They got up. “Colt,” she said, using the old nickname she’d given him when they were kids, “she’s not the same woman she was.” She continued, choosing her words, “She’s very rigid in her beliefs these days. And very committed to the work she does overseas.”

“That could change,” he said with a wistful smile.

“It could,” she agreed. “But whether it will or not is anybody’s guess. Just...well, just don’t jump into anything.”

“I never jump into things,” he said. He hesitated. “How long have you been Facebook friends with her?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, not long,” she lied. It wouldn’t do to tell him that it had been over a year, because he’d wonder why she hadn’t told him. She’d been trying to protect him. Grace spoke of Colter in fond terms, but hardly romantic ones, and she wasn’t the same woman he’d known in Houston. She was very different.

She sighed. It was already too late to warn him off. He’d have to find out for himself that Grace had changed beyond his memory of her. She hoped he wouldn’t break his heart all over again. And she also hoped that Grace wouldn’t mention her long-standing Facebook relationship. She’d have to ask her to keep it to herself, without telling her the real reason why.

The next day at lunchtime, Clancey was busy converting old paper files into computer ones, in between answering the phone and wolfing down a homemade deviled ham sandwich. A thermos full of sweetened coffee with cream was sitting beside her lunch. Banks had been out of the office all morning, so she’d gotten a lot of work done. She looked up when she heard Banks close the door and come down the steps.

“The assistant district attorney on that bank robbery case last week wants to talk to you. I left his number on your desk,” she said. “And one of the detectives at SAPD needs the number of the witness you spoke to about his assault case.”

He picked up the paper on his desk and glowered at her through the door to her small office. “I can’t read this,” he muttered.

“Look who’s talking about bad handwriting,” she said, exasperated. She got up from her desk in the next room and went to his. She took the paper out of his hands and printed every single word on the page. She handed it back to him. “If that’s not legible enough, I can try crayons,” she added blandly.

He glared at her through narrowed lids. “Isn’t your coffee getting cold?”

“If we had a microwave oven in here, I wouldn’t have to use a thermos,” she pointed out.

“Great idea. Why don’t you go talk to the lieutenant and tell him why we need one?” he asked. “Better yet, why don’t you bring yours to work?”