Dave inhaled deeply and watched three white pelicans sail over the marina. “I believe that being loved by someone can help you gain strength, Kim. But courage is gained by loving others. I think this is how Sean shows it now. Maybe he always did, I don’t know. But I do know that the sheer courage Sean pulls from somewhere, often facing down threats to his own safety, may be the kind of sacrifice that is the ultimate demonstration of love.”

“Sean’s a knight in tarnished armor. Could be it’s the flaws visible beneath the armor that adds to his charm.”

“Elizabethan nobility and chivalry at its finest.” Dave hugged Kim and asked, “Have you told him how you feel?”

“I’ve tried to show him. Please don’t say anything. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Kim…that shall remain between you and Sean. However, in all my career in government service, I’ve never met anyone quite like him. You’re right, he won’t say much about his time in the Middle East. I’ve managed to find out that he was captured. The enemy tried to break him, to brainwash him. Somehow, against great odds, he persevered and then he escaped. What he had to do to survive, to get out alive, is probably very far beyond the breaking point for most of us. But Sean isn’t like most of us. I’ve thought about it often. He’s intellectually fearless. That formidable courage we talked about is somehow imparted in his DNA and rises to a boil when he’s in the ring for someone he’s trying to help. And I think it’s because of his instinctive acuity of right and wrong — or good and evil. When you couple that with his inherent grasp of human nature, of things in or out of the natural order…that’s his gift…and sometimes a bad curse.”

“There’s something else I haven’t told him, but I feel the need to tell someone. You’re like the cool uncle to me. You know that my dad died when I was sixteen.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

“You mentioned Sean might have PTSD. I think I might too. It started a few weeks after those men broke into my house. The things they did…and said…what they did to my dog.” She glanced at boats in the marina and then looked up at Dave. “They were seconds away from holding my hand over the gas burner on my stove. And then Sean surprised them. I have bad dreams that won’t go away. I’m not sleeping well. Sometimes now I think I’m being followed, especially when I leave work. It happened before the mysterious rose showed up in my mailbox, and happens when I least expect it. A sort of panic. Anxiety.” She hugged her upper arms.

“It’s completely understandable and justified. And what you’re doing now is the way to treat those mental wounds. Talk about it. Don’t swallow it back inside your heart. It’s a cancer of the soul that’s vented by the therapy of honest communications.”

“Does it cause hallucinations?”

“You mean nightmares?”

“No. In broad daylight. I think someone’s following me. But I’m not certain. It’s like a movement you catch out of the corner of your eye. When you look back, nothing’s there.”

“You said you’re having a difficult time sleeping. Sleep deprivation can cause what you’re experiencing.”

“I want to buy a gun, Dave. And I want to do it today.”

O’Brien parked in the shade across the street from the restaurant in downtown DeLand, twenty minutes before Laura was scheduled to be there. He wanted to arrive early to watch for her — but more importantly, he wanted to watch for signs that she might be followed.

Through his sunglasses, he looked at Max in the seat beside him, her long dachshund ears now lifting slightly, following the traffic noises, her black button nostrils testing the cross-breeze that drifted through the Jeep’s open windows. There was the scent of orange blossoms mixed with the smell of meat grilling. O’Brien scratched her neck. “Max, I need you to sit tight for a little while. They don’t allow dogs inside the restaurant. And since you’re a wiener dog…that might be a good thing. But I’ll bring you a doggie bag. Let’s just sit here and see if anyone is following Laura and her little girl.”

O’Brien glanced out his side and rearview mirrors. He watched business professionals emerging from office buildings, blending in with college students and tourists crossing New York Street with its eclectic mixture of antique shops, coffee houses, restaurants and bars.

At five minutes before noon, a white Honda Accord came slowly up New York Street, Laura at the wheel. She pulled in to the Mainstreet Grill parking lot and found a space between the dozens of cars, the sun winking off chrome and glass. As Laura and Paula got out of the car and started for the entrance to the restaurant, O’Brien heard the droning sound of something above the city. He cut his eyes up to the hard blue sky over DeLand. A vintage bi-plane flew low, its engine strained, pulling a banner sign that read: SHORTY’S — DAYTONA BEACH — HAPPY HOUR 4–7 PM

O’Brien waited five more minutes. He lowered the window a few inches on Max’s side of the Jeep. “Looks like all is clear. Just a mom and her little girl going to lunch. All right, you earn your keep and be a watchdog for me. We’re parked in the shade. Stay cool. If anyone approaches the Jeep, you show some teeth.”

Max cocked her head and made a slight snorting sound, as if she sneezed. O’Brien smiled, locked the Jeep, and walked across the parking lot to the restaurant. He looked over his shoulder once as he paused at the front door. A black Ford Excursion turned into the lot, its windows tinted dark. He ducked into the restaurant and found Laura and Paula sitting next to each other at a booth, a file folder in front of Laura.

O’Brien slid across the booth seat opposite Laura and Paula. He said, “Well, hello ladies. I’m so glad you could join me for lunch.”

“Me too,” Paula said, grinning.

Laura attempted a smile; her fearful thoughts swirling behind guarded blue eyes. “It’s good to see you, Sean.” She lifted the file folder, handed it to her daughter and said, “Paula has a gift for you.”

Paula smiled and opened the folder. She carefully lifted a page from her coloring book. “Mommy cut this out. It’s the butterfly I colored. I wanted to give it to you. I signed it. My letters aren’t very good.” She handed the page to O’Brien.

He said, “Your letters are fine. I can read it perfectly. You did a great job with the butterfly. I will proudly hang this work of art in my house, maybe on my refrigerator.”

Paula grinned, a top front tooth missing. “Art’s my favorite subject in class.”

O’Brien smiled. “I can see why, you’re good.”

Laura said, “And she’ll have some time to practice here at the table. The waitress brought some coloring sheets with the menus. Here, Paula, start on one. We’ll order your mac and cheese in a sec. I need to show Sean something by the entrance.”

“What?”

“An antique that I like. I’ll be able to see you from right over there.”

Paula smiled, lifting up a green crayon. O’Brien followed Laura about twenty feet toward the door. She stopped to point out an antique butter churn on display in the corner. She lowered her voice. “I was threatened.”

O’Brien, glanced back at Paula for a second. “Who threatened you?”

“I don’t know. It was right after I got off my phone with you. A man called. He spoke in a whisper. His voice was icy…cold. Almost inhuman. He warned me to be careful of what I said to the reporters. He said it might come back to haunt me and my daughter.” Laura looked toward Paula, and then cut her eyes up to O’Brien. “He said some things are better left buried in the past, and its best to let a sleeping junkyard dog lie. Otherwise there could be consequences.”

“Was he referring to the diamond or the Civil War contract, or maybe both?”

“I don’t know.”

O’Brien scanned the restaurant, diners busy in conversation, the scent of roast beef and marinara sauce coming from one table. He said, “You need to let the detectives know.”