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comment had my hand shaking as I shoved the key quietly into the lock. Hank couldn’t be … gone. I would know, would have felt it somehow. My mouth went dry.
    “Don’t say a word,” I whispered to Rex as I drew my weapon and then entered the spacious loft, concentrating on my senses, trying to feel any auras I didn’t recognize.
    I eased forward, noticing the place had been cleaned somewhat since our fight. The Throne Tree was upright and back in the corner of the dining room. The floor had been swept, though not totally free of debris, telling me that Hank had attempted the cleanup himself.
    I kept my weapon trained as I made my way slowly over the hardwood floor. I cleared every room and then went into the bedroom, all the while knowing he wasn’t there.
    I used the nozzle of the gun to push open the unlatched bedroom door and entered. The blinds were drawn, the room dark. I flicked the light switch on the wall near the door.
    Empty room. Empty bed. Sheets pulled back. A depression in the white pillow where Hank’s head had been. The initial wave of relief washed through me with such intensity that I slumped against the wall. I lowered my weapon and let it rest lamely against my thigh.
    His scent clung to the room: the subtle aroma of dryer sheets, the faint mix of fresh citrusy herbs used at the Bath House, the barest hint of cologne—the good kind, the kind that probably cost me a week’s worth of wages—and lurking below all of them was a very basic, very potent, very masculine note.
    “There. See? Happy now? He’s obviously awake and has gone out.” I didn’t move. Rex let out a loud sigh. “No signs of forced entry or a struggle. He woke up and he went out. Elementary, my dear Watson.”
    As I holstered my gun, Rex let out a soft
“Oh.”
And then, “Oh shit. He didn’t call and tell you he was awake.”
    “So? Hank doesn’t have to tell me every move he makes, Rex.”
    If Hank was feeling better and had gone out … more power to him. He didn’t have to call me, didn’t have to tell me he was up and okay. I wasn’t his mother, his wife, or his girlfriend. We were friends and partners, and beyond that I wasn’t quite sure what we were.
    But I couldn’t lie—it would’ve been nice to hear from him.
    Alessandra was no doubt laughing her head off. I holstered my weapon and left the bedroom.
    “Come on, let’s go get Em. We can stop for ice cream on the way home.” Rex reached over my head to hold open the door.
    “You think this is an ice cream moment?”
    He paused, careful, as though treading on very shaky ground. “Umm … yes?” I didn’t respond.“No?” He searched his mind. “This is a Charlie needs to kick someone’s ass moment?”
    The hint of a smile tugged my lips. “No. You were right the first time. This is definitely an ice cream moment.”
    Because, damn it, I was crushing on the siren.
    He was awake, whereabouts unknown, and he hadn’t bothered to let me know.
    My cell rang at a quarter to midnight. Em was asleep. Rex was downstairs watching TV, and I was sitting on my bed in a tank top and underwear, reaching for the bedside lamp. My first thought was of Hank.
    I picked up the cell from the bedside table. As soon as I saw that it was the chief’s name flashed on the screen, I got up and went for my discarded clothes. “Hey, Chief.” I began tugging my jeans on, the phone trapped between my ear and shoulder.
    He wasn’t the chief of the Integration Task Force anymore. He was boss only to me and Hank and our small division on the fifth floor of Station One. But his old moniker wasn’t in any danger of dying out. He’d always be the chief to us.
    “Charlie.” His tone was deep and quiet. Not good. I sat on the bed to get my other foot into my jeans. “We have a situation.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Two jumpers. At the bottom of the Healey Building, Forsyth Street side.”
    I frowned. “Since that’s normally the ITF’s problem, I’ll take it there’s