The discussion about Sonny reminded Molly of why they were at the station. “Is Sergeant Blake in?”

“Hoping to mine her brain for nuggets of Sonny info?” Garcia asked with a wicked grin.

“Something like that.” She lifted her hands in a What can you do motion.

“The answer’s no. The sergeant—the other sergeant—is out for the rest of the week, and maybe longer. Her kid has chicken pox.”

“Chicken pox?” A feeling of dread settled back into Molly’s belly. No wonder she hadn’t been able to get hold of Blake. Although she knew no one was to blame for a sick kid, she was tempted to throw a mini-tantrum. The loss of her key contact was going to hurt. “Don’t parents vaccinate their kids for that now?”

“She did, and he still managed to catch it. Must be a mutant strain.” Reaching out to the bottle of hand sanitizer sitting on his desk, Garcia pumped a generous amount into his palm and slicked it over his hands with great care.

Molly watched absently, her brain ticking over possible new plans. “You always know what’s going on in Langston,” she said, figuring she might as well give it a shot, even if Garcia was giving her a skeptical look as he de-germed his hands. “I don’t suppose you could pass along some of Zarver’s known associates, could you?”

“You know I can’t give you that information.” Garcia tsked at her, even as his grin threatened to break free. “Blake might whisper helpful things in your ear, but I’m not that kind of man.” His huff sounded put-on, and he gave her a quick sideways look that gave her hope.

“If you do this, you’ll be my favorite cop,” she wheedled.

“Really?”

“Well, one of my favorites.” Sergeant Blake had been too helpful over the years to be replaced thanks to one measly bout of chicken pox.

The door behind Garcia’s desk swung open, and Lieutenant Botha stepped through. “Ms. Pax…and Mr. Carmondy,” she said as Garcia straightened, his grin falling away. “To what do I owe this double bounty-hunter pleasure? Here to pump my sergeants for information?”

Placing her hand on her chest, Molly plastered on an appalled look when she really wanted to growl with irritation. Garcia had been so close to sharing before they were interrupted, and there was no way that Botha would spill any information. She loved rules and order too much for that. “As if I’d ever do that.” She wished she had pearls to clutch. It would’ve added so much to her faux outrage. “I’m just helping you put the ‘community’ in ‘community policing.’” At John’s snort, she smothered the urge to elbow him.

The smooth skin between Botha’s perfectly formed eyebrows puckered. “What does that even mean?”

“Just checking in, seeing how all of my cop friends are doing.” She turned back to Garcia and gave him her best pleading-puppy expression. He rolled his eyes, but she pressed on, not wanting the visit to have been a total waste. “I’ll make sure to visit that great bar you were telling me about. What was the name again?”