The doorbell? Her bedside clock declared the time as 3:00 am. At first Sharon didn't understand what had awakened her; she'd only been in bed a few hours. She was exhausted and with good reason. It had been a very long day, an even longer week.

Rusty was finally home, his witness testimony against Phillip Stroh on the record. There would be no reason now for Stroh to send anyone else to threaten him. Thanks to Provenza, the letter-writer was dead, so Rusty's life could go back to normal – whatever that might end up being. And thanks to an unexpected spark of goodwill on Chief Taylor's part, she was taking seven consecutive days of vacation time. She had planned to spend the next eight to ten hours of that sleeping.

The doorbell rang again. And again.

So much for plans.

She sat up quickly and grabbed her robe and glasses. Who in the world would be...

She figured it out even before looking through the peephole.

Jack Raydor. Her soon to be ex-husband was outside her door.

She could feel a headache starting.

"Can I come in?" Jack's face was flushed and sweaty, his hair disheveled. He had a leather weekender slung over one shoulder and a battered briefcase in his left hand. His right hand held a key, a key that no longer unlocked her door as he'd just discovered.

"No." She stood in front of him, one hand on the door and the other on the door frame. "It's three a.m. and you don't live here anymore. If you want to see me, call ahead and we'll meet in my office downtown."

Jack sighed. "Sharon, please. It was a long drive from Vegas and I'm not feeling up to a fight. Could we just skip ahead to the part where you give in and let me sleep on your couch? You can always toss me out tomorrow. We have things to discuss."

"We have only one thing to discuss. Have you signed the divorce papers?"

"That's what I want to talk about," Jack said. He set down his suitcase and braced himself against the door frame, his hand over hers. "No kidding, I really don't feel..."

"Jack?" She reached out and caught him as he passed out.

He was too heavy for her to hold up, but she managed to slow his descent to the floor. The irony of the situation didn't escape her. She'd done much the same thing for the last 20 years, but the result was always the same. She'd never been strong enough to keep him from hitting rock bottom.

"I'll lift his shoulders, you take his feet."

She'd had to wake up the teen for help in getting Jack the rest of way inside her condo.

"Sofa?" Rusty asked, backing into the living room, his grip on Jack's shoulders and arms slipping. "Man, he weighs a ton."

"Gluten-free doesn't mean calorie free," Sharon mumbled, her hands gripping Jack ankles. "Sofa is fine."

"At least he's still breathing and we don't have to do CPR. Should we call an ambulance?" Rusty dropped Jack on the sofa and then helped Sharon swing the man's legs onto the cushions.

"Definitely an ambulance!" She punched in 911 on her cell phone. "Someone else is going to have to take care of him. This is the last time I'm dealing with any of Jack's emergencies."

"Brain tumor? You've got to be kidding me!" Andy Flynn slammed the file he was holding down on his desk. "Did you talk to Sharon?"

Provenza frowned. "No, just got a text from the kid. They've been at Cedars all night with old Jack. Some of the tests have come back. Best guess is a brain tumor. And at least stop calling her Sharon at work."

"This is all Sharon...the Captain...needs." Flynn rubbed the back of his neck. "She was finally getting rid of the bastard and he pulls this? Gotta be a scam."

Provenza read an incoming text. "Some scam. Doctors want to cut open his skull and dig it out. In my book that's a bit much just to get back at your ex."

"I doubt it's beyond Jack Raydor." Flynn slammed a desk drawer shut. "Sorry SOB probably didn't even sign the divorce papers. Now she'll feel responsible for his pitiful ass. Hey, ask Rusty what kind of odds they are giving him. He could croak on the table. Maybe there's still a silver lining to this whole mess."

"Hell, Flynn, try to be a little more sensitive. I'm not asking Rusty that in a text." Provenza got to his feet. "Let's drive over there and ask in person. Maybe grab some lunch in the cafeteria."

"What about our murder?"

"Not a problem. I'm in charge and we've got some free time. Tao and Sanchez are on their way back from the Douglas crime scene. Since he essentially confessed, they arrested the next-door neighbor. Guy claimed our victim's German shepherd killed his prize rose bushes. So the neighbor killed the victim in retaliation. He's claiming justifiable homicide."

"Why didn't he just kill the dog?" Flynn pulled on his jacket.

"Says he's a member of PETA. They frown on that," Provenza answered.

"They don't frown on killing people?"

"Not really." Provenza motioned towards the door. "Come on, let's go. We need to be back for the autopsy later this afternoon. Make sure the victim died of that pesticide the neighbor claimed to have put in his beer."

"What about the dog?"

"He's fine. Apparently prefers peeing on roses to drinking beer."

"Sadly," Flynn pushed the elevator button, "from my drinking days, I know one is not exclusive of the other. Did I ever mention my ex-wife's flower garden?"