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roommate was murdered.” Under her quiet words lay a current of pain.
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “Thanks. Anyway, I saw what a difference the cops made. They were kind to her family, even to me, and determined to put away the killer. And they did.”
    “So you became an über-cop.” He smiled at her. “You never did anything by halves.”
    For the first time, she smiled at him, with warmth that made his mouth go dry and his pulse pound. “Thank you for that. Seeing what happened after Carey, my roommate, died, knowing how important it is to survivors to see the killers punished…I love what I do.” She smiled again, a quick flash of contentment.
    The gesture shot a little sizzle south, to the brain that remembered the feel of her, not caring what issues lay between them.
    As his fingers itched to trace the line of her cheek, she added, “The Bureau goes after the worst of the worst. I started in the violent crimes division, but I’m in cyber crimes now. It was a good fit with math and computer science. If this is confirmed as a serial killing, they’ll probably send another agent, maybe several, more experienced in that field.”
    “You’d move on, then.” That foolish little blip of regret would pass in time. As it should. There was no going back for him and her.
    “Ordinarily, I would.” She hesitated. “This time, though, I’d try to stay. See it through.”
    “Because it’s personal.” When she gave him a defiant nod, he added, “I get that. I’d want to hang in, too.”
    “I have to do what I can for Cinda.” She let out a gusty sigh and shook her head. “Damn it, I hate this tabloid crap. Aliens, for God’s sake. Satanists, I can see, though I doubt it. But otherworldly stuff? Demons? Vampires? Please.”
    “I know it’s frustrating.” He kept his voice even. She was scorning not only the fabric of his life but a very real menace. “But reports of swamp demons could contain useful information under the mistaken label.”
    “The sheriff checked all that. Nothing to it.”
    “Still, I’d like to see the reports.” Dan Burton probably wouldn’t object, whether or not she did. If all else failed, Stefan had friends who could hack them, but he preferred staying straight-arrow when he could.
    She peered over her sunglasses, frowning. “Why do you want the reports? I know you work around some, er, unusual theories, but you can’t really believe in swamp demons.”
    “I didn’t say I did.” Despite the chance that something of the sort was running around. “There are sometimes forces at work beyond bone and sinew.”
    “I guess you’d say that, considering your job.” She turned back to the window. “I’ll stick to reality, thanks. There’s nothing to those reports, as I said.”
    He could’ve argued, pointed out that creativity and art owed little to strict rules and a lot to imagination, but that would upset this fragile little truce. Still caring about her good opinion of him came as a shock, and it was a mistake. Fighting her disbelief and scorn for what he was would be about as productive as pushing molasses uphill without a bucket. It would complicate work on this case, stir up old wounds even further, and bring nothing but trouble.
    Best to get the job done and move on.
    *  *  *
    Mel watched Stefan out of the corner of her eye. He looked calm, but she had a feeling she’d nettled him. For a moment there, she’d felt easy with him, but now he seemed remote. Barricaded.
    She was also certain he hadn’t told her the full story about his job. A three-year, summa cum laude graduate of the University of Virginia, a summa cum laude graduate of Georgetown in medicine, a stellar emergency medicine resident at Mass General—and she would die before she let him know she’d followed his career in those first years—did not equate to working in la-la land. Not unless something drastic happened.
    Yet Stefan had done just that after his residency. He’d virtually dropped