We were in the second-floor apartment of my building, empty since the Kallishes, my previous tenants, moved away. The place needed painting, and I was here to get it done. I’d have to rent the place soon. After the drive-by, it was obvious that Stuart, Marie, and little Nate weren’t coming back. Besides, I needed the income the apartment would bring in.

Ben picked his way gingerly around the splotchy drop cloths. “Only because she didn’t catch you.”

I slid him a sideways glance. “She had zero chance of that.”

Ben looked around. He was off duty, dressed in fancy duds, freshly shaven, smelling of cologne. That meant he had a date, one of many. He’d divorced while we were still working together, and ever since then, he kept it light, casual, and frequent. He was not one to hide his burly cop light under a bushel.

“Never been down here before.” He rapped beefy knuckles against one of the walls I hadn’t gotten to yet. “High ceilings, crown molding, solid wood floors, good light—mirror image of your place upstairs. You lined up new tenants yet?”

I went back to the wall, running the roller over the latest coat, eggshell, matte finish. The painting was going slowly, mainly because I didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to turn the apartment over, didn’t want to have someone new living under my roof. “Getting around to it.”

Ben walked around, tapping walls, side-kicking baseboards, stalling. I’d ridden with him in a squad car for five years. I knew when he had something to say. “Spill it, or pick up a brush and hit a wall.”

He looked down at his clothes, sharp, neat, well fitted to his linebacker frame. He’d even gone in for a haircut, his sandy hair shorn close, parted on the side. “Eli Weber. What’s up with you two? There, I said it.”

I stopped the roller, peered down at him from the top of the ladder. “What?”

His steady blue eyes met mine. “Don’t cop stare me. You? Weber? You interested? Because he sure is. Know how I know? He’s hitting me up for information on you almost every second. What’s she like to eat? Who’s she hang out with? My lips are sealed, of course. I’ve got my loyalties, but, just letting you know, he’s got a thing, and I want to know if you got a thing, too. . . I think you do. You two have been flitting around each other for months. So what gives?” He slid his hands into his front pockets, his eyes glued to the roller brush in my hand as though it might jump down and roll all over him. He cleared his throat nervously. “That’s right. I said it. We’re family. Family can ask.”