“If someone in South Chicago hires me, Conrad, I will investigate to the best of my ability.” Despite the spurt of anger I felt, I almost laughed—I hadn’t wanted to be sucked back into South Chicago, but as soon as someone told me to stay away my hackles went up and I dug in my heels.

“That’s right, cookie,” Mr. Contreras put in. “You can’t be letting people tell you what you can and can’t do for a living.”

Conrad glared at the old man but spoke to me. “Your investigations are like Sherman’s march through Georgia: you get where you’re going, but God help anyone within five miles of your path. South Chicago has enough death and destruction without you adding your investigative skills to my war zone.”

“That badge and gun don’t make you owner of the South Side,” I began, my eyes hot. “It’s just that you cannot bear the memory—”

The doorbell rang before I could finish my own offensive retort. Peppy and Mitch began a deafening barking, whirling around me in circles to let me know someone was approaching. Mr. Contreras, in his element when I’m on the disabled list, bustled out, the dogs clattering behind him.

The interruption gave me time to take a breath. “Conrad, you’re too good a cop to be threatened by anything I do. I know you’re not afraid I’ll steal glory you have coming to you if I turn up something that helps you solve a case. And you’re a generous coworker with women. So your reaction is totally about you and me. Do you think I—”

I broke off as I heard the expedition to the third floor making its way up the stairs: the dogs racing up and down as Mr. Contreras slowly puffed his way upward, and the hollow thump of a cane against the hard stairwell carpet.

Morrell was coming to visit me. It was his first time moving this far from his own place since he’d come home, and I was touched, and delighted—so why was I feeling embarrassed? Surely not because Morrell would see me with Conrad—and absolutely not because Conrad would see me with Morrell. Which meant I was blushing for no good reason.

Then, over the sound of the cane and Mr. Contreras’s heavy tread, I heard Marcena’s light, high voice and my embarrassment receded into annoyance. Why was she raining on my parade once again? Didn’t she have to get back to England, or Fallujah?

I turned my back on the door and doggedly continued my speech to Conrad. “If you’ve been holding a grudge against me for four years, that makes me feel sad. But, even so, you’re asking something that you have no right to, under law, something you must know I wouldn’t agree to, even if it would end your bitter feelings against me.”