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he was physically and mentally exhausted. His snarfling furball seemed to be as well. The freaking dog was like a rock all night long in the center of the bed.
    It was lunchtime by the time Beckett and Gandhi emerged for their morning walk and hotel checkout. Beckett threw his duffle bag and the damned stuffed bus back in the car and drove down the street to a gas station. The sun was high, and his new dog had settled into the back, apparently for a nap, despite sleeping like a freaking baby all night. Gandhi grumbled and harrumphed his disapproval when the car stopped again so soon. Beckett laughed as he walked into the station and grabbed a crappy coffee before prepaying in cash for the gas. On his way back out he sniffed the air, finding it filled with fresh sea salt. He was accidently in a beautiful little town. As he leaned against the car while it filled, he tried to come up with a reason this shouldn’t be his new home.
    He couldn’t come up with one. He loved the goddamn ocean, and this place had enough stores not to feel like a deserted old man’s crotch but not so many that he couldn’t see the fucking stars at night. He could see the bridge he’d crossed to get to this little town in the distance. It was a million stories up and only had those cement highway dividers as a wall. It was scary and pretty all rolled into one. Kinda like you, you handsome bastard .
    He looked in on his new dog. The freaking thing looked like Jabba the Hutt’s dingleberry. So damn ugly. His impulse decisions were super impulsive. As if his name were Beckett’s Disappointment, the dog looked up and half smiled. Beckett nodded in his direction. “What about it? You like this place?”
    Gandhi wiggled his butt in response. Maybe this thing would be okay after all. Beckett slapped the gas dispenser back in its holster and turned to take one more look at his new pet. Gandhi was wildly humping his stuffed bus.
    “Wow.” He slid behind the steering wheel. “We could’ve just high-fived. You are so getting your nuts chopped off. And soon.”
    The dog fell off the seat in his amorous state and gave Beckett a shocked glare.
    He couldn’t help but laugh. “You are a silly damn thing.”
    They had to cool their heels outside a real estate office for almost an hour until the entire staff came back from lunch. By then Gandhi had relived himself robustly several times and now seemed to be enjoying sitting in the car, tongue lolling out. Beckett didn’t really have a plan, just an assload of cash and a hope for a better life that would somehow include Eve again someday.

Part Two
    Five Years Later

4
    Poseidon
    R YAN M ORALES R OLLED H IS H EAD on his neck, trying to release the tension. It didn’t work. He was pretty sure his entire body had a headache, and he was so, so exhausted.
    When he opened his apartment door, he went from tired to on-the-job in a breath. He drew his gun and assessed the exits, sliding against the wall to protect his six. His apartment was almost completely empty—of everything. After a quiet assessment he holstered his weapon. He recognized this type of destruction. Ryan closed the door behind him and didn’t bother to throw the lock. He went to the fridge and found a single beer instead of the twelve-pack that should have been nice and cold.
    “Bitch.” He took out the beer and popped it open on the countertop. “But, if you left me a beer, that means breakup sex is on the table. Right, Poseidon?” Ryan toasted the fish bowl and noticed his beta was belly up and floating.
    He looked closely at the water and shook his head. The crazy whore had filled the bowl with hand soap.
    “Well, now I’m taking breakup sex off the table.” He toasted his dead fish again and drained the beer before scooping him out of the bowl. As he flushed the fish, he noticed she’d left him not one sheet of toilet paper.
    He sighed. By his count this was his fifth failed romance since becoming a Poughkeepsie police officer a