The fraction of a moment it took for Marlo to register that Jax had been shot stretched through an eternity of time.

“Damn it! Jax!â€? He yelled. A silent scream bounced around his head looking for an exit. His next thought rushed through the gray matter of his brain at whip-quick speed,
The perp is still here!

Instinctively he reached for his revolver, spun and took aim at the intruder, who now had the double-barrel of a sawed off shot gun aimed at him.

“Drop your weapon, asshole!â€? Marlo growled.

His demand was met by the wild, red-eyed stare of a detective’s worst nightmare: a junkie with a gun.

“Screw you! Drop yours!â€?

Great. A junkie with a gun and a bad attitude.

And so this was it.

A call after midnight, a five-hour crime scene investigation, a wounded partner and a Mexican stand-off with a strung-out crack head. He licked his suddenly dry lips and started talking. It was his only hope of staying alive long enough to kiss the back of Charly’s neck one more time.