“Good to see you up and moving, Kaplan.” He laughs, and for a split second I worry that he witnessed me slack-jawed and unconscious in the hospital. “Sorry I couldn’t pop in for a visit, but—” He waves his arm over the slanting stack of papers on his desk.

I shake my head, relieved. “Well,” I say. “I’m back now.”

He sighs and settles into his chair, cracking his knuckles one by one. I wonder if at some point this had been intimidating. Now it just makes him appear arthritic.

“Look,” he says, “you’ve been through something traumatic.” He holds up his hand before I can interject. “Hell, a fire? I’ve been unplugging everything before bed and running back into the house like Nancy with the damn hair dryer every time I leave to check the stove’s off. Then I run back to make sure none of the boys have been smoking and hiding the evidence in the closet so the whole place goes up.” His eyes flicker to my face and his voice softens a fraction. “You don’t have to prove yourself, Marlitt. Just take the time off. It’s a paid vacation. Maybe I should let Nancy leave all her hair stuff plugged in and throw everything into the bathtub for good measure. A little juice”—he mimes getting electrocuted—“and I could take Nancy on that honeymoon she’s been badgering me about for thirty years.”

This new, weirdly jovial Truman catches me off guard, but perhaps it’s meant to. There are so many things wrong with what he just said that if I chase any one of them we’ll never get to the point.

“I’ve already had my paid vacation,” I tell him. “What about all the budget cuts? Teddy and I have office chairs that we can feel the wheels through our asses, but I can take three weeks off?”

“Language,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I say patiently. “You’re understaffed.”

He sighs, and the phone rings.

He almost breaks.

I see the exhaustion in his eyes—the late nights, the dinners he’ll miss, all the lowlifes filing past his office—and the determination starts to waver, but then he looks at me. The resolve around his mouth tightens.

“We’ll manage,” he says. “Now leave before I decide to make it time off without pay.”

He turns back to his computer, and I know there’s no use arguing. I get the feeling that my point about the budget only reinforced his idea that he’s doing something chivalrous. And he’s too old-school to realize how patronizing and irritating that is.

There’s a knock on the door frame and a figure moves into the threshold.

“Lieutenant,” Oliver says. “We’ve got another one. Girl showed up this morning. She’s requesting—Kaplan, you’re back?”

I don’t like the way his voice arches into a question.

“Graves.” I nod.