Now, Marcus simply returned Deacon's stare without a blink. 'What makes you think I have a gun?'

Deacon rolled those odd eyes. 'Because you're wearing Kevlar and a damn camera,' he said once again. 'You're wasting my time, Marcus.'

Yes, he was, Marcus realized, and was suddenly ashamed of himself. Because as soon as he gave them his gun, they'd let him go. Scarlett would walk away to do her job. And he'd be alone again. Which was even more pathetic than it sounded in his head.

'You're right.' He dropped to one knee and removed the pocket-sized Sig from its ankle holster, then straightened his spine and placed the gun in Deacon's outstretched palm.

Deacon sniffed the barrel. 'You didn't fire tonight.'

'No. I drew my weapon, but the shooter was gone. It was fired two days ago, at the range. Your CSU guy did a gun residue test before you got here. It was negative.'

Deacon didn't blink. 'You could have worn gloves.'

'I didn't.' He ventured a glance at Scarlett, found her gaze watchful. And aware of him in a way that she probably shouldn't be. In a way that made his skin heat. In a way that had nothing to do with fury and everything to do with . . . want.

'What about your knife?' she asked, her cool tone at odds with the look in her eyes.

Caught off guard, he blinked, his brain backtracking quickly. 'My knife?'

'You cut her shirt,' she said quietly, 'when you tried to stop her bleeding. The knife you used will have her blood on it. Where is it?'

Annoyed for allowing himself to be surprised, he dug in his pocket and pulled out the folding knife he never left home without. 'I want it back,' he muttered as he dropped it into the evidence bag she held out.

She tilted the bag toward the crime-scene unit's spotlights so that she could examine the knife's hilt. 'This is very nice.' She glanced at him again. 'Army issue?'

If she knew he'd been army, she'd been checking up on him. He wondered how deep she'd dug, how much she'd learned. 'Surplus store,' he said, uttering the half-truth smoothly. The knife he'd handed over to Bishop was the same one he'd carried through combat. It had saved his life more times than he wanted to count, and he'd found himself curiously unable to part with it when his tour was up. When the time had come to turn in his gear, he'd bought a replacement of the same make to give back to the army. He'd carried the knife since the day he'd come home from the Gulf . . . just because. Okay, fine. It was a security blanket. He was man enough to admit that. Just barely.

He hadn't started carrying the gun until after he'd worked at the newspaper for a few months and made a few enemies right here in Cinci. The list had grown considerably over the years, but he wouldn't undo a single deed he'd done.

Except . . . Damn, he hoped Tala had been the target. He didn't want to consider that she'd been killed because of him. He looked up, troubled. 'She was just a kid.'

Scarlett's shoulders sagged, softening her almost military stance. 'Your brother Mikhail's age,' she murmured, compassion darkening her eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Marcus.'

Meeting her gaze, he felt it again. That spark between them. That connection. 'Thank you.'

Discomfort flickered across her features a split second before her shoulders straightened and her expression grew cold and piercing. In the blink of an eye she was back to being a cop. 'We don't have any reason to hold you,' she said brusquely, 'but we're sure to have more questions. You don't have any upcoming travel planned, do you?'

Well, he thought sourly. Her allotted moment of compassion was evidently over. He opened his mouth to reply with something sarcastic, but stopped himself. He wasn't being fair. Her compassion was still there. It had always been there. He'd seen it the day she'd stood beside his hospital bed, then again at his brother's grave, even though she'd kept to the very back of the gathered crowd. He could see it now, lurking behind the piercing focus of her eyes.

She didn't want it to show and he could respect that. For now. 'No,' he answered quietly. 'I'm not planning to go anywhere.'

She gave him an assessing look. 'Because you're going to search for Tala's killer.'

He lifted a shoulder. 'I make my living digging for news, Detective.'

'Don't,' she said sharply. 'Don't go looking for the shooter or anyone else. Send me that list of people you've annoyed, and any other recordings you made of Tala in the park as quickly as you can.' She handed him her card. 'My email is at the bottom.'

He already knew her email. He already knew almost everything about her everything he could dig up legally from afar, that was. Well, he allowed, mostly legally. And mostly from afar. Because he'd been way too curious about this woman since he'd opened his eyes to find her standing over his hospital gurney, her gaze dark and wary. And full of respect.

He'd seen it again tonight, he realized. Respect. When he'd come back to make sure Tala's body was properly cared for. When he hadn't left the girl alone in the dark. It had been too long since he'd felt true respect for himself. He'd once done the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do. His self-respect had kept him from giving in to the ever-growing temptation to deliver his own brand of justice to the slimy, perverted sons-of-bitches responsible for making the news he dug up for a living. But his self-respect dwindled every time the slimy SOBs won, every time he failed to remove a threat from the community. Every time a child went to bed afraid because the slimy SOB still slept in the next room.

Now the only thing that stayed his hand was his fear of falling so deep into the abyss that he could never pull himself out. Delivering one's own brand of justice was a slippery slope. Marcus O'Bannion knew this from experience.

