“I’ll remember that next time. If there is a next time. And you didn’t say you had court today,” she chided.

He shrugged. “Slipped my mind. I was trying to get in touch with a parole officer in the cold case I’m working on. The old man who vanished.”

Her heart stopped dead in her chest. “Oh.”

He didn’t notice that she’d turned pale. He wasn’t looking. His attention was on his desk. “Who called?” he asked, frowning at her note.

“Lieutenant Marquez,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “He got a tip from one of their confidential informants about that Grayson man you’re hunting in the attempted murder cold case.”

“Him.” He shook his head. “He’s like a damned ghost. Just when you think you’ve got something on him, a witness leaves town or says he misremembered.” He glanced at her. “How the hell do you misremember something?”

Her eyebrows arched. “You’re cussing.”

He sighed. “I guess I am. Ted Allen’s wife miscarried this morning. He’s all broken up. I’m working a case for him while he’s at the hospital.”

That was nice of him. She almost said so, but he turned and pinned her with curious black eyes. “Did you tell my sister that you’re sweet on me?”

She looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads and bat wings.

He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I thought she was making it up.” He made a face. “She’s trying to set me up with anybody she can think of, before Grace gets to town.”

“Grace?” It was a name she recognized from what she’d overheard Brenda say once. Banks was carrying a torch for the woman. It hurt and she couldn’t understand why.

“Grace Charles. And it’s none of your business,” he added shortly and with a sharp glare.

She flushed. “Well, excuse me! I was making conversation, not prying into your personal—”

“Phone,” he interrupted.

She glared at him. He was closer to it than she was. With a long-suffering sigh, she went to answer it.

“Is Banks in?” a pleasant deep voice inquired. “It’s Darrell Tarley.”

“Yes, sir, he is.” She handed him the receiver. They mostly used cell phones, but the landline was useful for business calls.

“Banks,” he said, glowering at Clancey, who turned and went back into her own office.

“Darrell Tarley,” the caller told Banks. “Listen, I wondered if you ever do jobs on the side. You know, after working hours?”

“Not really,” he said, curious. “Why?”

“I need a bodyguard. Well, not an obvious one. But you know that I’m running for district attorney next year, right?”

“I knew that,” Banks replied.

“I’ve had a threat. Not a direct one,” he continued. “Just an indirect one, from a man I prosecuted. He’s in prison, but he may get early release.”