'I'll take care of her.' He moved the hand on Stone's chest to his shoulder and gently gripped it, his other hand patting Stone's cheek, like a coach with a boxer in the ring. 'Breathe, buddy. Just breathe with me. In and out. Nice and slow.'

Stone obeyed, and after a few breaths he closed his eyes, visibly gathering his composure. 'I'm all right, Marcus.'

'I know you are,' Marcus said softly.

Stone swallowed hard, eyes still closed. 'Make her go,' he whispered. 'Please.'

The whisper was like a knife in Marcus's heart, and just like that he was back . . . there. In the dark, Stone's broken whisper the only thing he could hear. Make him go, Marcus. Please. Make him leave so we can go home. I just want to go home.

I will, he'd whispered back. Don't worry. It'll be okay. I promise.

Marcus cleared his throat. 'I will,' he said out loud. Confidently. He hoped. 'Don't worry. It'll be okay.'

'You promise.' It wasn't a question, but a flat statement of fact.

'Yeah,' Marcus said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. 'I promise. Now breathe with me. In and out. Just a little longer. That's the way.'

Stone breathed along with him for another thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes, finally shuddering out a harsh breath. When his eyelids lifted, Marcus could see his brother was back in control.

Stone's mouth curved, his half-smile self-deprecating. 'It's okay, Houston. Self-destruct sequence aborted. Genie's back in the bottle.'

Thank God. Marcus let himself relax, his arms dropping to his sides. 'Good enough. Where's Jill?'

'In the back with Diesel. He's watching her.'

'That's good, but you should probably give him a break. She makes him crazy.'

Another slow smile, this one real. 'I know. That's why I asked him to help.'

So relieved that his knees physically wobbled, Marcus laughed. His brother was back. All the way. For now. 'You suck.'

'You suck worse.' Sobering, Stone leaned to the left so that he could see around Marcus. 'Detective Bishop,' he said coldly.

'Yes, Mr O'Bannion?' She sounded subdued, surprising Marcus into looking over his shoulder. She looked as subdued as she'd sounded. Subdued and sad. And utterly exhausted.

Marcus knew the feeling.

'This office is private property,' Stone said. 'If we catch you trespassing again, we will report your ass so fast your head will spin. Next time you come, you'd sure as hell better have a warrant in your hands. Do we understand each other?'

Marcus held his breath, hoping Scarlett would just let this go, that she wouldn't make this a pissing match. He was far too tired to play diplomat or referee.

She nodded. 'Yes, Mr O'Bannion. We do.'

Marcus waited until Stone had turned on his heel and walked away before letting the breath out. He closed his office door and leaned face first against it, his shoulders sagging like cooked pasta, focusing on getting his breathing regulated. Trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to her. But she surprised him again by speaking first.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly.

He didn't move away from the door. Didn't turn to look at her. He wasn't sure his body would have cooperated if he'd held a gun to his own head. 'For what?'

'For listening in. And for doing whatever I did to instigate . . . whatever that was.'

Suddenly too exhausted to move, Marcus used the last of his energy reserves to flip around so that his back was to the door, then let his knees fold, sinking to the floor. Forearms braced on his bent knees, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

The creaking of the chair told him she'd stood up. She's leaving. Dammit. He should look up. Ask her to stay. He needed to tell her that she hadn't been the cause of Stone's episode. That she'd only been the trigger. But his head felt too heavy to lift, so he stayed as he was.

A rustle of fabric was followed closely by the scent of wildflowers as she approached. He didn't want her to go, but it was probably better for everyone if she did. Except . . .

Dammit. He had to work up at least enough energy to move away from the door.

But she surprised him again, sliding down the door much as he'd done to sit beside him, their bodies separated by mere inches. The door vibrated slightly as she let her head fall back against it. He thought she'd say something, but she didn't, the silence broken only by the ticking of his grandfather's clock and the sound of their breathing.

Her sigh cut through the quiet. 'You've had a busy day,' she murmured. 'Did you sleep?'

'No. Not yet.'

'No wonder you're exhausted.' The words were nearly toneless. 'I was hoping you weren't returning my calls because you were getting some rest.'

He forced his back to straighten so that he leaned against the door beside her, turning his head so that he could see her face. With the exception of her closed eyes, her expression hadn't changed. Subdued, sad. Totally wrung out. And still so goddamn beautiful that his chest ached. 'Why are you here, Scarlett?'

A single weary chuckle. 'I truly did come to make sure you were okay.'

'I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. Things have been a little . . . hectic around here this morning.'

'Yeah, I got that. But I really do need to talk to you.' Her shoulders remaining slumped against the door, she rolled her head toward him and opened her eyes.

For a moment he could only stare. The eyes he'd thought were black were actually the darkest blue he'd ever seen. Like the midnight sky.

