Eric spread his hands. “You’re ex-army, chief. You know what it’s like.”

“Yeah,” the chief agreed, “but I don’t know if what’s going on over there is like Desert Storm or Vietnam.”

Eric thought of the wire. The prison barracks. “It’s not like either of them. I think…” The heat, pounding air and dust and dogs flat beneath it. Patrolling dirty streets down to the scummy harbor. “It’s its own thing. It’s…” The eyes of men, hating on him so hard that if they had had anything-sticks, stones, bottles-he would be dead. He snapped to focus again. Looked at the chief.

“It wasn’t any Caribbean cruise, but I’m okay.” He glanced around at the squad room. “And I gotta tell you, being back here, with all of you guys, is-” He didn’t know what to do, shake his head or nod. “It feels real good.”

“Good.” The chief slapped him lightly on his upper arm. “Look, if at any time you’re feeling stressed out, or if you feel like you need to dial back a bit-”

Eric shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“If it does,” the chief emphasized, “I want you to come to me. You don’t have to give me any details. You don’t have to justify yourself. Just give me the word, and we’ll lighten things up for you for as long as you need it.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Eric said again. And it wasn’t. Home was stressful. Trying to deal with a wife who’d been running everything her way for a year was stressful. Discovering his son had gone from being a sweet, goofy kid to a moody irritable teen while he was away was stressful. Getting back to chasing down bad guys? That was pure gravy.

FRIDAY, JUNE 24

“You here to arrest somebody?” The man with the fistful of helium balloons next to Russ grinned.