Wearing his favorite dungarees, a brown boot on his left foot, and a Western-themed shirt, twelve-year-old Cody Schroder maneuvered his way down the cracked sidewalk on his crutches. His broken right leg in a cast that severely hampered his movement. A memento of his latest football game with his best friend Matt Cochran. As well as a group of boys they always played with.

Hobbling up as close to the yellow Police tape cordoning off the blast site as he could get, the destruction Cody witnessed was enormous. Glass was blown out of the windows of several overturned vehicles.

Mortar, and other debris, littered the street in front of the Sun City Bank. And the structure's foundation was splintered. Several small fires burned in the epicenter of the blast site, including the inferno that remained of the Metro Transit bus that slammed into the bank.

Cody could smell death and burnt human flesh. Four men and two women lay in heaps on the pavement. Ambulances ferreted the wounded as fast as they could be transported. So did a bevy of Police cruisers. Cody realized that for some victims of the explosion time was running out faster than they could be saved.

It didn't take Brock Daniels long to notice his son standing there among a group of looky-loos gawking at the scenery. Approaching the boy like he held a purpose the lawman heatedly demanded, "Didn't I tell you to stay in our room at the Regency Hotel, son?"

"I heard the blast and wanted to check it out for myself," Cody replied.

Lately the boy was developing a defiant attitude. The bonds between them always held strong, but Brock Daniels could see some edges fraying. Cody's growing pains sprouted new leaves his Dad did not favor.

"Well, now you've gotten an eyeful. So, please go back to the room and wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can be," Daniels implored the boy.

"This was supposed to be a fun-filled, get-away-from-Astatula vacation for us, Dad," Cody replied, "instead, once again, you get called out on another case and I get left behind."

Daniels knew Cody's words rang true. Six months ago he resigned as the Sheriff of their small home town when Governor Margaret Reynolds approached him about becoming a member of her new unit of Special Agents.

At the time she told him, "Your superb past history in capturing mass murderers including the Green Belt Slayer, the Astatula Assassin, and in solving several other high profile cases well qualifies you for the team, Brock. It would be an honor to have you join us."

Daniels graciously accepted the Governor's offer. Rapidly rising through the ranks. Quickly he became the leader of his own squad. He was well on his way.

Cody continued demonstrating his disappointment in how their planned time together turned out, "Wait for you, Dad. That's all I ever do any more," he complained. Then, smarting off, he asked, "why couldn't you just stay the podunk Sheriff of Astatula? At least you'd still have time to fit me into your schedule instead of me becoming an afterthought!"

"That comment's not fair of you to make, Cody," Daniels replied, asking his own question, "haven't I always put a warm roof over your head? Good food in your belly you like to eat? And given you almost everything you ever asked me for?"

"Yes," Cody responded knowing in the two years he'd lived with his Dad he never wanted for anything. He looked at his Dad, and with a slight hint of a tear in his eyes said, "but, ever since you took this new job all it's done is push me further away from you."

"Agent Daniels, we've got something here!" Douglas Johnson called. He was Brock's assistant team leader.

"Now is not the time to talk about this, son. I need to get back to what I'm doing here," Daniels remarked.

Cody turned away from his Dad and took one hobbled step forward. He glanced back over his shoulder, and in a huff asked, "In case you've forgotten who I am, Dad, I'm your son, Cody. Remember me?"

The words cut Daniels to the core. He would never expect Cody to say anything that crass to him. Daniels watched his son leave the scene without any further exchanges between them. Walking back to the Command Center his mind went to the McGregor Military Academy in Waco.

Previously, his friend, the educational facility's Commandant, Jonathan Nelson told him, "Brock, I can hold an open slot for ten days...if you decide you want Cody to fill the position."

Daniels knew the institution's fine national reputation. His only question remained was military school the best option for Cody's future?