“Did you talk to the LGBTQ task force?” Shaw asked.

“Here we go,” North said.

On his paper, Shaw had switched to drawing a superhero: cape, muscles, tousled dark hair, the letters STLPD on his freakishly developed chest. North was pretty sure that was how Shaw saw Detective Jadon Reck: a superhero. It made North want a smoke.

“It’s a valid question,” was all Shaw said. He was still sketching in Jadon’s abs.

“They were just regular police, I think. Please. It’s been five days. We’re all freaked out. We’re all worried. And we just want him to be ok.”

“What do you think happened?” Shaw asked in the same clear tone, his eyes still fixed on Jadon Reck’s—Jesus, was that a twelve-pack of abs?

“He’s hurt. He got hit by a car. Or he fell. Or he’s sick and can’t make it to a phone.” Chuck’s combat boots pressed so hard against the floor that a board squeaked. “Or one of those Arkansas boys came after him. There was—there was a fight. Last week. One of them showed up at Iris. It was awful. Thank God the kids weren’t there.”

“What happened?”

“Beau can tell you. We’re going there, right? We’re going to Iris? You can talk to Beau and the kids and see if anyone knows anything.”

“Will you give us a minute?” North said.

“I know that look,” Pari said as she rose, tugging on Chuck’s hand. “Don’t you dare say no to her.”

“Just give us a minute,” North said.

When the girls had left and the door was shut, North said, “No way.”

“What?” Shaw scrunched his nose, bending closer. He’d given Super Jadon hamstrings the size of bowling balls. “Why?”

North ticked off items on his fingers. “He’s fighting with his husband. There’s money trouble. He has a history of dropping everything and disappearing. Do I need to go on? Oh, yeah. And he’s a fucking abomination. If he’s hurt, great. If he’s been hit by a car, let’s send that driver a turkey dinner. He’s gone; let him stay gone.”

“He’s doing good stuff now.”

“Good stuff now doesn’t make up for ruining thousands of lives.”

Nose still scrunched, Shaw said, “What does?”

“What?”

“What would make up for ruining a thousand lives?”

“Christ, Shaw, I don’t know. This isn’t a fucking ethics class. I’m just saying we’re not taking this case.”

“Ok.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, Shaw.”

Shaw finally glanced up from his hero-worship drawing. “What?”

“You are not taking this case by yourself.”

“I didn’t say—”

“I said we’re not taking the case. You said ok. That means you think you can take it by yourself.”

“I didn’t—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even if I wanted to—”

“Fine.” North could feel himself struggling for breath, and he pushed up out of his chair so hard that it spun across the room. “Fine. We’ll take the fucking case. But we’re working it together, Shaw. Are you happy?”

“I literally haven’t finished a sentence.”

“You didn’t have to. I can read you like a fucking book. Of course you’re happy. You got exactly what you wanted.” North took a step toward the door.