“Well it’s my TV,” I said hotly, then added, “Sorry.” Actually, it was Ivy’s. Mine was lost in the big salt dip. Which was just as well since it would have looked like a toy next to Ivy’s.

Glenn made a small noise at the back of his throat. He slowly typed the next name in, checking it against the list before moving to the next. I impatiently waited. My eyes went to the crumpled bag on the file cabinet. An inane desire to take the rat out filled me. This must be why he had said we’d be here for hours. It’d be faster to cut the letters out and paste them in a note.

“That’s not the same printer,” I said, seeing he had switched them.

“I didn’t know you wanted to look at everything,” he said, his voice preoccupied as he picked letters off the keyboard. “I’m sending the rest to the basement’s printer.” Slowly he typed in the last string of numbers and hit Enter. “I don’t want to hear about tying this floor’s printer up,” he added.

I fought to hide a smirk. Didn’t want to hear about it? How much could there be?

Glenn stood, and I stared up at him. “I’ll get them. Stay put till I get back.”

I nodded as he left. Swiveling my chair from side to side, I waited, listening to the background chatter coming in. A smile eased over me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the camaraderie of my fellow I.S. runners. I knew if I went out of Glenn’s office, the conversations would stop and the looks would go cold, but if I stayed here and listened, I could pretend someone might stop by to say hi, or ask my opinion on a tough case, or tell me a dirty joke to see me laugh.

Sighing, I rose to take Glenn’s rat out of the bag. I set the ugly, beady-eyed thing on the cabinet where it could watch him. A scuffing at the door pulled me around. “Oh. Hi,” I said, seeing that it wasn’t Glenn.

“Ma’am.” The heavy FIB officer eyed first my leather pants, then my visitor’s badge. I shifted so he could see better. The badge, not my pants.

“I’m Rachel,” I said. “I’m helping Detective Glenn. He’s getting some printouts.”

“Rachel Morgan?” he said. “I thought you were an old hag.”

My mouth opened in anger, then shut in understanding. The last time he saw me, I probably did look like an old hag. “That was a disguise,” I said as I crumpled the bag and threw it away. “This is the real me.”

He ran his eyes over my outfit again. “Okay.” He turned to leave, and I breathed easier.