Read Don't Be Afraid for Free Online

youngest child and only son was hard.
    When he was safely back on the side of the bed, Mark got together the shaving cream, basin of water, mirror and razor that his father needed and sat watching his father shave just like he had when Mark was a boy. Oscar’s right hand moved swiftly and surely over his face and Mark wondered if he found pleasure in still being able to perform that small task.
    It was the sort of thing he didn’t talk about with his father, though, because Oscar wouldn’t discuss the stroke except in terms of his recovery. He didn’t discuss emotions, he didn’t discuss what having been forced to take early retirement from the police force felt like or the double humiliation of watching his wife pick up longer hours at her nursing job.
    He had, however, scolded his son for leaving a good job with the NYPD to come home and take care of him. He’d written a terse note in the hospital ordering his son to return to Manhattan and his job, but Mark had politely ignored it. He’d made his decision and he’d severed his ties with the city. It was too late to return.
    He brewed a strong pot of coffee while making his father breakfast and after bringing it to him, he took a cup with him into the bathroom. He gulped it down while he raced through his own shave and shower, hurrying so he could be at his desk by eight-fifteen. The deep gray circles under his eyes weren’t going away. Too many late nights in Steerforth bars. He hadn’t returned home last night until after one and then only to lie awake, trying not to think about exactly what he’d left behind in New York, while staring at the border of cowboys on horseback that circled his room.
    His mother arrived home as he was knotting his tie.
    “I’m here!” Elena Juarez called up the stairs, just as she did every morning, as if they couldn’t hear her unlocking the back door of the small house. She hurried up the stairs to see them, though Mark knew that she was tired from her long shift at the hospital.
    She checked his father first. Mark heard the murmur of conversation before she appeared in the doorway. He was combing his hair in the mirror above the dresser, having to stoop a little to see the top of his head.
    She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Did you have breakfast?”
    “I’ll get something on the way in.”
    She frowned and her hands moved to her hips. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
    Mark grinned. “Thank you, Surgeon General. Any other advice?”
    “Fine, don’t listen to your mother,” she said, but she smiled, too. He leaned down to give her a hug.
    “Dad’s had his breakfast,” he said as she walked him to the door. He put on his holster and slipped his jacket over it. “You get some rest, too, okay?”
    “Sure, sure,” she said, waving him off. “Be careful.”
     
     
    Detective Black was already at his desk, wearing his usual cheap suit and loud tie, looking as rumpled as if he’d slept there, though Mark knew that he had a wife and two kids he went home to every night. He grunted at Mark in greeting and said, “Crane called. Confirmed cause of death.”
    “Nail gun?”
    “Rapid discharge, fired at close range. Apparently it punctured the brain stem.”
    “Well, there’s a first.”
    “That’s why so little blood, too. Crane says the nail acts as a dike, holding back the blood. That’s what’s saved some construction guys who’ve shot themselves by accident.”
    “This wasn’t an accident.”
    “No shit, Sherlock. Just saying that she might have lived if he’d fired even slightly to the left. According to the genius, that is. But the perp fired more than once and he was determined to kill her. I don’t think she had a chance.”
    Black picked up a slip of paper from his desk and waved it at Mark, his smile wider. “Oh, and your lady friend called.”
    Mark felt his face flush with color. “What lady friend?”
    “Victim’s friend. Pretty chick with the dark hair. She