Those midnight-blue eyes narrowed. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

He flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He considered lying, but he was too tired to think of anything convincing. So he told her the truth. 'Your eyes aren't black. I remember them being black. But they're not.' In his fantasies, her eyes had been stark black. Now he'd have to change his fantasies. Because not only were they not black, they weren't stark. They could be soft. Expressive. Vulnerable.

A faint curve of her lips. Kissable lips, he thought. Maybe even biteable. He wanted to lean closer to find out for sure, but was jerked back into common sense mode by the slight wag of her head.

'No, they're not black,' she said. 'But most people think they are.'

He drew a deep breath, letting the scent of wildflowers fill him up. 'I hope most people don't get close enough to see the difference,' he said softly, watching for her reaction, intensely satisfied when those eyes of hers warmed with the same desire he'd glimpsed in the alley when he'd taken off his shirt.

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, then she broke the spell by rolling her head so that she looked straight ahead. 'I came to be sure that you were okay and to warn you.'

The air between them chilled. 'About?'

She shifted her body, pushing her shoulder away from the door and drawing her long legs up, crossing them so that she sat tailor-style. Her eyes were no longer warm, her expression smoothed to coolly professional, but her hands gave her away, gripping her bent knees so tightly that her knuckles were white. He braced himself for something bad.

'Tala wore a tracker,' she said. 'An ankle tracker.'

His jaw clenched, fury rising, burning him from the inside out. 'Like a common criminal.' The man. His wife. They own us. 'Or an asset. Not a person.'

Her nod was steady, but her knuckles were still white. 'Yes. The tracker was sophisticated. We're trying to trace its source. We do know that it could transmit sound. Digitally. I'm no gadget geek, but Deacon is, and he tells me that they could hear anyone around Tala and the range was limited only by the strength of the satellite signal.' She took her cell phone from the pocket of her tailored jacket, tapped the screen and held it out to him, showing him Stone's article.

His hackles rose in self-defense. 'I told you I'd tell the story.'

'I know. But in it you insinuate that you didn't hear Tala's last words.'

He frowned at her. 'I thought that's what you wanted.'

'It was. Until I learned that whoever tracked her could hear every word both of you spoke in that alley.'

He continued to frown, confused. Then . . . he got it. Fucking hell. 'They'll know I met her to help her, that she told me about her family.' His tired brain finally kicked back into gear, and new fury bubbled up. 'That's how they knew she'd stopped to listen to me in the park. They hit her for that, so hard that she limped. Didn't they?'

Scarlett's facial expression didn't change, but her eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and compassion, giving him her answer even though she didn't say a word.

'They did,' he said grimly. 'How bad?'

'Bad,' she murmured. 'Really bad.' Her lashes lowered, then lifted in a long blink. The compassion was mostly gone, replaced with the just-the-facts cop.

He found himself leaning closer, bracing his weight on one arm, his palm flat on the floor, inches from her knee. 'How many times do you have to do that each day?'

She blinked again, her smooth brow puckering in a frown. 'Excuse me? Do what?'

She'd been startled by the question, but she hadn't leaned back as he'd expected her to. Instead she leaned forward ever so slightly, closing the gap between them.

'How many times a day do you do that long blink so that you can shove your emotions down? So that you can focus on your job?'

Her chin lifted a fraction and he expected her to tell him to mind his own business. Instead her eyes grew abruptly shiny. 'Too many.' Roughly she cleared her throat, straightening her spine. Putting distance between them. 'The point is that they heard you. They heard you in the park asking her why she was crying, they heard her tell you that she was owned by someone, and because the tracker continued to transmit even after her death, they heard you tell a homicide detective the whole story.'

Marcus stayed where he was, perched halfway on his side. He didn't roll closer, but he wasn't about to back away. 'Okay,' he admitted. 'That sucks. Although you're assuming they were listening at the time of her death. You don't know that for sure.'

She gave him a you-can't-be-that-naive look. 'They were listening when she was at the park, and since it appeared that she knew the shooter, they probably followed her to the alley.'

'Because they suspected she was meeting someone,' he muttered. 'Well at least you agree that she knew her killer.'

'That fact was pretty clear,' she said quietly. 'Thank you for sending me the files. I'll make sure they're viewed only by those who must see them.'

He dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing she was referring to the moment when he'd looked down to see Tala's head, blown apart by the bullet. When he'd cried out, overcome by devastating grief. 'You're welcome,' he said. He hesitated, then sighed. 'And thank you for your discretion. It was a . . . difficult moment for me.'

'I know. It was like you'd discovered Mikhail's body all over again.'

Something in her voice made him jerk his gaze up. The pain was back in her eyes, but this was different from the sorrow she'd shown at Tala's beating. This was personal.

