Tell me we got him," I almost beg.

"Not yet," Dad says, looking down.

"There's no way he could've gone far. He took a boat."

"We've notified Harbor Patrol and Coast Guard."

"How's Ashley?"

"She's with her mom. She's gonna be okay."

"Good."

"How about you?"

I sigh, "Broken bone, a few stitches, no big deal."

Erin looks like she's about to barf. "He's got two broken ribs and 28 stitches. You could use a few days off."

"You are such a girl," I tease her, but fully agree. Even though I want to catch this son of a bitch, I know I need to take it slow. Will I? Probably not.

"I'm glad you're fine," Linda's voice is tight and almost cold. I guess the relief wore off. "But I'm not."

"Hey..." I say softly, not sure what I'm about to tell her.

"I got to call the boys. They need to know that you're okay."

She leaves the room, leaving me with the rest of the family.

With strict instructions, a pain medication just in case, and my arm in a sling, I finally get checked out of the hospital. Linda's quiet all the way to the car, and quieter still as she drives us home after I'm released. She's nearly fuming. I wait until we're pulling onto our street to say anything.

"Linda-"

"Save it."

"I just need-"

"Stop talking." Does her voice crack?

"Why are you so mad?"

She looks astounded as she turns the car off. "Why am I so— Danny! You could've been killed today! And you know that..." she lets out a shaky breath. "I knew this was going to happen."

I cringe in pain as she slams the door shut. My head is still throbbing from getting hit with... what was it? A wrench?

I sigh as I follow my angry wife into the house. The boys meet me at the door and hug me gently. I guess Linda told them about the broken ribs.

"Hi, Dad," Jack says, a lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

"Hi, Daddy," Sean's voice matches his older brother's.

"Hi, boys."

"Are you okay?" Sean's eyes have traces of fear in them.

"I'm fine."

"Why don't you finish your homework, boys?" Linda's voice is happier than it was in the car, but I can still see she's pissed. "Daddy needs to take it easy."

"Okay, Mom," they say together, giving me one more hug before they leave.

"You need to sit," she says, pretending to be busy with cleaning.

"I'm fine-"

"And I'm not asking. Sit."

I sigh, but do as told. She needs her mind at ease; after all, she's still struggling with post traumatic stress disorder.

I toss and turn uncomfortably in bed that night, surprised I've slept this long. I guess it was the pain meds that Linda made me take. They work well for a while, but I guess they're wearing off now. I turn to my back and groan. If only I had caught Wilder!

I can't get the images I've seen today out of my head, which makes trying to sleep very difficult. Everything from the fight is blurry, but I distinctly remember wanting Linda. I remember I kept asking for her, because she always makes me feel better. So I turn over to my side and reach for her... only she's not there.

My hands hit cold sheets, "Linda?" I sit up- painfully, I might add- and look around the room. It's quiet, except for the distinct sound of Linda crying. She's crying? Where is she crying? My eyes land on the en-suite door, and I know she's in there.

It probably takes me twice as long to get out of bed as it normally would- stupid head injury and broken ribs. I take a minute to catch my breath before I walk to the en-suite. I open the door and find Linda in her regular spot: the corner beneath the window next to the bathtub.

I don't bother with the light, I just sit next to her, trying to hold on the grunts of pain. Stupid, stupid broken ribs. "What're you doing in here?"

"Playing soccer," she answers sarcastically around her tears.

"What's with the tears?"

"You really don't know?!" Her voice is getting louder, which it always does when she talks and cries at the same time.

"Look, I'm sorry if I scared you, okay? But I'm fine."

"If? If you scared me?! And that is a load of macho crap! You're not fine at all!"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Stop it! Stop it!"

I'm confused. She wants me to stop comforting her? "Stop what, baby?" Maybe the affectionate nickname will calm her nerves.

"Stop acting like you're Superman! Like you're bullet proof! You're not! You're not and you're going to get yourself killed!" Linda's sobs are heart wrenching, and I wish there was something I could say to ease her mind.

Whatever I say, she's not going to like. "You knew this would happen when you agreed to marry me. We talked about it. One of the perils of the job is getting hurt."

She shakes her head, "I knew something bad was going to happen today. I knew it. I just knew it."

She's been saying that for months now, and it's only been true for today. But I'm not about to tell her that.

"I was just... wrong place, wrong time."

She almost whines, and the tears come full force again. "You were left for dead! I can't believe—"

She starts coughing and sputtering, doubling over in what I guess is fear. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she immediately shifts into my arms.

"You need to be more careful."

I can barely make out what she's saying.

"Promise me you'll be more careful. Promise me!"

"I promise." I'm not sure what I've just promised to do- or not to do- but if it gets her to calm down...

It takes a lot to call her down- she's having a full blown panic attack. She's shaking, and I don't know if it's from the sobs or the panic setting in.

I know what to do. She used to get panic attacks when she was pregnant with Jack. "It's okay, Linda. You're safe- we both are safe. I'm here, it's alright."

I don't know if she hears me or even understands me, but I keep trying to calm her down. I rub her back- intentionally avoiding her bullet wound- and kiss her forehead.

I try to move because her shoulder is jabbing me right in the rib- a broken one, no doubt- and the pain is making me a little dizzy. But as soon as I shift, Linda clings to me.

"Don't go!" She gasps. Her panic attack is getting worse.

"I'm not, I'm not. I just- Linda, your head is jabbing me in the ribs."

She seems to understand that, as she shifts to sit up.

I get an idea. I know it's not the room that's making her panic, but maybe she'll feel better if we're in bed. "Come on, let's get you somewhere comfy."

She lets go of me and I stand up- again holding in the painful grunts- then I help her stand. I lead her to the bed; which, apparently, is the right move because her tears slow down and her breathing evens after about seven minutes.

Linda sniffs, "sorry."

"It's okay, baby. I'm gonna get you some tissues and Tylenol sinus, okay?"

She nods, reaching for her trusty thermos of ice water. She starts taking large gulps while I fetch the tissues and Tylenol. I watch her take the pills and blow her nose.

"I'm sorry that I scared you today," I say, rubbing her upper arm. "But you do know that... It's not going to be easy getting this serial killer."

"Is he a mastermind?" Linda asks, rubbing her nose with the tissue.

"He thinks so... But he's cocky, and my experience is that the cocky always get caught. They end up making a deadly mistake, because they think they're invincible, and that's when we get them."

"So you're gonna catch him?"

"Of course I am." I joke with her, "Danny Reagan always catches the bad guy."

"But at what cost?" She asks seriously, sounding scared again.

"It's going to be okay. I'm going to catch this son of a bitch tomorrow, and then you'll have nothing to worry about. Trust me."

Boy was I ever wrong...