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surprised again that only three lanes were in use. He wondered briefly if it was the weak economy, but as soon as he went through the last set of doors, he understood that the perfect California weather had lured everyone to shoot outside.
    His stride was strong, determined. He’d always walked as if he knew exactly where he was going. He reached row eight and started to settle in. He pulled his Sig P226 X-FIVE pistol and a box of ammo. He started loading the magazine.
    A loud yet hesitant voice pulled him out of his concentration. “Mr. Warren.”
    “Ah, Harper, I’m glad you could join me.” His smile was wide, almost genuine. He knew Harper wouldn’t have refused.
    Tyler pulled the slide back sharply. He turned his back on the visitor and aimed at the target. The shots from all the other lanes were muffled by the earmuffs and didn’t distract him. His pulse was steady. The gun settled in his left hand, while the right cupped the grip. Warren pulled the trigger in rapid succession until the magazine was empty.
    “That felt good,” he said, turning back to Harper. “Would you like to shoot?” His hand extended, gun pointing downward as he ejected the magazine into his left hand.
    “No, thank you. I do enough shooting back at the ranch.” Harper shoved his hands further into his pockets, as if to avoid temptation.
    “Suit yourself, but it’s a perfect day for it.” He looked at the sky again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to claim a perfect score based on my ability alone,” he said and laughed. It was a hearty laugh that came from the gut.
    Harper shivered and kept quiet.
    “I’m grateful for your progress,” Tyler continued. “I think we’re going to be okay.” He began pushing new cartridges into the magazine.
    Harper bowed his head. “You told me to be creative, so I’m making sure each one is different.”
    “Yes, and I hope you understand why.”
    Tyler now turned to look at him and placed the loaded gun on the shelf to his left, after inserting the freshly filled magazine. He dug through his bag and pulled out two more boxes of ammunition.
    “Hold these for a sec,” he said, handing them to Harper while he looked for something else. He finally found a few sheets of paper folded in half and held together by a silver paper clip on the left-hand corner. He handed them to Harper in exchange for the ammo. “These are the next ones.”
    Harper opened the folded papers and saw the new list. “How many more are there?” he asked under his breath. Sweat had begun to mist his forehead and create dark stains under his arms.
    “Just a few more, Harper. Just a few more.” He tried to sound reassuring, but his voice betrayed him, and sadness seeped through.
    Before Tyler started shooting again, he turned again and locked eyes with Harper. With the words still lingering in the air, he smiled trying to lift the mood, showing perfectly aligned white teeth.
    Tyler kneeled down again and grabbed a thick envelope from his bag. “Here’s what we talked about for the latest work.”
    “You know that’s not what I really want,” Harper said, not taking the envelope.
    “And I’m working on it, Harper. I told you already that you would be the first one to know when it’s ready.”
    He placed the envelope on the shelf where the gun had been just moments ago. Tyler re-aimed the pistol at the target and started squeezing off shots in a deliberate cadence.
    “Okay,” Harper said, his voice muffled by the overwhelming noise. He took the envelope from the shelf. Tyler watched him walk away. His shoulders seemed too heavy for a man his age.

CHAPTER 11
    D etective Darcy Lynch was tapping the floor of the squad room with his right foot. It was a tic that had driven more than one girlfriend to despair. He gnawed on the cap of a blue Bic pen while he listened to Lou.
    “So basically, you’ve come up with absolutely nothing,” he interrupted, holding the receiver harder than he needed to. His gaze was lost