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“I heard voices,” he said in that same voice that, to this day, gave me chills, and I loved the guy. He ate breakfast at the diner every morning with his paper and cup of coffee and, most days, even bought me my own breakfast.

But when it came to his daughter?

I was still eighteen.

And he still had a gun.

Then again, so did I.

“Hello?” he called out the window.

“Daddy,” Maddy said in an annoyed voice, “I was on the phone with Liza. Seriously, go back to bed.”

“Hmmm.” He pulled the window down with a jerk.

I exhaled and waited a few minutes, trying to guess what she felt, where this was really going, then turned on my heel.

And walked right into a body.

I knew that smell.

I knew that body.

I looked into his steely-blue gaze and cleared my throat. “Nice night.”

“You climbing into my daughter’s room like a coward, Officer Caro?”

“No, sir.” I wasn’t a coward. “But I was climbing into her room like a man. You got a problem with that?”

He stared me down.

I stared right back.

And the wild, wild West suddenly came into that yard, each of us reaching for our non-existent sidearm, as a tumbleweed rolled past. Hell, I could even hear Max singing the theme from Tombstone.

“All right then.” He stepped back and scratched his bald head. “But the roof’s a bit old — patched it up last year. Next time, use the door like a human.”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled as he walked off.

He paused and called over his shoulder, “Still got that shotgun, Officer. Law says if your dead body’s on my property, it’s self-defense.”

“That it does.”

“Nice night, though. Real nice night.”

The screen door hit him on the ass on the way back into the house, and I exhaled as if I’d just been through war and come out unscathed.

I had a smile on my face the entire way to the house and until I made my way upstairs and saw a naked Max just sauntering down the hall as if it was normal.

“CLOTHES!” I roared.

He stopped, looked down then up, and shrugged. “I’m not going to put on clothes because I intimidate you. So hey, how’d it go?” He started biting on a carrot.

“Becca!” I yelled.

The door to one of the guestrooms opened. She poked her head out and sighed. “Stop sleepwalking and get to bed.”

“He’s sleepwalking, and he has conversations like this?” I asked, confused.

“He does his best work at night, trust me. The guy writes out crazy plans on his laptop, goes to sleep, and then he wakes up, remembers absolutely nothing. How do you think that last health-care bill was concocted? This guy had sex, fell asleep, got hungry, went to the kitchen, slipped, and thought, ‘You know what would be great?’ Weeks later, it was passed in Congress.”

Max just kept chomping down on his carrot.

“I think it’s God’s way of protecting humanity, making sure Max’s genius only exists when the world is sleeping, and he has no recollection of his own awesomeness.”

“Huh, good point. All right then, I returned the stray. Have a good night.” I reached for the bedroom door about the same time Max shouted,

“Self-driving motorcycles! Eureka!”