Rousseau. I wanted always and never to be where he was. Inside his circle of safety, outside his rule of law, which often seemed arbitrary, no doubt due to me missing the bigger picture. Rubio nagged me about making Rousseau a father figure, but why was that such a bad idea? My real father was a total unknown, at least for now. It did make me want to be the good daughter, so there was all that guilt when I hadn’t been. Like now.

After what seemed a proper wait, I smoothed my hair back, tugged my tank top straight, then rapped gently on the open door.

“Come!”

I put on my most humble face and stepped inside. “Got a minute?”

Rousseau looked up from his computer, pale screen light caught in the sweat beading on his ebony skin, in the hollows under his eyes. “Hey, Glim.”

“Hey, boss. Don’t you look all done in.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I meant . . .” Failed at sympathy. “Listen, if you’re too busy . . .”

“Nah, c’mon in. Sit. Give me a break from an afternoon of heavy-duty turf-wrestling.”

I felt petty and irrelevant after the high-power that just left. “Don’t they want to help?”

“Sure, sure. As long as it doesn’t require sacrifice on anyone’s part.” He shut the lid of his laptop. “Well, I can’t blame them. You don’t keep a den alive by going soft at the first sign of trouble. It’s a beginning. We’ll see where it ends up.”

It was stuffy hot inside, but Rousseau wore his signature leather vest, over a T-shirt that faded into the blood-colored walls. A mug of herbal steamed at his elbow. Extra chairs were pulled up to the desk or scattered about at random angles. His assistant, Song-yi, slippered about collecting used mugs and cups, then retreated, closing the door behind her.

I gathered myself in front of his desk, too antsy to sit. “Too bad about . . . all the trouble.”

He nodded heavily. “A nasty turn of events. Should have seen they’d go off the rez, all revved up like they were.”

So like Rousseau to take the blame. “But snipers! You couldn’t have known . . .”

“There have been . . . signs.”

“You mean it could happen again?”

“No question something’s changed out there.” His shrug was more a flexing of muscle. Then he folded his big hands on the computer like it might try to escape. “So, what’s up?”

“Something good, for a change.” I laid the sparkler down on the desk like a prize.

He gave a surprised grunt. “What’s this now?”

I ran the story, from the events on the dock up to my turn with Spunk in the pass-thru, every detail. Didn’t want to sound like I was withholding. “He said bring it right to you.”