Wild Bill shook his head vigorously. “Nothing but the usual contractor-type stuff. But that’s where the current gossip comes in. There are a lot of people looking really closely at this explosion of his. Could be what he says it is. Profile from the FBI says it also fits with someone who’s trying an insurance scam. So we’re stalling. Other thing is, normally when there’s real terrorists involved in a bombing, someone slips up. Leaves fingerprints, or something that can be traced back to them, or—more often than not—somebody has to boast about what he did. Whoever set this one is either real lucky or real slick, and terrorists don’t fit that profile.”

She nodded, wryly. “Uh-huh. They’re too busy being passionate and idealistic to be slick. Gotcha. So?”

“So we’re being real careful. And Calligan is being a real pain, because we haven’t arrested anybody.” Cody played with his glass. “He doesn’t bug the department about it—but every time somebody comes around to ask him a couple more questions, he always brings it up, real resentful.” The officer gave her a look from under his bushy eyebrows. “That’s off the record. Anything else is confidential.”

“No problem.” She picked up the check, and fished a ten out of her purse to cover it, handed both bills to a passing waitress, and waved away change. Cody rose, and so did Jennifer.

“That’s all you wanted?” He seemed mildly surprised.

“That’s all,” she said cheerfully. “Painless, wasn’t it?”

“Wish my dentist was that painless.” He grinned broadly. “Make sure you call me next time you need office gossip. I can always use a free lunch.”

“And I can always use a friendly face. Don’t get into any trouble, Cody,” she said, as they parted at the door. “And don’t forget what my grandfather always says.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pausing for just a moment.

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” She arched her eyebrows significantly. “At least when it comes from the mouths of guys you have on lists.”

He “fired” a finger at her. “Gotcha, Jen. Be seein’ you!”

She laughed. “Next time you need a free lunch!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

SO, ANOTHER DAY like the past six. Same song, different verse. David glared at the neat little scrap of paper—torn off as precisely as if it had been cut—and shoved it into his pocket. Legwork. Right. Jennie was awfully fond of sending him off chasing things, and half the time he thought it was just to get him out of her hair.

He wasn’t used to being ordered around by a woman, much less by one who used to be his girlfriend. It was kind of hard to take.