But tonight he'd seen respect in Scarlett Bishop's eyes, and suddenly he wanted to see that again. Desperately. He'd been too curious about this woman from afar for far too long. Maybe fate had finally done him a favor. Maybe Scarlett had crossed his path for a reason. Maybe she was his way back into the light. Or maybe he was just so pathetically lonely that he'd believe anything that allowed him to spend a little more time with her. I'm okay with that too.

'I'll go to my office straight from here.' Marcus lifted his brows, watching her face. 'If you're done with me,' he added, just mildly enough that she could take his words as either an invitation or a challenge. Either would work, for now.

Her eyes flickered for the briefest of moments before control returned. She'd drawn a breath, slow and deep, and he wondered which of the two she'd chosen. Invitation or challenge?

'You didn't say you wouldn't go looking for Tala's killer,' she stated flatly.

No, he hadn't. Nor would he make that promise, because it would be a lie. 'So . . . you're done with me?' he asked, then watched in fascination as the color rose in her cheeks.

'Goddammit,' she hissed. 'You're going to get yourself killed for real this time.'

It was possible, he supposed. It had always been possible. He turned to Deacon Novak. 'Am I free to go?' he asked formally.

Deacon blew out an annoyed sigh. 'Yes, you are free to go. Just don't get yourself killed. Faith likes your family, and I'm finally starting to feel like they might not totally hate me.'

Marcus nearly smiled. 'Maybe not totally.' Not at all, really. Deacon Novak had a charm that had thrown his family off balance, making them laugh in the midst of their grief. He had a way of making Marcus's mother, brother, and sister smile even on their very worst days, and for that Marcus would be forever grateful. Faith had been a tireless source of emotional support after Mikhail's murder, blending into the O'Bannion clan so seamlessly that it almost seemed she'd always been around. Getting close to the cousin they'd never known was the only good thing to come from the last nine months.

That, and meeting Scarlett Bishop, who was still scowling at him. 'Seeing as how you make your living digging for news, should we expect to see Tala's murder in the headline of today's Ledger?' she asked.

'No. Today's printed edition has already gone to press.'

'What about the online edition?' Scarlett asked, her disapproval clear.

It made him wish he could promise her anything she wanted, just to erase that look from her face. But he wouldn't lie to her. 'I guarantee someone else will run with the story as soon as Tala's body hits the morgue. Wouldn't you rather we publish the truth first?'

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes gone speculative. 'How much of the truth do you intend to tell?'

'Are you asking me to hold back details, Detective?'

'Would you, if I asked?'

He should be offended. Conceptually, her request went against everything a newspaperman believed in, but Marcus was no ordinary newspaperman. He'd used the Ledger to punish evil ever since he'd taken the helm five years before. His investigative team followed normal news leads, but often took on special projects exposing the lies of abusive men and women who'd managed to evade punishment by Children's Services or the courts. Men and women who'd hurt their families and would go on hurting them unless they were stopped.

His team didn't always play fair, and from time to time they'd acquired information in ways that crossed the legal lines. But they did so to protect victims. They knew they couldn't save the world, but they could positively impact their little corner of it.

Honoring Scarlett Bishop's request wouldn't be that different from his status quo. But he didn't want her to know that, so he shook his head. 'It's unlikely. It would depend on what you wanted me to hold back. I want that girl's killer found too, but I do have a responsibility to report all of the news. Not just the news you approve. What detail were you wanting to withhold?'

'The location of the park where you met, the shell casing we found, and her last words.'

It was exactly what he'd expected her to say and exactly the details he'd already planned to omit. 'That's three details.'

She ignored him. 'You may print her photo and where she was killed.'

'All that?' he drawled. 'Am I allowed to quote myself as an eyewitness?'

'That's up to you,' she said. 'I thought you might want to keep your involvement on the down-low.'

He did, but he knew it was too late for that. 'That'll be hard to do, given that I'll end up in your police report. I'll end up front-page news in my competitors' papers.'

'I can't keep you out of the report. Sorry.' She did look a little regretful, actually. 'I could lock it down, but too many people saw you here.'

'Then it's already out there,' he said mildly. 'I'll do no harm by including it.'

Regret vanished, annoyance taking its place. 'Then please make sure the photo of Tala that you use is from the portion of the video you took in the park where she's still alive.'

Marcus frowned at her. Now he was offended. 'Do you really think I'd use a photo of her dead body, Scarlett? What kind of man do you take me for?'

'A man who makes his living selling newspapers,' she said quietly.

Touche. He glanced at Deacon. 'Give my best to Faith, will you?' He dipped his head in a nod to Scarlett. 'Detective. You'll get those files within the hour.'

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 4.05 A.M.

Scarlett frowned as Marcus O'Bannion disappeared from view. 'Do you think he'll withhold the details?'

'I don't know,' Deacon murmured. 'Marcus is hard to read.'

That was an understatement, she thought. Just when she'd started to figure him out, he'd gone all newspaperman on her. 'He has another gun somewhere.'

