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past him, but he sidestepped to block her way.
    “Not so fast, Blondie.” His smirk turned her stomach. “You just missed your old partner. Of course, I could always call him back if you have something to say to him.” He stepped closer to the close the gap between them. “You got something to say to Cal, Blondie, or did you say it all to IA?”
    “Get out of my way, asshole.” Mallory shoved him to one side.
    “Careful, Blondie. I can arrest you for assaulting a police officer.” His eyes narrowed behind his dark lenses. “Just the thought of you behind bars gets my blood pumping, you know what I mean? I’ll bet you look really hot in orange.”
    She shook her head in disgust and pushed past him, praying he wouldn’t follow her inside the building. She opened the door at the top of the steps and turned slightly to glance over her shoulder as she entered. Toricelli still stood where she’d left him. Knowing he’d watched her climb the stairs sent a chill up her spine.
    “Bastard,” Mallory whispered under her breath as she closed the door behind her and walked to the information desk.
    Relieved to find no one she knew working the desk at that hour, she filled out the request forms and handed over the required cash.
    “You’re lucky things are slow this afternoon,” the pert young officer behind the counter said with a smile. “This shouldn’t take too long. You can have a seat over there.” She gestured in the direction of the plastic chairs on the opposite wall of the counter.
    “Thanks.” Mallory nodded and took a seat. Apparently her fame hadn’t spread quite as far as she’d feared. There’d been no apparent recognition of her name. Must be one of the new recruits.
    So I’m batting five hundred,
she told herself.
Could be a lot worse.
    After ten minutes passed, she searched for a couple of quarters to buy a newspaper from the metal stand at the front of the lobby.
    Fifteen more minutes passed before Mallory’s name was called.
    “I can only give you the preliminary report.” The officer— OFFICER P. CROMWELL , Mallory noted the name tag this time—held out several stapled sheets of paper. “The case is still active, and some of the reports are classified at this time. You can stop back in a few weeks to see if that’s changed.”
    “I’ll do that. Thanks again.” Mallory folded the papers and tucked them into her bag. If she ran into any of her other former coworkers, she’d rather not advertise her purpose in being there.
    With a knot in her stomach, Mallory started toward the door, almost afraid to step outside. But Toricelli must have been on his way to a call—or meeting one of his several girlfriends—as it appeared he hadn’t hung around. She took a deep breath and started down the stairs. She’d almost made it to her car, her hand stretched out toward the driver’s-side door, when she realized her visit hadn’t gone unnoticed after all.
    Along the drive leading to the exit stood half a dozen or so of her former colleagues, their arms crossed over their chests as they watched her approach.
    She debated whether to leave through another exit and pretend she didn’t see them, or to drive directly past. She took her time starting her car, her head down as if she hadn’t noticed their disapproving stares, while she deliberated. On the one hand, the thought of facing their cold condemnation yet again made her physically ill. On the other, running just wasn’t her style. She took a deep breath, slid her sunglasses down from the top of her head, and backed out of the parking space.
    Through her dark glasses, she saw the unsmiling faces of people she’d once counted among her friends. At least, she’d
thought
they were friends. She shook her head imperceptibly. How could any one of them ever have thought she’d lied, that she’d wanted a promotion so badly that she’d make up a story to cast a fellow officer in a bad light?
    Not that Cal Whitman had needed any help in that