It’s just after noon when I turn onto Highlander Parkway. I’m not nervous, but an edginess creeps steadily over me as I draw closer to the BCI field office. Like Tomasetti, I’m keenly aware of the ticking clock and anxious to get started. I want to visit the scene and speak to the missing girl’s family. I want to find the girl before something terrible happens—if it hasn’t already.

I remind myself that I’m only going to be consulting, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of parameters I’ll be working within. I’m hands-on when it comes to my job. How difficult will it be to ride this out in the backseat?

To complicate matters, there’s also the issue of my relationship with Tomasetti. We’re walking a fine line, working together on a case while we’re personally involved. Nobody knows, and for now we would be wise to keep it that way. I’m confident neither of us will let private feelings affect the case. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to spending some time with him.

I park in the visitor section of the lot, grab my overnight bag, and head toward the double glass doors at the front of the building. The uniformed security officer behind a glossy walnut desk stands as I approach.

“Can I help you?”

She’s a trim African-American woman wearing a navy jacket, a chrome badge clipped to her belt, and a name tag that tells me her name is Gabrielle. “I’m Kate Burkholder. I have an appointment to see John Tomasetti with BCI.”

“He’s called twice. Hold on.” She’s in the process of dialing when I hear my name. I turn, to see Tomasetti treading toward me with long, purposeful strides. Plea sure unfurls in my stomach at the sight of his tall frame. As usual, he’s well dressed in a crisp blue shirt with a gray-and-burgundy tie and nicely cut charcoal slacks.

I can’t help it; I smile. “Agent Tomasetti.”

His expression softens. “Chief Burkholder.” He glances at the security officer. “Thanks, Gabby.”

She waves him off, but not before I see something in her eyes, and I realize I’m not the only one who likes my men dark and brooding and just a little bit on the shady side.

“How was the drive?” he asks, extending his hand.

“Uneventful.”

“Best kind, I guess.” We shake, and I notice several things at once. His palm is warm and dry. His grip is substantial. He’s looking at me a tad too closely and perhaps with a little too much intensity, both of which I like. “You look nice,” he says in a low voice.

“So do you.”