“Yep, Charlie shot a suspect with a hundred commuters in the line of fire,” Coletti said, pausing for effect. “I wonder if he would’ve been that trigger-happy if he was shooting at one of his own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” a voice called out from across the room.

Coletti looked up and saw Mann walking in with a thin, blond-haired woman beside him. Mann looked angry, but Coletti wasn’t about to back down.

“You went to college and you don’t know what ‘one of his own’ means?” Coletti asked coolly.

“Yeah, I know what it means,” Mann said angrily. “It means you don’t think I belong here.”

“You belong if you earn it,” Coletti shot back. “But you don’t make homicide just because somebody decides there’s a quota.”

A million answers went through Mann’s mind, ranging in tone from eloquent to ignorant. When he’d considered every possible verbal retort and found them all to be lacking, he chose the only response he could.

His face clouding over with rage and his fingers curling into fists, Mann bolted across the room.

Coletti stood up, prepared to fight. Three detectives came between them a second before the first punch could fly.

As Mann and Coletti grunted and struggled to get past the peacemakers, Mary Smithson walked to Mann’s side while carefully studying Coletti.

“Who the hell are you?” Coletti asked.

“Lieutenant Smithson, State Police,” she said, nodding toward Mann. “I’m one of his own.”

As she spoke, Mann jerked his arm away from the men who were holding him. A few seconds later, Coletti did, too. When they were sure that both had calmed down, the detectives who had restrained them stepped aside.

“What do you mean, you’re one of his own?” Coletti asked while rubbing his arms where his colleagues had gripped them.

“You implied that he looks out for his own,” she said in a level tone. “Well, I’m the one he looked out for today. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the reason I’m still alive.”

“Look, lady, I—”

“My name’s Mary,” she said, extending her hand.

He looked at her eyes. They were blue and bottomless, filled with curiosity and intelligence. It took everything within him not to stare.

“I’m Mike Coletti,” he said, shaking her hand while forcing himself to look away.

“We came to fill out the paperwork on what happened this morning,” Mann said, his eyes scanning the room. “But I guess there’s no need for that, since I don’t belong here.”

There was an awkward silence as the other detectives tried to decide who would answer first.

“Coletti doesn’t speak for me,” said the one with the bushy mustache. “As long as you do your job, I don’t have a problem with you or anybody else.”

A few piped up in agreement. Several more mumbled placating words. Then Coletti spoke.