"I feel sick. I feel… No! No! Don't! Please, don't!" Roy's eyes wheeled as he strained against the shackles. "Please, God… Okay… Okay. I… I'm-I'm tired of listening to you whine, you worthless piece of shit. Keep it up and-and I'll blow you to hell and be done with it."

"If you do that, I won't know why you wanted me out here tonight. Why you're angry. Will you give me a name to call you?"

"He-" Roy's teeth chattered. "S-sure, Phoebe. You can call me Cooper."

Though her throat tightened, she wrote the name clearly on the pad, followed it up with. "All right, Cooper. Since I can't talk to you directly, I can't hear how you feel. Can you tell me how you feel?"

"Powerful. In fucking charge."

"Is being in charge important to you?"

"Damn right."

"Wouldn't it be more direct, more in charge, if you and I talked face-to-face?"

"Not time."

She stared into Roy's flooded eyes, listened to Roy's tortured voice, and fought to get inside the head of a man she couldn't see, couldn't hear.

"Can you tell me how we know each other, Cooper? Where we know each other from?"

"You tell me something."

"All right. What do you want me to tell you?"

"Do you care about this… worthless son of a bitch?"

Tricky, she thought. Care too much or care too little, either could incite. "Do you mean Roy?"

"You know I mean fucking Roy asshole Squire."

"He's my ex-husband. I don't want to see him or anyone else hurt. You haven't really hurt anyone yet, Cooper. We can resolve this without-"

"Tell that to Charles Johnson. You see-you see- God, okay- Did you see how surprised he looked when those bullets hit him?"

"Are you telling me you're responsible for the death of Charles Johnson?"

"Can't you fucking understand fucking English, bitch? I put him in the ground. Not the first time you helped somebody into the ground, is it? Is it? Won't be the last, and that's a promise. Please," Roy wheezed. "Please, please, please." And he shuddered under the spreading wings of the angel.

"Did you know Charles Johnson?"

"Just another worthless gangbanger. But you got him to come out, didn't you? Got him to come out without doing any hostages. Nobody inside that place worth crap, but you saved them, didn't you?"

"Who didn't I save, Cooper? Are the roses for her? Who is it you cared about I didn't save?"

"Figure that out, Phoebe, figure it out and beg for forgiveness. Maybe you'll save yourself."

"I'll beg for forgiveness now. If I wasn't good enough or smart enough to save someone, I'll beg for forgiveness now. Tell me what you want me to say, and I will."

"Better get started. Say… what? No, no, no!" Roy tried to stand, could only kneel. "Please. Okay, okay. Say time's up. Goodbye, Phoebe."

"Cooper, if you-"

The blast lifted her off her feet, shot her back through a hot burst of air. She landed in a heap, across a stranger's grave.

She knew what was whizzing overhead, thudding into the ground. Pieces of an angel, pieces of dirt. Pieces of Roy.

Images flashed through her mind, fast, disjointed. The first time she'd met him, at a party, and the big megawatt smile he dazzled her with. Making love with him on the big bed in the hotel suite where he'd surprised her with a weekend, and roses, and champagne. The instant before their lips met the first time as husband and wife. Dancing.

Lights.

Then blank dark.

Someone was shouting for her.

Phoebe pushed up to her elbows. She caught a blur of movement as Duncan dove. And he was over her, holding her down. Through a tunnel she heard more shouts, pounding feet, the crackle of radio static.

She didn't struggle; there was nothing to struggle for.

"What have I done?" she whispered. "Oh my God, what have I done?"

Chapter 22

She'd told him to go home. It pissed him off What the hell did she take him for?

Duncan paced the area outside her squad room. He couldn't sit; he couldn't settle, and he wished to God he couldn't think. Unfortunately, he could, and his mind kept sneaking back to that moment, that ohmyjesusgod moment when what had been a man had become… nothing.

Bits and pieces of meat and bone, and something like a horrible red fog.

He couldn't remember, not exactly, moving. He remembered feeling something-like a quick punch of air, and the sounds, whizzing and shouting, thunks-thunks of statuary and earth and God knew hitting trees and ground, other stones and statuary.

He knew he'd seen a piece of what had been Roy hanging in the lacy webs of Spanish moss. He thought he'd seen the stone angel's disembodied head fly, her face splattered with red, her smile peaceful and serene. But he might've imagined it.

He didn't remember running, walking, jumping toward Phoebe.

Just being there, he remembered just being there on top of her while the chaos boomed around them. He remembered hearing her say: What have I done? She said it over and over until someone-Dave, he thought, the captain-had pushed at him, pulled at them.

Are you hurt? Are you hit? That's what he'd asked first, Duncan was nearly sure of that. His face had been as white as the flying angel's. It blurred some after that. Lots of movement, lots of sound, more sirens.

And she'd told him to go. She'd stood in the middle of that nightmare and told him to go. Fuck that.

She was in with the captain, that's what they'd told him. In with Captain McVee and some others. So he'd wait. He'd goddamn wait. He wanted a drink. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to touch her just to assure himself one more time they'd both come through it whole. But all he could do was wait.

"Dune."

He turned, and his stomach did one hard shudder when he saw Phin striding from the elevator. For reasons he couldn't explain, seeing his friend had his legs going weak enough to have him sinking down onto a bench.

"Jesus. Oh Christ."

"You're okay?" Phin took a hard grip on Duncan's arm as he sat beside him. "You're bleeding. Are you okay?"

Dully, Duncan looked down at his shirt. "It's not my blood." Just a little souvenir from Bonaventure, a little memento of Roy. "But I think I've got a ways to go before I get within shouting distance of okay. Jesus, Phin. Fucking Christ Jesus."

"What the hell happened? Do they know what the hell happened?"

"He blew up. He just… It's not like the movies. Man, it's not like that." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Loo? The kids?"

"Fine. Kids are sleeping. We got cops around the house. This was Carly's father?"

"Roy. Roy Squire. Had him chained to the ground on a grave, strapped with explosives. Poor son of a bitch. Something about being grabbed out of his own garage, beaten up some, maybe drugged. Phoebe was talking to the guy who did it through Roy-the ex. He had, ah…" Duncan made a helpless gesture at his ear.

"Okay, I get it." Studying his friend's face, Phin pulled a flask out of his hip pocket. "Take a slug, brother."

"I'd kiss you for this, but I'm not feeling romantic." Grateful,

Duncan took the flask and swallowed straight whiskey. "He wasRoy-he was crying, begging. The guy… Cooper," Duncan remembered. "He told Phoebe to call him Cooper. He wouldn't say what he wanted, he wouldn't say why. Then he must've told Roy to say goodbye. And he pushed the button, he set off the bomb. He blew apart, Phin. Fuck, he just blew apart."

"Duncan, did you set the security before you left your house?"

"What? No." Had he? No. "We were out of there too fast."

"Okay, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make some calls, get some people over there to do a sweep and to secure the place." Duncan let his head fall back. "Because he went after Phoebe's ex, he may come after me."

"No point in being sloppy, is there?"