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you need a glass and ice?”
    His partner, a man known for maintaining his cool under fire, looked as visibly startled as John felt. “No. How do you know I drink Mountain Dew?”
    The woman closed the short distance between them. Her glasses hung by a beaded chain on her ample bosom bouncing with each step. She peered into the black man’s eyes. Fearless? Or stupid? Even stupid people knew better than to tweak a tiger’s tail.
    “You aren’t sleeping,” she said, her voice light and musical, soothing in a way John hadn’t heard before.
    He looked at his co-worker’s face and noticed the dark circles under D’Sean eyes and the weariness in his face. Why the hell hadn’t he been told him something was bothering his partner?
    Without invitation the woman cupped a hand around D’Sean’s throat under his ear. Had John not been watching, he might have missed the flash of surprise, but the angry snarl should have made anyone with a lick of sense back away.
    The gypsy woman didn’t move. “When is your mother’s surgery?” 
    Instead of pushing her hand away, D’Sean clasped her wrist. His rich cocoa fingers contrasted with the milky whiteness of her arm.
    John couldn’t see her expression but his friend’s eyes were cold, his features impassive. Except for the twitching muscle in his jaw, D’Sean looked like what he was. A warrior. Afraid of nothing.
    Then his eyes closed, his chin dropped, his hand released her wrist and formed a fist as he massaged the skin that shielded his heart. “Tomorrow morning.”
    D’Sean’s mother was scheduled for surgery in the morning? For what? In eight years, D’Sean had only spoken fleeting words about his family and John never pried. The men on his team were entitled to their privacy.
    “Go to her. She’s calling for you, Binky.”
    If a black man could go pale, D’Sean did. His lips opened and closed like a freshly caught carp. A full minute passed before he was able to respond to her words. “It’s minor day surgery. I’ll be home in time to see her.”
    “Does your mother believe that?” Her voice gently questioned. “A lot of people think minor surgery is on someone else.”
    D’Sean choked back a startled noise and rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed. “If it happens to her, its definitely major.” The lines of tension around his mouth lessened. 
    The woman pulled back her hand and stepped back. The heaviness in the air visibly eased. “I’ll tell Cezi you’re here,” she said as she walked from the room.
    John raised the cup he still held to his lips and took a sip. Immediately his mouth and throat rebelled as he choked down the first swallow. The coffee had the consistency of pancake syrup and was almost as sweet. No sink for him to toss it. How could anyone drink this?
    But his issues were negligible. D’Sean gripped the back of the chair and viciously twisted the screw cap on the plastic bottle. In one long swig, D’Sean raised the drink to his lips and gulped it down like a man dying of thirst. Lowering the bottle he belched and then barked out a staccato laugh.
    John searched for words to offer and finding none, took another sip of coffee to fill the moment. D’Sean looked in his direction for the first time. John waited with the cup at his mouth. When neither spoke, he drank again.
    “Spooky, huh?” He finally broke the silence. “I’m sensing why the sheriff’s office might have a fear of gypsies.” John spoke quietly, hoping his little joke would relieve the tension in the room. He crossed to the pot and refilled his cup. The sweet syrup was growing on him.
    Through clenched teeth, D’Sean’s muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”
    When John pictured a group of men defined as male gypsies, he visualized long hair, gold earrings, puffy shirts and flamboyant scarves, not the two middle-aged men in expensive tailored suits and Wall Street haircuts who strode into the room moments later. An air of dominance surrounded them like a