“And I think I’m not okay with that. Peyton didn’t just go away. Dru didn’t just go away. They were killed. And as long as she is out there, I think I have to keep looking. For my sister. For my mom. And everything you just said tells me that you definitely aren’t remembering everything that happened.” I pressed my lips together, waiting, but he said nothing. I tried switching gears. “Besides, if I ride along with you, maybe I would decide I want to be a cop after all.” He rolled his eyes, the seriousness slowly sliding off him. All the opening I needed. I grabbed his arm. “You could change a life, Detective Martinez. Inspire a future officer of the law.” I saluted, grinning.

He held out for another long moment, and then let his arms drop. “Fine. Come with me. But you stay in the car unless I tell you to get out. You got that?”

“Aye, aye, Captain Control Freak.” I saluted again, but he’d already turned his back.

“SO WHO ARE we busting?” I asked as soon as we got into the car.

“First of all, I’m not busting anyone. I need to question someone about a murder that happened under an overpass two nights ago. Routine stuff. Secondly, we aren’t doing anything. I am asking questions; you’ll be in the car. Got it?”

“Sure, sure.”

We drove along for a few minutes. I watched out the window as we drove deeper into the rough side of the city. I wondered what it would be like to call these streets work. My job. A squad car my office. For the first time ever, I didn’t get a sick feeling at the idea of putting on a blue uniform. For the first time ever, it seemed like it could be a possibility. If I could pass the written exams, of course. Could it really be that hard?

I was probably still riding the high of figuring out who the white-blond man was.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of having you on this ride-along?” he finally said, breaking the silence. Sarcastic. Still a little bitter.

“Don’t say it like that,” I said.

“So your presence in my office doesn’t have anything to do with what you found at the house you tried to get me to look at with you this morning?”

“You know, I think I liked it better when I was telling you to get off my ass all the time,” I said sourly. “You were way nicer then. Of course, that was before you got scrambled brains.” I knew, even as the words were leaving my mouth, that they were the wrong ones.

“Nice, Nikki. Really nice.”

“Sorry,” I said, sitting in a fern-colored awkwardness.