'Who?' he asked simply, and watched her cheeks darken. Once again he thought she'd tell him to mind his own business. Once again she surprised him.

Her swallow was audible. 'My best friend. In college.'

Her hand flexed as she tightened the already punishing grip on her knee. He covered that hand with his own, her skin ice cold against his palm. 'I'm sorry, Scarlett.'

She looked down at his hand but made no attempt to move it, so he left it where it was. 'Thank you. It was a long time ago.'

'Doesn't matter if it was ten years ago or yesterday.' Or nine months ago. Or twenty-seven years. The nightmare never truly went away, hovering in the back of one's mind, waiting to spring when one least expected it.

'True.' She still stared at his hand, her lips opening then closing, as if she was struggling with her next words. When she finally spoke, her whisper was barely audible. 'But when you see or hear something or someone that reminds you, it might as well have been yesterday.'

He frowned, suddenly hearing what she hadn't said. 'Does every homicide you investigate remind you?' And put that sadness in your eyes?

'Some,' she murmured distantly. 'Not all. Tala's . . . was rough.'

That, he sensed, was a monumental admission on her part. 'Why do you do it? Why put yourself through that hell every damn day?'

She raised her eyes to his, the intensity of her pain leaving him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. 'I guess for the same reason you came back to the crime scene this morning. You didn't want to leave Tala alone in the dark. My friend died alone . . . in the dark . . . and her killer was never brought to justice. So for me, she's still there. In the dark. I can't help Michelle, but I can do my damnedest to make sure the victims in my care aren't forgotten.'

Marcus's heart squeezed so hard that he had to draw a breath. He'd known Scarlett Bishop was unique from the moment he'd laid eyes on her nine months ago. The very memory of her face and body made him want her with a ferocity that had left him empty for months. But the more he watched and listened, the more he knew that he had to have her. Not the face or the body, although both were unforgettable. He wanted her. He wanted to know what it would be like to have her to come home to every night. To wake to every morning.

'I'm glad,' he said when he thought he could speak without his voice breaking. 'I'm glad that they have someone like you.'

Her mouth curved sadly. 'I wish they didn't need someone like me. But evil lives and people suffer, so I do what I can.' She drew a breath, slid her hand out from under his and rose to her feet with the fluid grace of a dancer, somehow smoothing her expression on the way up. She was a cop again, but he was okay with that. 'I need to go.'

He rose more slowly, the muscles in his bruised back shouting at him for sitting on the floor like that for so long. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness as his mind grappled for some way to convince her to stay a little longer. Which was selfish, so he stowed the impulse to beg, but bought a little more time by leaning one shoulder against the door.

'Go where?' he asked, more than gratified when her chin had to jerk up substantially so that she could answer to his face and not his groin. He swallowed what would have been a grin. She was interested. That was enough for now.

She arched a brow. Tried for cool. He'd let her have it this time. 'To do my job,' she said, sounding affronted that he'd even dare to ask.

'Wonderfully specific,' he said sarcastically.

She didn't rise to the bait. 'The bottom line here is that you are a likely target for Tala's killer as he or she takes care of loose ends. They thought they killed you last night, but you outed yourself as being alive through the story in your paper. Being very honest, I probably can't get you police protection, but I can ask for drive-bys of your house and business during the day.'

'Not necessary,' he said, dropping the sarcasm, because on top of being very honest, she was also very serious. Which was actually pretty cute. But because he valued his life, he kept that thought to himself.

'As you wish,' she said, with a nod toward the door he leaned against. 'If you don't mind, I need to go.'

He did mind, very much, but he pushed away from the door and reached for the knob. Then stopped cold when words came out of his mouth that he had not planned to say. 'What about the list? Isn't that the other reason you dropped by?'

Really, O'Bannion? You shit-for-brains. She'd forgotten all about the damn list and he just had to bring it up again. But he was glad he had, because after a wide-eyed blink, she seemed to relax, her expression looking damn close to relief.

She smiled at him and his heart began to race. 'You can email it to me. At this point it's probably just a formality. It'll allow me to cross the Ts and dot the Is in my report when we arrest Tala's killer.'

She hadn't wanted the damn list, he realized. She just wanted him to follow through on his promises. Now he felt like he had to give her something. Shit.

'No, no,' he said lightly. 'I'll plan to email it to you, but then I'll just get pulled into whatever new crisis has been brewing out there while we've been talking. I should do it now, while you're here. It'll just take me a few minutes. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.'

She shrugged. 'All right. As long as it's just a few minutes. I've already stayed longer than I planned.' She returned to the chair in front of his desk. 'Thank you, Marcus.'

He eased into his own chair and turned his monitor so that she couldn't see it. 'It's not a problem,' he said, and hoped he wasn't a liar.

Cincinnati, Ohio