He realized that’s exactly what he’d been doing back home in Montana. Agonizing over whether to be sheriff or give it up. Not because he wasn’t a good cop, but because he didn’t know if he wanted it anymore. The only person his bad decision had affected last year in the Butcher investigation was himself. It could have been worse. Someone could have been killed because he’d acted the maverick.

Still, being here, working this case, showed him he still had a sharp mind. Maybe sharper now for what he’d gone through in the past. If only his body would cooperate, he’d be at the top of his game.

Carina was a physically active, intelligent woman. Could he keep up with her? He wanted to. But look at him now, sitting on the stairs, unable to walk to the apartment above. Was it even fair to her?

“Beautiful night.”

Nick tensed until he recognized Colonel Pat Kincaid’s deep voice.

“Yes, sir,” he said, opening his eyes. By the colonel’s expression, he didn’t know if he’d witnessed Nick’s make-out session in the car with his daughter. “You snuck up on me.”

The colonel grinned, leaned against the stair railing. “I’m light on my feet.”

Nick knew he should stand, but if he tried he’d fail. Embarrassment warred with his predicament. He needed help; he didn’t want to ask.

“Carina has been working long hours on this case,” the colonel said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You can drop the ‘sir.’ I’m retired. Makes me feel old. And on duty.”

Nick couldn’t help but grin. He remembered telling his favorite deputy, Lance Booker, virtually the same thing. Can the “sir.” But old habits die hard. He’d always said “Yes, sir” to his father. His father demanded the respect.

Already, Nick had more respect for Pat Kincaid than he had for his own father, and that thought unsettled him. The respect for Colonel Kincaid came from the results of his parentage, and one night of good conversation. He loved his family, showed it. Not only in the way he spoke of them, but in the way his children spoke of him.

“Carina is a good cop,” Nick said, feeling like he had to say something. He didn’t do well with small talk.

“That she is. Driven. You know about my grandson.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

The colonel took a deep breath. “It was the worst day of my life.” He paused. “When Nelia came home from law school and said she was pregnant, Rosa and I were shocked.” He grunted. “We shouldn’t have been. Kids have sex. They get pregnant. It happens all the time, but…we thought we’d raised a nun.” He looked pointedly at Nick. “Nelia was our first-first daughter, first child. We shouldn’t have been surprised. She was twenty-three. Not a young kid. And Andrew was willing to do the right thing. Marry her.”

They were silent for several minutes. The colonel wanted to talk, but Nick didn’t rush him. He understood the need to collect thoughts, try to make sense of the insensible.

“Rosa and I are from the old school. The right school, in our minds, even now. Men did the right thing in our day. You got a girl pregnant, you married her. Everything worked out, more or less.

“But maybe, sometimes, marriage isn’t always the right thing.”

The colonel paused again. “A lot of women are capable of raising kids on their own. Especially with family,” he said, more to himself than to Nick.

“Nelia and Andrew, they never argued. They never disagreed. They were always respectful, always polite. I should have seen it sooner.”

When the colonel didn’t say anything, Nick asked, “Seen what?”

“That they didn’t love each other.”

“But that certainly didn’t have anything to do with Justin’s murder.”

“No, it didn’t. But it’s never just one thing, is it? Wrong place, wrong time…or maybe a gradual layering of choices? First, having sex. Then getting married. Moving here, or there. Taking this job, or that one. Every decision, every choice, changes the path we’re on.

“Nelia and Andrew didn’t love each other, but they are both good people and they loved Justin. They did the wrong thing for the right reasons. If they had really loved each other, they wouldn’t have spent so much time apart.”

“But that has nothing to do with Justin’s murder.” Nick didn’t see where the colonel was going with the conversation. Maybe he was too tired, or in too much pain. But there seemed to be a disconnect that Nick just wasn’t getting.

“Have you ever been in love, Sheriff?” the colonel asked.

Nick’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“Did you want to spend your free time with her? Did you think about her when you were apart? I mean, not all the time. There’re other things, like the job, the World Series, but work and sports aside, didn’t you just want to be with her?”

Nick thought about Miranda. He would have given his life for her. He’d wanted to marry her. He’d loved her. She hadn’t loved him. He’d known it from the beginning, thought he could change her, convince her that he was the right man for her. That he could protect her, take care of her, keep her demons at bay.

But he couldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to do, and it took another man to fix Miranda’s wounded soul. He’d finally accepted that, moved on.

The colonel continued. “Andrew and Nelia, separate, are incredible people. Wonderful. I admire both of them. Separately, they made great parents. They loved Justin. They would have done anything for him.” He paused, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Together? They respected each other. And as the farce of a marriage continued, they spent more time apart.”

Nick could picture the relationship perfectly. Two people who stayed together, without anger or love, because of a child.

“So when Justin died, they had nothing left,” Nick said quietly.

“Not even each other,” the colonel said equally quietly.

He sat down on the stair next to Nick.

“Carina said his murderer was never found.”

“True. Nelia left, she couldn’t stay here with the memories. I haven’t seen her in years. Rosa, she talks to her once a week. Every Sunday. But no one else. Nelia is grieving alone, and to me, that’s the saddest thing. It’s been eleven years.”

They sat a long moment in silence.

“I heard about the third murder,” the colonel said. “That the girl was kidnapped from her apartment.”

“Yes.”

“How did Cara handle it?”

“Like a professional.”

Nick remembered the pain in her eyes, pain and anger, and a hint of doubt. But she still did the job, not letting her personal feelings interfere with her duty.

Nick knew how difficult it could be to push down personal feelings to do what was right. He’d had to do it repeatedly on the Butcher investigation. When he was involved with Miranda, he had to keep reminding himself that she didn’t want his protection, or his help. He had never wanted to bring FBI agent Quinn Peterson back to town, knowing that he still loved Miranda, but Nick had had to, to find the Butcher.

In a perfect world, there’d be no sick men torturing and hunting down women in the wilderness, or gluing their mouths shut and raping them while they suffocated. And in a perfect world, feelings wouldn’t hurt. Failure wouldn’t be a word. Mistakes wouldn’t happen.

“That’s my girl,” the colonel said with pride. “Professional, focused, determined. I just-I can’t help but worry. She took Justin’s death personally.”

“I know.”

Carina’s dad looked at him, surprised. “She told you?”

“That she was babysitting? That she was never allowed to watch Lucy again? Yeah. She told me.” Nick was surprised that it bothered him, that he felt closer to Carina because of the quiet, unconscious distrust of her family, even though her family loved her.

Neither man spoke for a long while. “It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t even think about it for the longest time. It wasn’t, well, it wasn’t until Carina said something last year that made me realize what Rosa and I had unintentionally done.”