Free White Sister by Stephen J. Cannell

like antibiotics pumped into a throbbing abscess.
    The idea that people were actually important came next, along with the notion that there really was such a thing as an unselfish act. I began to realize that love was an actual condition, and not just something faked a manipulative ploy.
    Little by little, I was pulled back from the darkness, reclaimed like a submerged, barnacle-encrusted hulk. It seemed like I would never fully come alive again, but I did.
    The last four years had been a rebirth, with Alexa and Chooch performing emotional CPR. They taught me there was strength in vulnerability, and wisdom in restraint.
    Driving back to Venice from Malibu, I tried to make sense of what was happening. Selfish as it seemed, I knew that losing Alexa would probably cost me more than I could deal with. I had Chooch, but he was an adult now, off at college. I couldn't live my life for him much longer. Without Alexa, I was afraid I would slip back into the same, murky, alcohol-infested swamp I had just managed to crawl out of.
    I wasn't sure if Alexa was alive, wasn't sure why there was a dead cop in handcuffs in her car. I had absolutely no idea how Stacy and Lou Maluga figured in, but there was one common denominator in all this, and that was the late Sgt. David Slade. I knew that Rafie and Tommy had no choice but to hang me out with the dicks in the Professional Standards Bureau. Their careers were at stake if they tried to give me cover. I wasn't going to back off and by now they knew it.
    The problem was that nothing was anything without Alexa. I love her with a power so pure it sometimes frightens me. Without her, my life has no meaning.
    I had been in some life-threatening situations, but I had never been in such jeopardy before.
    I got home to Venice and parked in the drive. When I opened the front door, I realized that I had left without turning the alarm on. Like David Slade, deep down I knew I was tougher than anybody dumb enough to come after me. All the lights were still on, just as I'd left them. It was past one A . M . but I knew instantly the house was empty. It had that empty house feel, like a murder scene where everyone was dead.
    I walked into the den and checked the answering machine. It was an old machine and the remote access system had become temperamental, so I couldn't retrieve calls. But it didn't matter because there were only the same three messages I'd left for Alexa earlier. I sat in the half dark, thinking about what my next move would be. I probably shouldn't stay here because if Rafie and Tommy followed through and filed a 181 complaint on me, by morning the Professional Standards Bureau could go to the D . A . and get an arrest warrant for obstructing justice. I could be picked up, booked, and taken to the courthouse for arraignment. It would take me half a day to get through all that. I didn't have half a day.
    I figured I'd better clear out and come back here only to shower or change. They would try to serve the damn warrant two or three times, but they wouldn't make a career of it. After a couple of tries, it would go on the computer along with a BOLO to pick me up. I'd broken some internal department policies, some search and seizure regs, and a criminal obstruction of justice statute, but it was all Class-C stuff. I hadn't shot anyone yet.
    I stood and moved slowly out of the den. I was halfway across the partially darkened living room when I saw something move in the backyard.
    I froze in my tracks and looked out. It was hard to see too much of the backyard through the room reflection on the glass, but someone was definitely sitting in one of the metal chairs back there, looking at the canal.
    Had Luna Maluga already sent some energy in my direction, or was it Alexa? Taking no chances, I pulled my gun, moved to the side of the room, and edged to the glass slider. It was locked. I silently unhooked the latch and using my foot, slowly slid it open. I knelt down to nonfatal shooting height and