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realized that Cindy was pretty much playing to Conklin. So I sawed on my sirloin and watched the two of them interact.
    My feelings for my partner had taken a sharp and unexpected turn about a year and a half ago when we were working a case that had brought us to L.A. We had a late dinner, drank some wine, and missed our flight back to San Francisco.
    It was late, so I expensed two rooms at the airport Marriott. I was in a bathrobe when Conklin knocked on the door. About two minutes later, we were grappling together on a California King.
    I'd hauled up the emergency brake before it was too late, and it felt
awful,
absolutely wrenching—as wrong as if the sun had gone down in the east.
    But I'd been right to bring things to a halt. For one thing, even though Joe and I had broken up around then, I still loved him. Besides, Conklin is about ten years younger than I am and we're
partners.
I'm also his
boss.
    After that night, we agreed to ignore the moments when the electricity between us lit up the patrol car, when I'd forget what I was saying and find myself speechless, just staring into Richie's light-brown eyes. As best we could, we sidestepped the times Rich had burst into thirty-second rants about how crazy he was about me.
    But this wasn't one of those times.
    Right now, Inspector Hottie was grinning at Cindy, and she'd almost forgotten I was there.
    I could argue that Cindy and Rich would make a terrific couple. They are both single. They look good together. They seem to have a lot to talk about.
    "Rich," Cindy was saying, "I'm having another beer. Think you could make sure I get home okay?"
    "I'll drive you," I said, putting a sisterly hand on Cindy's arm. "My car's out front and I can swing by your apartment on my way home."

Chapter 18
     
    Y UKI NEARLY BUMPED into Phil Hoffman as he stepped out of the elevator.
    "What do you think this is about?" Hoffman murmured.
    "Weird, huh?" Yuki replied.
    It was ten a.m., two days after she and Hoffman had made their closing arguments, and they'd just gotten calls from the judge's clerk saying that their presence was required in Courtroom 6a.
    With Hoffman looming a full fourteen inches above her, Yuki walked beside him down the long buff-painted corridor toward the courtroom, with Nicky Gaines trailing behind.
    "Could be nothing," Yuki said. "I had a jury ask for a calculator once. Thought they were adding up the award for my client. Turned out a juror was doing his income tax during the lunch break."
    Hoffman laughed, held open the first of two sets of doors to the courtroom. Gaines held open the second set, then the three lawyers walked to the front, took seats behind their respective counsel tables.
    Judge Duffy was at the bench, the court reporter and clerk in their places, the sheriff's deputy standing in front of the jury box, patting down his mustache.
    Duffy shoved his glasses to the top of his head, closed his laptop, and asked both counsel to approach, which they did.
    "The foreperson sent out a note from the jury," Duffy said. A smile pulled at his mouth as he unfolded a quartered sheet of paper, held it up so Yuki and Hoffman could see the twelve hangman's gallows that had been drawn on the paper with a black marker. A note had been penned underneath the gallows: "Your Honor, I think we have a problem."
    "Nooo way," Yuki said. "They're hung after… what? Ten hours of deliberation?"
    "Your
Honor,
" said Hoffman. "Please. Don't let them quit so soon. This is absolutely
bizarre!
"
    Yuki couldn't read Duffy's expression, but she could read
Hoffman's
and knew he felt the same anxiety, anger, and nausea as she did. It had taken months to prepare this case for trial. Dozens of people had been deposed. There'd been uncountable man-hours of prep and six weeks of what Yuki thought to be pretty flawless presentations in the courtroom.
    If there was a mistrial, the People might decide not to spend the resources required to retry. Hoffman's firm would probably pull the plug as