“Bad ass,” he said with a grin. “In her younger days, anyway. She’s mellowed, they tell me. She left Homicide and went to the FBI for a few years, but she’s back. And man, you should see her wife.” He whistled. “Now that would be your type. Samantha Kennedy…she’s over at CIU.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I worked Homicide before I came here. Jesus, don’t you listen to anything I say?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You tried to impress me with all of your skills.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek. “And I believed you. Right up until the time we came across the man whose wife cut off his penis.” She laughed. “Your second week on the job, if I recall. First partner I ever had who—”

“—threw up, yeah, yeah,” he said. He gave an exaggerated shudder. “God…that was awful. I had nightmares after that.”

“Hell, I had nightmares.”

“You…you think they salvaged that thing? It was pretty mangled.”

“I try not to think about it.”

“You probably don’t want to tell that story to Danielle.”

“A whole damn week,” she groaned. “What the hell are we going to talk about for seven days?”

“I’m still trying to figure out why she picked you in the first place.”

“Well, obviously, she wanted the best.”

He laughed. “Yeah, now there’s that cocky attitude that I love so much.”

Chapter Four

Dani took a deep breath before opening the door. She was told she wouldn’t be flooded with requests for autographs and pictures. She was told it would be very professional. She was also told that Detective Jeremiah wasn’t thrilled with the assignment and that she shouldn’t take it personally if the detective was short or rude to her. In fact, they’d offered to assign her to someone else if, after they met, she wasn’t happy with her choice. They were being extremely accommodating. The fact that Detective Jeremiah didn’t want her to shadow her made her more confident that she’d made the right choice.

She took a moment to look at her attire. A black T-shirt. Her favorite pair of jeans. A black leather belt. Dark gray Saucony running shoes. A black jacket. And a Dallas Cowboys cap that she’d picked up just that morning. It wasn’t enough to hide who she was, but with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she hoped she looked less like a celebrity and more like an everyday person.

She finally pushed open the door and walked inside the squad room. Activity and conversation ceased immediately as all eyes turned her way. She put on her famous façade, she smiled brightly—a smile that no one but her would know was forced—and faced them all. As promised though, no one rushed forward.

“Hello, everyone,” she said cheerfully. “Lieutenant Mize? I’m supposed to meet with him.”