“Ah, but I can go out in the sun anytime I want.”

“You work the night shift,” I pointed out.

“That is a pisser.”

“Eat a doughnut,” Roger said.

“I don’t want a doughnut.” I paused. “What kind of doughnuts?”

Roger walked to the table, flipped open a white box. It was loaded.

“Damn,” I said, staring at glossy pink frosting and sprinkles. “Why are there so many?”

“Jonathan Black,” Petra said, gaze on me as she swiveled in her chair. “Had them delivered.”

I’d reached in to grab one, then paused, hand poised centimeters above glossy pastry. “Why?”

“He said he had a better appreciation for the dangers of being an Ombud after yesterday. You told him the pastries at that place down the street were good, so he obliged.”

“Hmm,” was all I could think to say. A thoughtful thing to do, but so unnecessary it seemed . . . sycophantic. But since there was no need to punish a doughnut for the acts of its purchaser, I plucked one out, took a bite.

“I don’t suppose he decided to suddenly share the details about his ‘clients’?” I asked.

“Nope,” Petra said. “Any news on your end?”

“Absolutely none. Everybody is reading and researching and looking, but we have bubkes. Lulu’s parents are coming into town tonight. I’m hoping they have something.”

“Ah, for the big deciphering,” Petra said. “Could I visit?” She squeezed her hands together like a woman in prayer. “I’ve never met them.”

“I think dinner tonight is just for family, but I’ll let them know you’re available for consultations.”

“Cooool,” she said, drawing out the word, made a complete rotation in her chair.

“Since we’re all here,” Roger said, “let’s get started. The mayor is estimating more than eight million dollars in damage due to the combined efforts of the Guardians and Rose. Eglantine.”

“Rosantine?” I offered.

After a moment, Petra nodded. “Rosantine. That works. And believe me, boss, she’s our first priority.”

“Anything new from the CPD?” I asked.

“First,” Roger said, “since I have ‘Rose’s’ number, I sent it to Gwen. It’s got some kind of anti-tracking device, so we can’t use that to trace her.”

“And second,” he said, then nodded at Theo.

Theo did some swiping, and a photograph appeared on the large wall screen. It was the purple car that had chased us toward the gate. And it had been flattened, and metal curled from its edges, as if something had tried to pry it apart.

“No more running board lights,” I said. “The driver?”

“And passenger, both dead on scene.”

“Where?”

“Not far from the gate. On the Chicago side.”

“Probably at a prearranged spot,” I said, and glanced at Theo. “You said the car pulled in behind us—had been waiting for us to pass.”

He nodded. “She probably told them to wait there.”

“And they chased us toward the gate,” I finished. “Because she wanted us to fight that battle.”

“Something’s bothering me,” Petra said. “Why couldn’t she just go around it? Like, if she really knew the defense was there, why not come in from some other direction?”