She was not infatuated. He had made it clear there would be nothing between them, and he was engaged to her sister. That was that. Couldn’t the two of them have a professional relationship now?

Wayne lounged on the steps leading up to a nearby building, watching them and sloppily taking bites out of an apple.

“And where have you been?” Marasi asked, walking up to him.

“Apple?” Wayne said, handing another one toward her. “’s not too bruised.”

“No thank you. Some of us have been trying to find a killer, not a meal.”

“Oh, that.” Wayne kicked at something beside him on the ground, hidden in the shadow of the steps. “Yeah, took care of that for you.”

“You took… Wayne, that’s a person at your feet! Rusts! He’s bleeding!”

“Sure is,” Wayne said. “Not my fault at all, that. I did knock ’im upside the head though.”

Marasi raised a hand to her mouth. It was him. “Wayne, where… How…”

Waxillium gently pushed her aside; she hadn’t seen him approach. He knelt down, checking Marks’s wound. Waxillium then looked up at Wayne and nodded, the two sharing an expression they often exchanged. The closest Marasi had been able to figure, it meant something between “Nice work” and “You’re a total git; I wanted to do that.”

“Let’s get him to the constabulary offices,” Waxillium said, lifting the unconscious Marks.

“Yes, fine,” Marasi said. “But aren’t you going to ask how he did this? Where he’s been?”

“Wayne has his methods,” Waxillium said. “In a place like this, they’re far better than my own.”

“You knew,” she said, leveling a finger at Waxillium. “You knew we weren’t going to get anywhere asking questions!”

“I suspected,” Waxillium said. “But Wayne needs space to try his methods—”

“—onnacount of my being so incredible,” Wayne added.

“—so I did my best to find Marks on my own—”

“—onnacount of him being unable to accept that I’m better at this sorta thing than he is—”

“—in case Wayne failed.”

“Which never happens.” Wayne grinned and took a bite of his apple, hopping off his steps to walk beside Waxillium. “Except that one time. And that other one time. But those don’t matter, onnacount of my getting hit to the head enough times that I can’t remember them.”

Marasi sighed inwardly, falling into step with the two. They had so much history that they moved in concert subconsciously, like two dancers who had performed together countless times. That made life particularly difficult for the newcomer who tried to perform with them.

“Well,” Marasi said to Wayne, “you could at least tell me what you did. Perhaps I could learn from your methods.”

“Nah,” Wayne said. “Won’t work for you. You’re too pretty. In an unpretty sort of way to me, mind you. Let’s not go around that tree again.”

“Wayne, sometimes you completely baffle me.”

“Only sometimes?” Waxillium asked.

“I can’t give her all I got, mate,” Wayne said, thumbs behind his suspenders. “Gotta save some for everyone else. I dole it out with no respect for privilege, class, sex, or mental capacity. I’m a rusting saint, I am.”