He inquired about Hauck’s injuries. The bullet to his side had had the good fortune of missing anything vital. That would heal. The leg, however-Hauck’s right hip, actually-with all the running and limping around as he went after Dietz and Lennick, was basically shot.

“The doctor says those end-to-end rushes on the rink are pretty much a thing of the past now.” Hauck smiled.

His boss nodded like that was too bad. “Well, you weren’t exactly Bobby Orr.” Then after a pause, Fitzpatrick shifted forward. “You know, I’d like to be able to say, ‘Good work, Ty.’ I mean, that was one sweet mother of a bust.” He shook his head soberly. “Why couldn’t you have just brought it in to me, Ty? We could have done it by the book.”

Hauck shifted. “Guess I just got carried away.”

“Yeah.” The chief grinned, as if appreciating the joke. “That’s what you could call it, getting carried away.” Fitzpatrick stood up. “I gotta go.”

Hauck reached over to him. “So be honest with me, Carl, what are the chances I’ll be back on the job?”

“Honest?”

“Yeah.” Hauck sighed. “Honest.”

The chief blew a long blast of air. “I don’t know…” he swallowed. “There’ll definitely have to be a review. People are going to look to me for some kind of suspension.”

Hauck sucked in a breath. “I understand.”

Fitzpatrick shrugged. “I don’t know, Ty, whaddaya think? Maybe a week?” He curled a bright smile. “That was one fucking kick-ass of a bust, Lieutenant. I can’t exactly stand behind the way you went about it. But it was sweet. Sweet enough that I want you back. So rest up. Take care of yourself. Ty, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but you should be proud.”

“Thank you, Carl.”

Fitzpatrick gave Hauck a tug on the forearm and headed to the door.

“Hey, Carl…”

The chief turned at the door. “Yeah?”

“If I had done it by the book…If I had come to you and said I wanted to reopen the Raymond hit-and-run. Before I had something. Tell me straight, would you have agreed?”

“Agreed?” The chief squinted in thought. “To open it back up? On what, Lieutenant?” He laughed as he went out the door. “No effing way.”

HAUCK NAPPED A little. He felt restored. Around lunchtime there was a knock at the door. Jessie came in.

With Beth.

“Hey, honey…” Hauck grinned widely. When he tried to open his arms, he winced.

“Oh, Daddy…” With tears of worry, Jessie ran over and put her face against his chest. “Daddy, are you going to be all right?”

“I’m okay, hon. I promise. I’m going to be okay. Strong as ever.”

She nodded, and Hauck pressed her against him. He looked over at Beth.

She curled her short brown hair behind her ear and leaned against the door. Smiled. He was sure she was about to tell him, something like, Nice job, Lieutenant, or, You sure outdid yourself this time, Ty.

But she didn’t.

Instead she came over and stood by the bed. Her eyes were liquid and deep, and it took her a while to say anything at all, and when she did, it was with a tight smile and a fond squeeze of his hand.

“All right,” she said, “you can have Thanksgiving, Ty.”

He looked at her and smiled.

And for the first time in years, he felt he saw something there. In her moist eyes. Something he’d been waiting for for a long time. Something that had been lost and had eluded him for many years and now, with their daughter’s wet cheeks pressed into him, had been found.

Forgiveness.

He winked at her and held Jessie close. “That’s good to hear, Beth.”

THAT NIGHT HAUCK was a little groggy from all the medications. He had the Yankees game on but couldn’t follow. There was a soft knock at the door.

Karen stepped in.

She was dressed in her gray Texas Longhorns T-shirt, a jean jacket thrown around her shoulders. Her hair was pinned up. Hauck noticed a cut on the side of her lip where Dietz had slapped her. She carried a single rose in a small vase and came over and placed it next to his bed.

“My heart.” She pointed to it.

He smiled.

“You look pretty,” he told her.

“Yeah, right. I look like a bus just ran over me.”

“No. Everything looks pretty. The morphine’s kicking in.”

Karen smiled. “I was here last night when you were in surgery. The doctors talked to me. You’re Mr. Lucky, Ty. How’s the leg?”

“It was never exactly what you’d call limber. Now it’s just completely shot.” He chuckled. “The whole-”

“Don’t say it.” Karen stopped him. “Please.”

Hauck nodded. After a pause he shrugged. “So what the hell is a shebang anyway?”

Karen’s eyes glistened. “I don’t know.” She squeezed his hand with both of hers and stared deeply into his hooded eyes. “Thank you, Ty. I owe you so much. I owe you everything. I wish I knew what the hell to say.”

“Don’t…”

Karen pressed his fingers in her palms and shook her head. “I just don’t know if I can pick up the same way.”

He nodded.

“Charlie’s dead,” she said. “That’s gonna take some time now. And the kids…they’re coming back.” She looked at him. Amid all these tubes, the monitor screens beeping. Her eyes flooded over.

“I understand.”

She placed her head down on his chest. Felt his breathing.

“On the other hand”-she sniffed back a few tears-“I guess we could give it a try.”

Hauck laughed. More like winced, pain rising up in his belly.

“Yeah.” He held her. He stroked her hair. The fleshy round of her cheek. He felt her stop shaking. He felt himself start to feel at ease, too.

“We could try.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE

Two weeks later

Hauck drove his Bronco up to the large stone gate.

He lowered his window and leaned out to press an intercom button. A voice responded. “Yes?”

“Lieutenant Hauck,” Hauck said into the speaker.

“Drive up to the house,” the voice replied. The gates slowly opened. “Mr. Khodoshevsky is expecting you.”

Hauck made his way up the long paved drive. Even applying the slightest pressure on the gas, his right leg still ached. He had begun some therapy, but there were weeks ahead of him. The doctors told him he might never again walk without the trace of a limp.

The property was massive. He drove past a huge pond. There was a fenced-in field-for horses, maybe. At the top he drove up to an enormous redbrick Georgian with a magnificent courtyard in front, an ornately crafted fountain in the center, with water spilling out of sculptured figures into a marble pool.

Billionaires ruining things for millionaires, Hauck recalled. Even by Greenwich standards, he’d never seen anything quite like this.

He stepped out of the car. Grabbed his cane. It helped. He climbed up the steps to the impressive front doors.

He rang the bell. Loud choral peals. That didn’t surprise him. A young woman answered. Attractive. Eastern European. Maybe an au pair.

“Mr. Khodoshevsky asked me to bring you to the den,” she said with a smile. “This way.”

A young boy, maybe five or six, raced past him riding some kind of motorized toy car. “Beep, beep!”

The au pair yelled out, “Michael, no!” Then she smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”

“I’m a cop.” Hauck winked. “Tell him to try and keep it under forty in here.”

He was led through a series of palatial rooms to a family room at the side of the house, featuring a curved wall of windows overlooking the property. There was a large leather couch, a recognizable contemporary painting over it that Hauck took to be immensely valuable, though he wasn’t exactly sure about the guy’s use of blue. A huge media console was stacked against a wall, a stereo that went on forever. The requisite sixty-inch flat-screen.

There was an old-time Western movie on.

“Lieutenant.”

Hauck spotted a set of legs reclining on an ottoman. Then a large, bushy-haired body rose out of a chair, wearing baggy shorts and an oversize yellow T-shirt that read MONEY IS THE BEST REVENGE.