The Listener. Kay David

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.

      Three black and whites—the arriving officers probably—had the nearest routes barricaded. Ryan eased his truck to the curb just outside their line of sight. Despite his pronouncement to the dog, there was no need to deliberately aggravate anyone.

      He looked around as he climbed out of the truck. The area wasn’t one that generated a lot of calls. An industrial park made up mostly of warehouses and loading docks, the complex was located on the outskirts of town. He couldn’t remember having ever received a call from here, and now he understood why. The place was empty. There were no tenants in any of the buildings. An air of desertion hung over the entire area.

      A sudden movement near one of the black and whites caught his eye. An older man wearing the uniform of a security guard bent over as he talked to the officers inside the car. He’d probably been the one to call in. But what in the hell was going on? Ryan realized too late he should have taken the time to listen to his radio before jumping in the truck and driving over here. The awareness of what he’d done—acting so impulsively—suddenly registered. Where had his deliberateness gone? His careful thinking? He never did anything without much consideration, but the boredom and agony of sitting all day had brought him to this.

      Thanks, Dr. Worley, he thought bitterly. If it weren’t for you, I’d know what the hell had happened and I wouldn’t be standing here like some ignorant kid, gawking instead of helping.

      The thought barely had time to register when a shot rang out.

      Ryan fell to the pavement automatically, the truck his only protection. A second report registered almost immediately, the sound coming from somewhere inside the complex. Ryan chanced another look toward the clump of buildings. He couldn’t see any team members, but he didn’t expect to. If they were doing their job right, they were already in place, as silent and invisible as ghosts. He lifted his gaze to the roofs of the nearest buildings. There were no easy holes, he thought. No place Lena could have put a shooter without someone seeing him take his place. He looked a little closer, though, and then…there!…right by the fourth building on the left. He caught a glint of metal, the hint of the slightest movement. No one else but Ryan would have seen it, and his gut tightened as he realized what it meant. It had to be Chase Mitchell, the countersniper for Team Alpha.

      Ryan spoke Maria’s name like a curse. He should have been up on that hot, humid roof. It should have been him doing the job, not Chase.

      When the third shot sounded, Ryan was prepared. Listening closely, he cataloged the popping noise, relaxing as he did so. He wouldn’t have bet his life on it, but he was ninety-nine percent sure he’d just heard an air rifle go off and nothing more. Peeking around the edge of his tire, he caught sight of the security guard and two uniformed officers. The excited gestures of the older man led Ryan to the obvious conclusion. This is what had brought out the team. The old guy had heard something or seen something, then the uniforms had shown up and shots had been fired.

      As soon as Ryan had figured it out, the situation appeared to be over. The front door of the nearest building banged open. Sliding cautiously up from his spot behind the vehicle, Ryan looked over at the building. Three men wearing black came out. He squinted in the dying sunlight and made out their faces—Peter Douglas and John Fletcher, two of the rear-entry men, and J. L. LeBlanc, a front entry officer. In between their cordon was a figure in jeans and a T-shirt.

      From his long distance vantage point, Ryan couldn’t tell much more, but their body language confirmed his initial assessment. No one looked too nervous, and in fact, when Peter said something into the headset microphone the team members wore, he grinned as he spoke. He wouldn’t have done that if there had been a serious gun involved. The three officers walked the suspect to the black and white and a few minutes later, the uniforms took off with their shooter in the back seat. Ryan caught a quick glimpse as the car sped by. The only thing visible was a blond head hanging down—a young kid headed in the wrong direction, in more ways than one.

      Ryan stuck around for another half hour, but there wasn’t anything else to see. What he did witness—the team gathering around the War Wagon for their debriefing—only made him wish more that Maria Worley would take a flying leap off the top of her office building and land in the Gulf. Ryan thought briefly of storming up to the Winnebago in defiance, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Lena would kick his ass all the way back to the office and he’d look