Ben and I exchanged a look. We recognized evasion and knew squirrelly when we saw it. I followed Whip back, Ben on my heels. We caught up to Whip at the fridge, where he stood with a glass of ice water held to his forehead.

“Start talking,” I said.

He looked at me, then Ben, then gulped the water in the glass. “About?”

“I’ve known you since you were twelve,” I said. “The look on your face now is the same one you gave Mrs. Lembeck when she caught you trying to swipe the answers to the algebra test off her desk. What do you know about Fleet?”

He slid Ben a skittish look. “Maybe we can do this in private?”

Ben gave Whip “the face.” The face offenders saw right before the cuffs went on and the back door to the squad car opened up to greet them.

“Ben’s with me,” I said. “We don’t keep secrets.”

Ben faced me. “Oh? Then where are we with the Weber situation?”

I shot him a dangerous look. “Really? We’re doing this now?”

Ben shrugged. “There’s a lot I don’t know, that’s all I’m saying.”

Whip tried to quietly ease between us and escape, but I caught him before he hit the door. “Freeze. Sit.”

Whip plopped down on a kitchen stool, sulked. “Yep, there’s the cop in you. I can’t say I like it. Brings back bad memories.”

Ben and I sat down, flanking him. “What do you know?” I asked again.

Whip paused before speaking. “What I say isn’t for cops. It’s only for you, for your case.” He held Ben’s gaze. “No busting through the door, no anonymous-tip shit.”

I knew Ben couldn’t promise not to be a cop. It wasn’t in him. Yet, to his credit, he sat freakishly still, his face completely blank. Whip was my friend. This was my case. He’d hang back and follow my lead. I also saw the struggle in Whip’s eyes and felt for him. He was obviously torn, but a man was dead. That trumped everything else. Whip would have to decide here, now, who he was: one of us, or a con with one foot still in the game.

“Whip, I need to know,” I said gently.

He drew out a long breath. “All right. Fleet? It’s run by a buddy of mine, and by ‘buddy’ I mean ‘former cellmate.’ Maybe his operation’s not completely on the square . . . maybe it’s a front.”

Ben didn’t move, not so much as a twitch. I, on the other hand, relaxed some, relieved Whip had made the right choice.

“A front for what?” Ben asked.