Free Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) by W.J. Costello Page A

charged.”
    “It’s true—karate was developed in Okinawa.”
    “Guess there must have been some bullies on Japan’s tropical playground.”
    After dinner I told Lance the good news.
    “I found your lost love. She’s living in California.”
    “Mary’s alive?”
    “Very much so.”
    “And you found her?”
    “I did.”
    “How?”
    I told him.
    “How do I get in touch with her, Rip?”
    “Here’s her phone number.”
    Lance cried.
    I try to help people when I can. For me it is a cathartic experience. Helping people helps me. It makes me feel better about myself. It helps me cope with my guilt.
    When I joined the United States Marshals Service I knew I would be involved in deadly force situations. I knew I would have to kill some bad guys. But I didn’t know how it would affect me.
    Killing people, no matter how evil they are, is always a traumatic experience. It causes psychological stress. The emotional impact is intense. Emotional scars may not be as visible as physical scars but they often take longer to heal.
    Law enforcers are supposed to be brave and strong and tough. They frequently view themselves as invincible. As superhuman. Quite a self-image to live up to.
    Sometimes critical incidents arise that challenge this self-image. Or destroy it completely. The cold reality stuns like ice water.
    One such incident is a fatal shooting. Reactions to fatal shootings vary from one law enforcer to another. Some have no reaction at all. Others suffer deeply from the emotional impact of taking a human life. Most experience a degree of guilt—no matter how justified the use of deadly force may be.
    No amount of job training can prepare law enforcers for fatal shootings. These events are psychologically distressing. They fall outside the range of ordinary human experience. Their emotional impact can be overwhelming.
    Those who experience post-shooting trauma often feel helpless and out of control. Side effects might surface in the form of anger, confusion, depression, disillusionment, frustration, grief, insecurity, and terror.
    Mostly what I feel is guilt. I deal with it by helping people.

CHAPTER 31
     
     
    T HE DAY BEGAN like every other day. Wake up. Make the bed. Drink some coffee. Eat some oats and blueberries. Brush my teeth. Go to the bathroom. Check my email. Work on my novel for an hour. Put on my Adidas running gear. Head out the door.
    Then the day was different—not like every other day.
    The sun was out. The rain had finally stopped.
    I ran to the abandoned building, stood at the foot of the stairs.
    I told myself, Today you’re going to do it. You’re going to attack those stairs and make it all the way up to the top floor.
    Then I did it. Ten stories up. Twenty flights of steps.
    On the top floor I did a little victory dance. Nothing that would win me the mirrorball trophy, though nothing to be embarrassed about either.
    Afterward I jogged back to the campground. The hot sun felt good on my skin. I was all smiles.
    At the campground I went to the horizontal tree branch and reached up and took hold of it. I knocked out thirty-three pull-ups.
    I took a minute to rest.
    Then I dropped to the grass and started to do push-ups. I ripped through sixty-five of them.
    I took another minute to rest.
    Then I turned over and started to do sit-ups. I cranked out sixty-two of them.
    I WAS BACK.

CHAPTER 32
     
     
    G OING AFTER THE bad guys would require strength.
    Physical strength. Mental strength. Emotional strength.
    It would also require a plan. One with clear and achievable aims.
    I believe I had a moral justification for what I was going to do.
    There would be consequences.
    I was prepared to pay them.
    Anna had lied to me, and set me up. Goons had burglarized my motor home. Cops had arrested me for no reason at all. Together the goons and the cops had beaten me to a pulp and left me for dead.
    I needed to go after them. To hell with the consequences.
    Anna was not the first person to ever lie to me.