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twenty-five, blonde runaways.
Three with K names—Kathy Miller, Karen Herschfeld and a ...
Kathleen Boule." Six pretty girls—from scary young to
hard-bitten—stared up at him.
    "Okay, so that's something, at least. Do we have any uniforms to do some footwork, or are we on our own?"
    She arranged shit like that. He just dug like a terrier.
    "Cap gave me Trewwater and Vargas. They're on the families, last
knowns, all that. Aggie's working the finger we got. You know how she
is. She won't give up a single fucking breath until the whole job's
done."
    "Yeah, and in the meantime I have a witness who's jumping out of his
skin at every noise." Greg fucking worried him. He was just fading,
like.
    "The professor needs a standing ‘scrip for Valium. Nothing
else has come?" Two books—one old one on surgery, one new one
about head injuries and mental illness, both splashed with blood
matching the finger, and stagnant water. The finger, conveniently
missing a print. That was it. Still, he'd bet Greg had stopped sleeping
in the bed. Again.
    "Not that I know of. I'm heading over in a bit, just to look around." Look around, check on Greg, maybe play backgammon.
    Leah nodded, curls bobbing as she started sorting through papers
again. "I printed a bunch of knife photos and truck makes to show him,
that sort of thing. He's locking his doors, recording phone calls
still?"
    "He is." He'd damned well better be. "I'll take them with me."
    The last thing he really wanted was to talk to Greg about the case, but they weren't talking on other stuff.
    "Oh, that bitch reporter? Uh ... Denice Powers. The one that blew
his cover? She's been sniffing, along with that little blonde one. Uh.
Ginny. Georgette. Something." Leah got that look, sharp and fierce, the
one that he knew meant trouble. "I'm thinking she might have heard from
our guy, to know to be asking questions already."
    Nodding, he sat back, his back cracking. "Fuck a duck."
    He'd kill her if she got Greg hurt. His brow furrowed. That was a fierce feeling, one he'd tuck away and look at later.
    "Could be nothing. Most likely is. Still, it's a reason to poke a
little." Leah pushed her hair back, rubbing her forehead, chewing on
her lips. "Tell me, man. Why now? Why'd he surface? We got no bodies,
we got nothing until he starts playing cat and mouse with the doc.
What's he want?"
    "I don't know, babe, but it's pissing me off. You need to go home.
Get some rest." She needed to sit and get off her fucking feet. Let Tim
give her a massage. Get away from all this death and blood. It couldn't
be good for the baby.
    Leah nodded, handed him a sheaf of papers. "I know you don't want to
hear it, but it's only a matter of time before we have to dig on the
professor's background, just to see who could hold this kind of focus,
who wants to screw him."
    Artie sighed. "I know, babe. I know." Hoisting up out of his chair, he grabbed his jacket. "Come on. I'll walk you out."
    She buttoned up, grabbed her own work from the desk.
    Rick passed by, winking at him, mischief written all over the man's
face. "Man, our favorite lady's getting puffy. I'm thinking she'll be
cute as all hell in a little pink polka-dotted maternity dress."
    "Suck my swollen ass, Garcia. Give me three minutes on the training
mat with you and you'll be begging to wear the dress." She made a fake
swipe for Rick's nuts and the man hooted, heading down to the Captain's
office with a pile of reports. Oh. Blah. Fucking reports. Typing.
Printing. He'd rather gargle razor blades.
    "Hello? Studmuffin? Artie?" Leah popped his arm, shaking her head.
"You're getting as bad as the professor. We're going to Chi-Chi's
tonight. Come with us. Have guacamole and a beer or two. Duke can wait
for his tuna."
    "Thanks, honey, but you and Tim go ahead. He's getting grumpier
about me encroaching on your time." He frowned. "And no beer for you."
    "Spoilsport." Leah stuck her tongue out, punched the button for the elevator. "Tell the doc hey for me and to take it