“I know. I’m just not sure I want to.” Kicking away from the desk, she swung her chair around and stared up at him. “So, Tony Foster, tell me what you’ve seen.”

She knows my name!

And closely following that thought, Of course she knows your name, you idiot, you work together. Sort of. More or less. In a way.

He could still walk away. Shrug and lie and leave. Not get mixed up in whatever the hell was going on. If he answered her question, which wasn’t so much a question as an expectation of an answer, he’d pass the point of no return. Putting it into words would make the whole thing real.

Screw it. It can’t get any more real for Nikki Waugh!

“I’ve seen shadows acting like shadows don’t. Don’t act,” he added when Arra’s brows rose. He’d never noticed before that her eyes and her hair were the exact same shade of gray. “And that’s not all. I’ve heard a voice on my radio.”

“Isn’t that what it’s for?”

“Yeah and that’d be funnier if someone wasn’t dead.”

“You’re right. I apologize.” She looked down at the front of her Darkest Night sweatshirt and brushed a bit of imaginary fluff off Raymond Dark’s profile.

Tony waited. He knew how to wait.

Eventually, she looked up again. “Why have you come to me?”

“Because you’ve seen things, too.”

“I saw your friend last night. On location. He walks in shadow.”

“Different shadows.”

“True.”

“You know what’s happening.”

“I have my suspicions, yes.”

“You know what killed Nikki.”

“If you believe this, why not go to the police?”

One moment the baby was alive and the next moment it was dead.

“Some things, the cops can’t deal with.” Before she could speak again, he held up one hand. “Look, this dialogue is heavier than even the guys upstairs would write; can we just cut to the chase and leave this crap to those who get paid to say it?”

Arra blinked, snorted, and grinned. “Why not.”

“Good.” He wiped damp palms on the front of his thighs. “What the hell is going on around here?”

“Do you have time for a story?”

“Tony!” He jerked as Adam’s voice jabbed into his left ear with all the finesse of an ice pick. “Where the hell are you? The cops left fifteen minutes ago!”

Apparently not. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait. Give me your radio.” When he hesitated, she frowned. “I don’t care what he wants you for. This is more important.”

He unholstered the unit and passed it over, carefully stepping back out of her personal space.

Arra looked distastefully at the ear jack and left it lying on her shoulder as she raised the microphone to her mouth. “Peter, it’s Arra. I’ve stolen your PA for a while.”

The director’s voice sounded tinny but unimpressed. “What for?”

“Do you care?”

“No. Fine. Whatever. I’ve only got a show to shoot here. Do you want a kidney, too?”