“I guess that’d be all right. But no tricks.”

“I promise you, Bob. No tricks. Let’s start with those two over by the door, okay?”

The children didn’t want to leave their parents. Mom and Dad both pushed them toward the door, but they wouldn’t go.

Mike bit down on his lower lip. “Maybe if I escorted them. Okay?”

“All right, but I’ll be-damn!”

Mike knew what had happened. As Bob turned his head to look at the children, he’d spotted a khaki-clad SOT officer positioning himself by the south entrance.

“Bob, listen to me. Those men will not harm you.”

“Then why are they here?” He was bouncing back and forth, bellowing. “Why are they here?”

“They’re just trying to protect everyone. They won’t hurt you.”

“Make them go away! Make them go away!”

Mike spoke into his wire. “Hoppes! What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking charge, Morelli.”

“Hoppes, I am ordering-”

“Screw you.”

“I am your commanding officer-”

“You are a goddamn hostage! Out of commission. Therefore, I am forced to take over.”

“Make ’em go away,” Bob shouted, waving his gun every which way at once. “Make them stop or I’m gonna kill someone!”

“Back off!” Mike shouted into the wire.

The first shot cracked through the glass window on the south side. Everyone in the restaurant hit the floor, including Bob. Several screamed as panic spread through the room. Men and women and children cried and clutched at one another. An elderly man in the rear began reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

The next shot came from the east. It ricocheted off one of the trash receptacles. Close, but not close enough to do any good.

The third shot came from the south again, and a split second after Mike heard the report, he heard Bob cry out in pain. He’d been hit-but not incapacitated.

Bob pushed himself back to his feet, bleeding from his right leg. “You lying sons of bitches! You’re just like all the others. Just like all the others!”

He raised his gun and fired, spinning around in a circle. Mike dove behind the condiments counter and hugged the tile floor. The gunfire continued to rain down all around them.

Mike crawled around the edge of the table area to see what was happening. Bob had snatched up a baby with his right arm and held him close against his head to shield himself. He wrapped his gun arm around the neck of the baby’s mother. With hostages flanking him on both sides, it would be all but impossible for the snipers to get a clear shot.

“Where are you?” Bob shouted. “You lied to me! You told me they wouldn’t hurt me!”

I was misinformed, Mike thought ruefully.

“Where are you, you lying bastard?”

Bob whirled around the restaurant, dragging the mother and baby with him. The baby was crying; the mother was screaming. None of it fazed him.

The situation had gone from grim to dire. Ben knew the snipers wouldn’t shoot as long as he was moving and had hostages all around him. The brick walls beneath the windows prevented them from shooting below the chest, and a head shot, even if it hit Bob first, could easily travel on to one of the hostages.

“What’s happening in there?” Hoppes was shouting into Mike’s earpiece. “Fill me in!”

Mike didn’t say a word. He couldn’t take the risk.

“You can’t hide from me!” Bob cried.

Maybe not, Mike thought, but I can damn sure try. He crawled to the other end of the condiment counter, hoping he could flank Bob and get behind him.

“Can you get him to drop the hostages?” Hoppes’s voice crackled. “Or force him closer to the windows?”

“No,” Mike whispered. “I can’t.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Just stay put and keep your men out of sight. There’s still a chance I can-”

“All right,” Bob shouted, “you won’t show yourself? Fine. I’ll kill someone else!”

Mike cried out, “No!” But it was too late. A second later, the gun fired and the elderly woman who had opened the door for him crumpled to the floor.

“What’s going on?” Hoppes asked. “What should I do?”

“Take him out,” Mike growled.

“Still won’t show yourself?” Bob said. “Fine. Here comes victim number two!”

“We can’t get a clear shot,” Hoppes said.

Mike sprang forward, snatching the baby away and shoving the mother to the floor. “Now!” he barked.

A nanosecond later, five rifles fired at once. Three of the bullets hit Bob, making him twitch like a dissected frog. The mother crawled to safety, and as soon as she did, bullets rained down on Bob. He looked like a wind sock caught in a tornado. He was torn one way then another, twitching as if suffering from some uncontrollable spasm, until finally, mercifully, his body crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

“All clear?” Hoppes asked.

“All clear,” Mike whispered back. “Get some medics in here.”

Mike returned the baby to its mother and looked for the people who were hurt. There were many. Way too many. At least five people injured, maybe fatally. And the woman by the door was definitely dead.

What a stupid, pointless waste. This could’ve been handled bloodlessly, Mike was sure of it. But instead, blood was everywhere. All over everything. Including him.

It was a tragedy, a stupid loss of life. And he knew what would happen once Chief Blackwell got wind of this. Worse, once the press got wind of it. Every move, every action he had taken would be scrutinized. Every judgment call would be questioned. And when the investigation was over, someone would have to pay.

And he had a pretty good idea who it would be.

“How often do you have sexual feelings?”

“I do not have… sexual feelings.”

“None at all?”

“Not anymore.”

“Not even occasionally?”

“Of course not. You know why.”

“Still, there must be something.”

“Perhaps once. Several months ago. While I slept.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember.”

Gabriel Aravena hated these sessions. He’d be willing to do anything to avoid them-anything except break parole, that is. Life was full of unpleasantness. He didn’t enjoy his visits with his parole officer. He didn’t enjoy his work. But he despised his sessions with the psychiatrist.

Dr. Hayley Bennett was a thin, auburn-haired, angular woman. She wore black-rimmed glasses although Aravena suspected she didn’t really need them. More a fashion statement, he thought, or a protective barrier between herself and her patients.

He didn’t know why he hated these sessions so. Objectively, she should have been his favorite. She was much easier to look at than his PA, and he didn’t sense the wariness, the suspicion, he did there. Which was ironic, in a way. Given all he had done, the woman should be the one who wanted the least to do with him.

“Have you been taking the medication?” Dr. Bennett asked, crossing her legs in a manner that, at another time, he might have considered provocative.

“Do I have a choice?” A stupid question. He got a shot once a week. That was an express condition of his early release.

“Any more side effects?”

“My breasts continue to enlarge,” he said, trying not to flush. It was deeply embarrassing, watching himself swell up like a woman.

“That’s a common side effect of Depo-Provera,” Dr. Bennett explained. “It’s a hormone-altering medication. But you know that already, don’t you?”

He nodded. He knew all about Depo. He knew it was a trade name for a generic drug called medroxyprogesterone acetate. He knew it was essentially an artificial simulation of the female hormone progesterone which, when injected into men, often acted as a hormone inhibitor. Among other things. It diminished the libido. Recidivism rates for sex offenders taking Depo were less than ten percent. He knew all about it.