Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood by Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

I want. Thanks for staying close today.”
    “’Course. My advice? Turn your phone off or even put a message on your voice mail that it might be a while before you call people back. Everybody’s gonna be, you know . . . calling.”
    Boone sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly realizing he was still in full uniform, bulletproof vest and all. “You’re right, I know, but I’m just not up to it. I’ll turn it off.”
    “Want me to put a message on there for ya?”
    Boone shrugged and tossed it to him, telling him his voice mail pass code. Jack recorded, “Yeah, thanks for callin’. This is Boone’s phone, but this isn’t Boone; it’s his partner. Boone appreciates your call, but I’m sure you understand he may not be able to get back to you right away. Don’t leave a message unless it’s urgent, because his mailbox will just fill up right away. Watch your e-mail for funeral arrangements and all. If you need anything immediately, you can call me at the following number . . .”
    Boone thanked him, stood, and began peeling off his uniform. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” he said, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”
    “Too tired? Been there.”
    “Just too much firing through my brain. I’m not going to be able to shut it off.”
    “Take a shower, whatever you need. You want to stay up and talk, I’m game for that.”
    “Think I’d rather be alone, Jack, but thanks.”
    “I understand. You know, if you really have trouble falling asleep, I’ll bet that Indian doctor guy from your church would prescribe something.”
    “Ah, I’ve never used that kind of stuff, and I wouldn’t want to bother him.”
    “Bet he’d be glad to help.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind, but I’ll tell you the truth, Jack: I can finally see why people overdose. Put a bottle of sleeping pills in front of me right now, and I wouldn’t trust myself not to scarf it down to try to join Nikki and Josh.”
    “Nobody could blame you, Boones, but you know I don’t wanna hear that kind of talk. No sense making a tragedy even worse. Listen, if you get desperate for some shut-eye, I got some cheap wine in the fridge—oh, that’s right, you don’t drink. Well, I won’t tell anybody if you do. ’Least that won’t kill ya.”
    Boone threw on a bathrobe as he heard Jack opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. Part of him wanted to collapse and sleep for days. Yet he had an idea there would not be any sleeping this night.
    “Boones,” Keller said, knocking softly, “I’m happy to stay up if you want me to.”
    “No, please. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “Listen, you need a thing, just knock and don’t give it a second thought. Promise?”
    “Sure.”
    Boone had no intention of bothering Jack, but being left alone for the first time since driving to work that morning was not something he relished. That kind of solitude used to be something to look forward to. Usually, after interacting with Jack and the public and other cops and staff all day, he enjoyed just listening to some tunes and anticipating the welcome waiting for him at home.
    Boone turned the shower as hot as he could stand it and tried to stifle his loud sobs, hoping Jack couldn’t hear. When the water ran so long it began to grow lukewarm, he shut it off, toweled down, and pulled on sweatshorts. He sank down on the edge of the bed and hung his head.
    Another light knock on the door.
    “Yeah.”
    “Your in-laws called. They’re at the hospital, and he wants you to call. I can tell ’em you’re asleep.”
    “No, I’ll call. G’night, Jack.”
    Boone had never heard the buttoned-down Air Force lawyer sound so shaken. Though there was nothing he wanted less, Boone offered to meet the McNickles somewhere.
    “No, no. You try to get some sleep.”
    “I can’t imagine.”
    “I know, me either, but we’re all going to need it. Pam is having a pretty hard time. So am I, of course, but one of the doctors here