So much for that growing camaraderie. “Are you almost done with me?”

“Why? Do you have someplace to go?” Pale blue eyes flicked over to Tony’s backpack sitting open on a corner of the desk. “That’s right. The party you were bringing your vodka-catnip cocktails to.”

He could have said no when they asked if they could go through his backpack. He could have. But he wasn’t that stupid. “Hey, there’s nothing illegal about vodka or catnip!”

“Are you two still on about that disgusting combination?” Constable Danvers asked coming back into the squad room. “And it is illegal to carry open containers of alcohol.”

“They were closed.” Fortunately, not sparkling. Wouldn’t that have been fun to explain.

“Unsealed containers,” she amended, tossing the backpack into his lap and propping one thigh in its place on the scuffed wood. “Contents did wonders for our drains. I called your friend in Toronto, Detective-Sergeant Celluci—just as an unofficial character reference.”

This time, he let his eyes roll. “Yeah? He must’ve been thrilled.”

“Not really.”

“Let me guess. You mentioned the name Tony Foster and he said, ‘What’s the little fuck got himself into now?’ ”

She grinned. “Word for word. Then he expressed some concern and allowed that you were a good kid . . .”

“Christ, I’m twenty-four.”

One shoulder lifted and fell as the grin broadened. “Kid’s a relative term. Then he said you should call and that Vicki wanted him to ask if you’ve forgotten how to use a phone.”

Elson snorted. “Vicki is?”

His vampire. “His partner.”

“On the force?” Danvers asked, looking interested.

“She was, but she had to quit. Long story.”

“Skip it,” Elson growled.

Tony wondered if they were playing good cop/bad cop or if Constable Elson really suspected something was going on. The last thing he needed was to be on the wrong side of a cop playing a hunch. Hell, at this place and this time it was the last thing the world needed. But if a hunch had already done the priming, maybe he could tell him what was going on. Get some reinforcements with weapons. Back in the day, if he’d gone to Vicki with this, she’d have . . . assumed he was shooting up again and hustled his ass off to detox.

Never mind.

“So, where are you going now?”

“Now?” Confused, he glanced from constable to constable.

“Looks like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Twice,” Elson interjected.

His partner ignored him. “We’ve got your statement. You’re free to go.”

“Okay.” He stood, swung his backpack over one shoulder, found himself caught by two pairs of eyes, and realized that last question was still hanging there, waiting for an answer. “I guess I’ll go back to the studio, see if Arra’s there.” See if she’s still Arra. And if not, well, I’ll probably die.