in the car. It was too cold to sit on the patio and no dogs were allowed inside. She gave her little buddy a pat and set him back in the car. Bandit immediately curled up in a ball on the driver’s seat.

Woody met her at the door with a hug, and Abby’s jittery nerves relaxed. He made her feel safe, gave her back her balance. At least while she was with him, she could put Clayton Joiner on the back burner.

“I just noticed how great you look. Getting regular sleep must agree with you,” she told him.

“Never thought I’d like a normal schedule, but so far so good.”

They found a table inside. Abby loved the cozy family feel of the place and the smell of comfort food cooking. After they ordered and she sipped on her Diet Coke, she asked Woody to update her on the cold case squad. In the back of her mind, this was also asking him about Luke Murphy.

“We’ve finished all the paperwork and testing. But the government is stalled. Politics.” He made a face. “Agent Orson did toss a case our way, though. Hopefully Luke will find out more about it tomorrow. The victim was sixteen at the time. It’s ten years cold now. Sounds like a case you’d find interesting.”

“I find all cold cases interesting. They hit close to home. I hope you worrying about me didn’t cut your first day short.”

“Nah, not much to do right now until Luke gets all the details on this case.”

Their food arrived, and Abby looked at Woody.

“Did you see that Rollins is officially in the race?”

Woody gave a dismissive wave. “I saw it. Let that go, Abby. That’s one thing Ethan and I agree on. You need to let that go.”

Stung, Abby sat back. “I have. The case is closed. I’m just making an observation.”

His expression softened. “Don’t get your hackles up. I just hate to see you beat your head against a wall.”

“I honestly believe I have let it go. But doesn’t it bother you that Rollins will most likely be a senator?”

“He’s slimy, like all politicians, but there’s no proof of anything else, is there?”

Grudgingly Abby had to say no, there wasn’t.

“What are you going to do with all your time off?”

“Relax, I hope.” She shivered as the question brought her back to the here and now, and turmoil resettled on her heart like an anvil. “I’m driving home, leaving tomorrow or the next day. I might even help Ethan with what he’s working on. Maybe being far away for a bit will help me clear my head.”

“I hope you’re not brooding over Joiner. You did what you had to do.”

Abby gave a half shrug, took a bite of her burger. Woody let her think a bit. She knew he would.

“I know I did my job, but those are hollow words when I think about poor Clayton. That could have been me. I told you how close I came to shooting Kent.”

“Look, kid, that was a tough deal, no two ways about it. But he forced your hand. Suppose you’d let him shoot the suspect, kill him. Then he’d be sitting in jail and you’d be questioning your judgment the other way.”

“I know you’re right. I know you are. But —”

“No buts. Concentrate on what you know is right; then everything else will fall into place.”