"I guess." That thought made him uncomfortable though. He amended it immediately.

"Being a sniper isn't just shooting. The official title is Sniper-Observer."

"Explain."

He leaned forward and spread his hands.

"Okay, so once a month I'm on a shooting range, making sure my technical skills are up to par. But in actual field duty, chances of me being called upon to shoot my weapon are like one in a thousand-hell, maybe one in a million. You train to be prepared. But day in, day out, what I do on the job is observe. Snipers are recon. We use our scopes and/or binoculars to see what no one else can see. We identify how many people are at the scene, what they're wearing, what they're doing. We're the eyes for the entire team."

"Do you train for that?"

"All the time. KIMS games, stuff like that."

"KIMS games?"

"Yeah, KIMS. As in "KIMS' I don't remember what it stands for. It's a title of a Rudyard Kipling novel or something like that. It's about observing. You go out on the field, and the trainer gives you sixty seconds to spot ten things and describe them. You grab your binoculars and go." He pointed at the Coke can.

"I see what appears to be one crumpled soda can, looks new, red and white.

probably Coke"-he tipped it on its side-"probably empty. Or, I something that appears to be a length of wire, approximately eighteen inches long with green coating. It appears cut at one end and I can see the copper core, which is dirty. That sort of thing."

She regarded him with a bemused expression.

"So you're professionally trained to notice everything. Does that drive you batty in real life? To notice all the nitty-gritty details everyplace you go?"

He grimaced and shrugged again.

"Susan would probably say I don't notice a thing. Last time she got her hair cut, it took me two days to figure it out."

"And Susan is?"

"My girlfriend." He caught himself.

"My ex-girlfriend."

"You mentioned her on Friday. I thought you said things were going well."

"I lied."

"You lied?"

"Yeah."

"And that would be because?"

"Because I'd just met you. Because I was feeling uncomfortable. Because… hell, take your pick. I'm a guy. Sometimes we lie."

The good doctor didn't seem amused by that statement.

"So what happened with Susan?"

"I don't know."

"She just walked away?"

"Not really." He sighed, took a deep breath.

"I did."

"You just walked away? Let me get this straight. You haven't talked to your girlfriend about the shooting at all?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit." She said it. He blinked.

"You're an intelligent man, Bobby Dodge. More intelligent than you like to let on. When you do things, it's for a reason. So why didn't you talk things over with Susan? Did you simply not care?"

"I don't know." He caught himself. She was right; he did know.

"I thought she'd be horrified. In Susan's world, cops are the good guys, keeping things safe. In Susan's world, cops don't blow some guy's brains out, right in front of his kid." "You didn't think she'd be able to handle it."

"I know she wouldn't be able to handle it."

"How wonderfully patronizing of you."

"Hey, you asked, I answered."

"Absolutely. And you're wrong, just so you know."

He sat upright.

"What the hell kind of doctor are you?"

"Bobby, I'm going to ask you something and I don't want you to answer right away. I want you to think about it real hard before you say anything. Is it in Susan's world that cops are the good guys, or is it in Bobby's world? Is it in Susan's world that cops don't 'blow some guy's brains out," or is it in Bobby's world? You said once that you were mad. But Bobby, aren't you also horrified?"

His gaze dropped to the carpet. He didn't say a word.

"You've commented several times now that you shot Jimmy Gagnon in front of his son. That seems to really bother you. Who is it in the scenario that you're identifying with? Are you upset for the powerful father dying in front of his child, or are you upset for the helpless child who is watching someone he loves die?"

He kept his gaze on the carpet.

"Bobby?" she prodded.

His gaze finally came up. He said, "I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

He had his jacket on and was rewrapping his scarf before he spoke again.

"Do you think Judge Gagnon could've been right?"

Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of her receptionist's desk, watching her patient bundle up and feeling frustrated.

"I have no idea."

"Seems hard to imagine, a woman harming her kid just so she can have attention."

"Munchausen by proxy is not terribly common, but I've read estimates of up to twelve hundred new cases a year."

"What are the warning signs?"

"A child with a prolonged history of unusual illnesses, where the symptomatology doesn't add up. A child whose health is a prolonged cycle of being perfectly well one week, then drastically ill the next. A family with a history of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome."

"I spoke with Nathan Gagnon's doctor today," Bobby said abruptly.

"He doesn't have a firm diagnosis for the boy."

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Do you think that was such a good idea?"

Bobby gave her a look.

"I went. Good idea or not, it no longer matters."

"What are you doing, Bobby?"

"I'm putting on my scarf."

"You know what I mean."

"The Gagnons are suing me for murder. Anyone tell you that? They're using some fancy legal maneuver to charge me with killing their son. In all honesty, Doc, I don't think the concept of good' really applies to my life anymore."

"Being charged with murder must be very difficult."

"You think?"

She refused to get sucked into his sarcasm.

"Bobby, Thursday night was a horrible tragedy. For you. For the Gagnons. For little Nathan. Do you really think there's anything you can learn now that will make you feel better about having shot a man?"

Bobby stared her straight in the eye. There was a look in his slate-gray gaze she'd never seen before. It left her slightly breathless. It chilled her to the bone.

"I'm going to get her, Doc," he said quietly.

"If she's harming that boy, if she set me up to kill her husband… Catherine Gagnon may think she knows how to deal with men. But she's never met the likes of me."

He finished up his scarf.

Elizabeth sighed heavily and shook her head. There were things Elizabeth wanted to say to him, but she already knew it wouldn't do her any good. He wasn't ready to listen. Maybe Bobby didn't understand it completely yet, but she knew exactly who he identified with the night of the shooting, and it wasn't the gun-toting father.

"You're not responsible for Nathan Gagnon," Elizabeth murmured softly, but Bobby was already out the door. Catherine drove straight to the hospital. Nathan was still asleep, the heart monitor beeping faithfully while morphine dripped slowly into his thin veins. The night nurse didn't have much to report. Nathan remained on intravenous fluids, his temp was down, his pain under control. Maybe tomorrow he could go home, she'd have to consult with a doctor.

Catherine looked down the long, shadowed halls. Machines beeped, respirators hummed, patients thrashed restlessly in their curtained-off beds. But it was still a hospital at night. Too few nurses, too many strangers. Dark corners everywhere.

"Nathan's very sick," she said again.

"Yes."

"I think he needs more nursing care. Is there a private nurse I could hire? Staff of some sort? I'm willing to pay."

The nurse gave her a look.

"You know, ma'am, in this mansion, it's just us servants tending the rooms."

"He's my child," Catherine said quietly.

"I'm worried about him."