“You know how humans are,” I added, sliding sideways so if I had to move, I wouldn’t bump Glenn, but Glenn shifted with me. “The way they insist everyone keep to their time clock. No respect for other cultures.”

Brown eyes narrowing, Denon drew an obscenely thin cell phone out of a belt holster. His brown fingers hitting the buttons carefully, he appeared to scroll through a list of numbers. “You won’t mind if I verify that.”

I froze, not knowing if Trent would tell the truth. “Be my guest,” I said boldly.

People were closing in around us. I could feel them. Glenn edged closer. “Rachel…”

My gaze flicked to his, and I felt small between the two black men. “Trent was with me,” I insisted. But will he admit to that? I thought, cringing when I remembered how we had parted. Probably not.

“Mr. Kalamack, please,” Denon said pleasantly, and I heard a woman’s voice. “Of course, ma’am. This is Officer Denon from the I.S.” Denon smiled at me as the call was put through. “Mr. Kalamack,” he said cheerfully. “I apologize for interrupting your afternoon. I know you’re busy, and this will only take a moment. I need you to verify that you were with Ms. Rachel Morgan this morning between seven and seven-thirty.”

I swallowed hard, wanting my splat gun, tucked away in my bag. It was probably a good thing that Glenn had it.

Denon’s eyes flicked to me. “No, sir,” he said into the tiny phone. “Yes, sir. Thank you. You have a good day, too.” Face empty of emotion, Denon snapped the phone shut.

“Well?” I asked. I was sweating. Even a human could see it.

“You act as if you don’t know the answer,” he said smoothly.

From behind me Glenn shifted. “Officer Denon, are you arresting Ms. Morgan or not?”

I held my breath. Denon’s big hands clenched and released. “Not today,” he said, forcing a smile. Exhaling, I tossed a strand of hair that had escaped Jenks’s braid and tried to look confident.

“You’re lucky, witch,” Denon said as he rocked back a graceful step. “I don’t know what star you’re wishing on, but it’s about to fall.” And with that, he spun and walked away.

“Yeah, and angels cry when good men die,” I said, wishing he would find a new book of clichés to memorize. Relieved, I reached for my shoulder bag, still in Glenn’s possession. “Give me that,” I said, yanking it to me.

The car Denon had gotten into drove away with a tiny squeak of tires.

Head down in thought, Glenn pointed me to an unmarked FIB car: big, black, and sporting blocky lines. “I’ll get you home,” he said, and I obediently headed for it.