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street.”
    Royal
nodded. “I understand.” He eyed Mike from beneath his brows. “So?”
    “This
is a tough one, Roy. We don’t know if someone with a grudge tried to take out
Tiff. Maybe they went after both or either of you, and Tiff was unlucky enough
to offer them a clear target.”
    “Satisfying
a grudge is the obvious motive.”
    “We’re
looking at the cases you worked when you were with us. As for Tiff, she never
testified in court so it’s doubtful any perps or their families know of her
involvement, but possible. We need a list of your private clients, some do know
what Tiff does, those she did her special thing for. They might have let it
slip and it got back to a perp’s family or friends. And it might be a perp; incarceration
doesn’t separate them from the outside world. They may have paid someone for
the hit.”
    Royal’s
voice emerged leaden, lifeless. “You may never discover who did this.”
    “We
will, Roy.” Mike stuck one finger in his shirt collar to tug it away from his
neck. Red crept up his throat and sweat beaded on his broad forehead.
    Royal’s
eyes locked on Mike’s face. He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his long
legs. His gaze dropped; he tapped the fingers of his right hand rhythmically on
the chair arm, and said nothing.
    Tap.
Tap. Tap. It went on and on.
    Jack
stood in front of a precariously stacked pile of file folders on one of Mike’s
cabinets. So we could move, at least in Mike’s office. I released Royal’s aura,
rose and looked at the squad room.
    And
we could move in the Squad Room. Mel had snuck out of Mike’s office and now sat
in a chair facing Officer Arcangelo Armellino. Tall, raven-haired, a sun-kissed
complexion, swooping black brows and warm brown eyes which make a woman melt like
a popsicle on a one-hundred-degree day, Archie Armellino drew Mel like a
magnet.
    I
went behind Mike’s desk to see if a file for me sat there but didn’t spot it.
    “What
are they doing?” Jack asked.
    “I
don’t know.” Then I did. “See how ill at ease Mike is? He has something and
Royal knows it.”
    “So
it’s a kind of macho waiting game?”
    Neither
Royal nor Mike said a word, but Mike’s face reddened. When I thought their war
of silence would last forever, Mike said, “Roy, this is a police matter and
you’re a civilian. I’ll try to keep you informed, but really I can tell you very
little. I couldn’t even if you were still under my command. You’re too close.
It’s personal.”
    “Damn
right it is personal.”
    “I’m
sorry, Roy.”
    Royal
shoved up from the chair and glared. Mike opened his mouth, closed it. Both
volatile men in certain circumstances, they knew they’d lose their tempers if
the conversation continued.
    I
watched Royal leave Mike’s office.
    “Come
on!” Jack hissed. “He’s getting away.”
    I
rushed after Royal and clutched his aura. Mel joined us after a final, reluctant
look at Archie.
     
    In
his truck, Royal’s face turned ruddy as anger flushed his copper complexion. “He’s
on to something, Tiff.”
    “I’m
wondering—” I began, and swallowed the rest. He wasn’t really talking to me.
    “I
swear I will find who did this to you.” His hands clenched on the steering
wheel until the leather creaked. “And when I do. . . .”
    “Oh,
shit.” My shiver came not from chilly temperatures I did not feel. I recalled a
night when I lay in his arms and told him my deepest fear, of dying violently
and remaining as a shade. He promised to find my murderer and kill him, and
release me to pass onward.
    “But
I’m not dead.” My gaze darted from Jack to Mel. “If he kills anyone, it’ll be
murder, and when I get back in my stupid body and wake up, and Royal understands
what he’s done. . . .”
    Then
I saw a deeper meaning in his words. “Oh, Royal,” I whispered. He believed I
was beyond saving. He meant to find the shooter and kill him so I need not
linger when I died.

Chapter Five
     
    Royal
pulled