Beside her, Deacon's snow-white brows lifted in a way that told her that he'd come to the same conclusion. 'Why do you think so?'

'Because there's no way he'd bring only a knife to a gunfight.'

'He had the Sig.'

'In an ankle holster that he couldn't get to that easily. The man wore Kevlar and a spy camera, for God's sake. He expected trouble. He would have brought a bigger gun that he could have had instant access to.'

'I agree, although it's only important if he fired it.'

'No GSR on his hands,' she murmured. 'But like you said, he could have worn gloves.'

'Either way, it's our word against his. Do you think he fired his other gun?'

'I don't think he shot Tala. If I did, I never would have let him walk away. But he could have fired on the shooter.' She bit at her lip. 'I don't like that he hid another gun from us.'

'Agree again.' Deacon tilted his head, watching her a little too carefully. 'Why would he?'

She glanced up at him sharply. 'You ask me like I know him. I can count on one hand the number of times I've talked to him and still have fingers left. You know him a hell of a lot better than I do.'

'But he called you tonight. Not me. Not us.'

That was true. I knew you would help her, he'd said. But Deacon could have helped her too. He could have called us both. But he called me. Only me. That the knowledge left her feeling warm to her toes annoyed the hell out of her. 'Because he was meeting a seventeen-year-old girl,' she snapped. 'He didn't want it to look any worse than it already did. He said he knew I'd come to help her. That's all there is.'

'All right,' Deacon said in his soothing voice, the one that grated like nails on a chalkboard. 'Whatever you say, partner.'

She gritted her teeth. 'Dammit, you know I hate it when you talk like that.'

'I know.' His sudden grin cut through her irritation. Deacon had a way of defusing her temper, helping her think more clearly. Initially it had annoyed her, but after nine months of working together, she'd come to appreciate his rare gift.

'I'm sorry,' she said, and meant it. It wasn't Deacon's fault she was out of sorts. She laid that firmly at her own feet. Being around Marcus O'Bannion never failed to leave her unsettled and . . . anxious. Scarlett hated being anxious. She drew a breath, found her center. None of this was about her anyway. This was about a seventeen-year-old girl on her way to the morgue. 'I haven't been sleeping well lately. It's left me a bit tight.'

'Uh-huh.' Deacon's expression said that she was fooling no one. 'So why did he lie about his gun?'

She replayed Marcus's words in her mind. 'He didn't lie. He said, "I drew my weapon." He never said he drew the baby gun. But if he recorded the whole thing . . .'

'His gun would be caught on his cap-cam.' Deacon shook his head. 'Although I doubt he'd have been so free with offering us the video if it had anything incriminating on it. That he didn't tell us about the other gun has me wondering why.'

She reached for the ball cap that Deacon had dropped into an evidence bag, inspecting it from all angles. Clever little thing. 'Does this store the video in the camera or does it feed to a drive somewhere else?' she asked, all too familiar with Deacon's penchant for gadgets.

'If the camera has storage, it's probably not big enough for more than a minute or two of video. I'd bet he sent the feed to an external drive, wirelessly.'

'What's the range?'

'Depends on how much Marcus spent on the camera. With his bucks, I'm sure it's top of the line, so maybe a few hundred feet. But he lives a couple miles away and . . .' He let the thought trail, then rolled his eyes. 'Sneaky sonofabitch had the hard drive in his car. He could have handed the whole thing over to us before he walked away, but he didn't.'

Sneaky sonofabitch indeed. Any residual warmth from Marcus's earlier trust dissipated like mist. 'He'll delete the gun part before he sends over the video, won't he?'

'Most likely. Unless he stopped recording when the bullets started flying.'

She lifted the cap so that it was level with her line of sight, squinting at the camera in the edge of the bill. 'How would he have turned this thing on and off?'

'Through his phone. But not the one he showed us. That was a throwaway.'

'I figured that one out for myself.' She sighed. 'What's your take on Marcus?'

'I don't think he shot the girl either, if that's what you're asking. I think we'll find the footage from this camera supports every word of his story about Tala. But he wasn't telling the whole truth about the enemies who'd want him dead. He was startled when I asked him if he could be the target.'

Yes, she thought, Marcus had looked startled. And dismayed. And maybe even guilty at the notion that he'd inadvertently caused the girl's death. 'That was good intuition on your part.'

Deacon shrugged. 'Reporters tend to make a lot of enemies. I know I don't like them.'

Scarlett's lips curved. Deacon had very good reasons not to like the press. His snow-white hair and the wraparound shades he wore during the daylight hours made him easy fodder for the media. The heat of the summer meant he wasn't wearing his signature black leather overcoat, but every reporter in town had captured him on film wearing the thing during the winter, so the damage was long done. Deacon Novak was larger than life, which meant the cameras were trained on him.

Better you than me. She'd been quoted by reporters in her role as a cop plenty of times. That was part of the job. But she'd once been personally involved in a news story and didn't care to repeat the experience. The very memory was enough to tie her stomach into knots.