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good?”
    Tuscany was one of Denver’s better—and more romantic—restaurants. “Depends,” she said. “Who are the two?”
    “Don’t be coy with me, Agent McCallum.”
    “Office romances—”
    “Are the only kind workaholics like you and me ever get.”
    “You might have a point there.”
    “So, dinner for two? Is it a date?”
    Dinner with Josh Green. Probably a bad idea. He worked with her every day. There was a large potential for embarrassing complications. Still, she did like the guy. Got along well with him. As a friend and colleague, anyway. But as a lover? She didn’t think it would work. There was just something about him. He wasn’t…wasn’t…
    He wasn’t Paul.
    Right. He could not replace Paul Voorhees. But no one could, and it had been years, and what was she going to do, remain alone forever?
    Dinner at Tuscany…
    “Tess? You there?”
    “I’m here.”
    “And your answer is…?”
    “It could be a problem, Josh. You’re my subordinate. There are, you know, unwritten rules.”
    “Those are the ones that are easiest to break.”
    “I’ll give it some thought. Really.”
    “Don’t hesitate too long. I’m a hot prospect. Lots of nubile young things are just waiting to snap me up.”
    “You’re delusional. Don’t forget my houseplants.”
    “They’ll be rejuvenated and refreshed. Just like you after a night with me.”
    “Good-bye, Josh.”
    “Don’t go all Hollywood on us, Tess. We like you just the way you are.”
    This was so cornball and transparently manipulative that it was actually sweet. She ended the call, smiling.
    Without Josh’s voice, the car suddenly seemed too quiet. She turned on the radio, thinking that some of Crandall’s Sinatra music might be good right now, but the station was doing a newsbreak. She heard a sound bite of Michaelson, his voice echoing in the rotunda.
    “Although her arrival was unexpectedly delayed, we are happy to inform the city that one of our most experienced agents, Tess McCallum, has been brought into the investigation. Special Agent McCallum brings many sterling qualities—”
    She snapped off the radio.
    They were going to use her anyway. They were going to make her a hero, whether she wanted to play along or not.
    She couldn’t remember Michaelson’s face any longer, or the expression she’d found so amusing a few minutes ago. All she saw was Danny Lopez huddled in a heap of trash, his small body sprawled crookedly among beer bottles and garbage bags.
    She let anger at herself and anger at Michaelson fuse into a healthier, more useful emotion—hatred of the Rain Man. She would get him. She would break this case open. She had no idea how she would do it, or why she was any better qualified to find the killer than the other agents already assigned to the case. But she would find a way. She had to. She would stop this man, and then maybe things would balance out.
    Except it never worked that way, did it? Some things couldn’t be balanced. Some mistakes could never be fixed.
     
    The Los Angeles offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation were located in the Federal Building in Westwood, at 11000 Wilshire Boulevard. Tess left the Bureau sedan in the parking lot and entered the lobby, where she submitted to a brisk, professional search conducted by the guards. Her photo was taken and glued to a temporary ID badge, which she stuck in her pocket after boarding the elevator. On the seventeenth floor she announced herself and was buzzed through a security door, to be greeted by Special Agent Peter Larkin, lately promoted to Michaelson’s deputy.
    “Tess, it’s good to see you, really good.” He shook her hand, grinning. She almost expected him to clap her on the back and ask her to join him in a fine cigar.
    It wasn’t the greeting she would have predicted. Larkin had been cool to her throughout her previous sojourn in LA. But of course she hadn’t been in charge of the Denver office then. If there was one skill Larkin