My fingertips brushed the rough surface of a file, and I tugged it out. Three quick swipes, and the damage was smoothed out. If only it were that easy for everything else.

“I’ve got to be done by midnight,” he continued at my silence. “You want to go out to The Warehouse for a beer? The guy I’m interviewing against says they let you in free this week if you come in costume.”

My gaze slid to the dark windows as I slipped the file away. “Marshal, I can’t.”

“Why—” he started, then went silent. “Oh,” he continued, and I could hear him kicking himself. “I forgot. Um, I’m sorry, Rachel.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Feeling guilty about my relief, then determined to get past it, I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “You want to come over when you’re done? I’ve got some reports to go over, but we can play pool or something.” I hesitated, then added, “It’s not The Warehouse, but…” God, I felt like a coward, hiding in this church.

“Yes,” he said, his warm voice making me feel a little better. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll bring dinner. You like Chinese?”

“Mmmm, yes,” I said, feeling the first hints of enthusiasm. “No onions?”

“No onions,” he acknowledged, and I heard someone in the background call his name with authority. “I hate to keep saying this, but I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Marshal, I said don’t worry about it. It’s not like it’s a date,” I said, remembering Kisten’s calm acceptance of my breaking our arrangements because of last-minute runs. He had never gotten upset, maintaining the belief that when he had to do the same, I’d respond in kind. It had worked, and now I could take a lot of last-minute cancellations before I let it get to me. Marshal had called. He couldn’t make it. Case closed. Besides, it wasn’t like we were…anything.

“Thanks, Rachel,” he said, sounding relieved. “You’re something else.”

I blinked fast, remembering Kisten saying the same thing. “Okay, um, I’ll see you later then. ’Bye, Marshal,” I said, making sure my voice didn’t betray me. Unclenching my fingers from the top of my right arm, I hit the “end” button and closed the phone, torn between feeling good at Marshal’s last words and depressed at the reminder of Kisten.

Knock it off, Rachel, I thought, taking a cleansing breath and tossing my hair.

“’By-y-y-y-y-ye, Marshal,” Jenks mocked from the safety of my desk, and I turned—just in time to see Matalina backhand him on the shoulder.

“Jenks,” I said wearily as I lurched to a stand. “Shut up.”

Matalina rose, her wings a pale pink. “Jenks, dear,” she said primly. “Can I see you in the desk for a moment?”