“You’re . . . well, I’ve been trying to objectify you, I really have, it’s just that—”

“I think, Shaw Aldrich, that even though you don’t care about me one bit, you could at least do this because you owe me.”

“Don’t say it,” North muttered.”

“I owe you?”

“He forgot.” Pari turned, her hands upraised in helplessness for an invisible audience. “He forgot. Of course he forgot. Does May 25th ring a bell?”

“Don’t say it,” North pleaded.

“Not really.” Shaw reached for his phone.

Pari slapped a hand on the desk, and Shaw froze. “I worked from eleven o’clock in the morning until six o’clock that night.”

“Don’t,” North whispered. “Please, don’t.”

“Ok, but you’re supposed to be here at eight every morning and leave at five. I don’t really know why getting here three hours late and leaving one hour late—that’s a deficit of two hours, by the way—means I owe you a favor.”

Pari drew herself up. Her eyes were shimmering, and when she spoke, her voice trembled with wounded dignity. “It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend.” Her voice broke, and she drew the back of her hand across her cheek as though checking for tears. “And I was supposed to go to the lake.”

“But you did go to the lake—” Shaw began.

“Ok,” North said, squeezing between them before Pari could find something to throw. “Ok. Let’s all take a breath.”

“Of course you would bring up the lake,” Pari screamed at Shaw. “Of course you would!”

“Um.” The voice came from the doorway; its owner was a tall, lanky girl with peroxide blond hair—in a butch cut—and combat boots. Chuck had been Pari’s girlfriend for as long as North had known Pari. “Should I still be waiting out here? Because I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Nels, the Swedish exchange student who was a freshman at Chouteau and, therefore, practically a baby, formed the third part of Pari’s polyamorous relationship. He peered over Chuck’s shoulder, his pretty face scrunched with worry.

“We’re leaving,” Pari said, but she stayed where she was.

“Come on in,” North said, trying not to let his shoulders sag. “Let’s hear it.

Pari beamed a smile as she settled back into her seat.

Chapter 2

CHUCK KEPT PLAYING WITH the zipper on her leather jacket. Never mind that it was the end of July. Never mind that, as far as Shaw was concerned, St. Louis was a swamp from the end of May to the end of September. Her big boots kept clunking on the floor when she adjusted her feet. Nels tried to take her hand, and she shook him off.

“I’ve been working at Iris Kids STL. Have you heard of it?”

Before Shaw could answer, Pari leaned forward. “She’s an activist. Isn’t that amazing? She helps everybody. It’s incredible. Isn’t it incredible?”

“What’s Iris Kids STL?” North asked.

Shaw took a moment to appreciate how much things had changed since their case in April. Their agency had been foundering after the Marvin Hanson shooting and subsequent civil suits, especially with North’s private investigator license suspended. Although the Matty Fennmore case—Shaw still thought of him by that name—had ended with death and chaos, it had also launched Shaw and North into the public eye, and in the weeks after the case became common knowledge, they had been flooded with clients. It made it harder for Shaw to convince North to take a case like Chuck’s when she couldn’t pay their rising rates. But two other wonderful things had happened because of their success: North’s suspension was under review, and North had moved his desk out of the corner and back to the middle of the room, next to Shaw’s, where he belonged.