Tobin and I headed back to my place, with a brief stop along the way.

  I was keenly aware of how dismal my fridge and pantry were. If we were going to get through the next twenty-four hours, we were going to need some food. Unfortunately, the wraiths were still out there, still hunting us, and our options were limited.

  We hit up a gas station, and the fare was, admittedly, poor. Neither of us could afford to get food poisoning right now, so anything cooked on site was immediately disqualified. No hotdogs or taquitos. We also wanted to try and avoid the sugar crash, which meant anything in a package was considered suspect. In the end, we settled on a couple cans of clam chowder, a family sized bag of pretzels, two iced espresso drinks, and a couple of cheese sticks. It was a far cry from fine dining, but given the circumstances, it would have to do.

  We returned to the car, and I kept my eyes peeled as I drove, but there were no signs of the wraiths or anything else. Turning onto my street, I found a parking spot only two cars down from my front door. I parallel parked and exited the vehicle.

  Pushing open my door, I paused two steps inside. My apartment smelled… good. Not like Febreeze good. More like green tea and herbs. The lights were on in the living room, and someone had vacuumed recently.

  The sensations of warmth and comfort hit me all at once, and I had a sudden urge to sprawl out onto the sofa right there and then, but I pushed it aside and told myself I had things to do first.

  Milo was still in my bedroom, right where we left him. He wasn’t awake, but his color looked better and his sleep seemed more peaceful. The sheets had been changed recently, and he was still hooked up to the heart monitor as well as the IV’s, but neither was blaring or flashing red, which I took to be a good sign.

  Dr. Hami had set up a cot in the corner of the room. He was seated in my recliner when we came in, reading a book and drinking a cup of green tea. According to him, it was still too early to declare Milo out of the woods, but he was steadily improving, and Dr. Hami was hopeful.

  I dropped my bag in the closet and made my way into the kitchen, where I poured the clam chowder cans into a pot and placed it on the stove. As it began to heat, I turned my attention to Yosemite.

  He sniffed at my hand but otherwise showed little interest. Peering into his cage, it didn’t take me long to see why. Dr. Hami had already changed his cage bedding, refilled his water, and topped off his food bowl.

  I withdrew my hand, opened the bag of pretzels, and dropped a couple of pieces into Yosemite’s cage, hoping they would make up for my long absence. He sniffed them tentatively, then seized one and began to nibble excitedly. The sight of him eating made me feel better.

  Yosemite and I had come together during a time when we’d both needed one another. Unfortunately, you could make the argument that he was dealing with his trauma better than I was. Call me crazy, but I sometimes worried that he might decide he was ready to move on. I didn’t much care for the idea of coming home to a silent apartment. Just because he was a hamster didn’t mean he wasn’t also my friend.

  Once the clam chowder began to bubble, I pulled it off the stove and divided it into two bowls. Tobin met me at the table, and the two of us ate in silence. Not out of any anti-social tendencies. We were just both exhausted. Afterward, I placed the unwashed dishes into the sink and changed into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

  None of my clothes would fit Tobin, for obvious reasons, but I found an old shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that had belonged to Alex before he left town.

  Before he left me.

  I sucked in a breath and let it out in a whoosh. Nothing like having a bunch of wraiths threatening your life to make you nostalgic for the past. I hadn’t dated much since Alex had left. Or, at all, really. It wasn’t a conscious choice. Things had just been busy. I’d kept telling myself I would get around to it when my case load calmed down but so far that hadn’t shown any signs of happening. It hadn’t helped when I found out he’d moved back to Boston during the Fairy Wars. He hadn’t called. And then, afterward, I didn’t call.

  And that was sort of it.

  I told myself it was for the best. Alex had a vision for his life, and it didn’t involve me running around the city investigating paranormal crimes. Sometimes, I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. If I wouldn’t have been better off giving it up. I knew the answer to that, but still, every now and again, I couldn’t help but to picture the life he envisioned for us. Living out in the suburbs and raising tomato plants is the sort of thing a lot of people aspire to. Maybe I could have found contentment out there.

  Then again, maybe not.

  I gave myself a shake and headed back into the living room. My bed was occupied and Tobin was laid out across my loveseat, so I settled for the couch, pointedly placing my gun beside me on the coffee table before dropping onto the worn cushions. I’d intended on catching a few hours sleep, but ten minutes was all it took to convince me that wasn’t going to happen. Tobin was faring likewise on the loveseat, and he didn’t object when I reached over and grabbed the remote control.

  I started by searching for a comedy or something in the vein of a Hallmark movie. Unfortunately, summer was the time of Blockbuster action flicks, and I just couldn’t bear to watch some CrossFit looking hero run and gun his way through untold hordes of enemies. Likewise, the sci-fi action flicks were too gore-filled to be really appealing.

  Tobin seemed to feel the same, and eventually we settled on one of those house hunting shows down in the Caribbean. He was a woodworker. She was a butterfly therapist. Their combined budget was just south of a million dollars, which makes you wonder what the heck kind of lives these people were living to be able to afford something like that.

  “They’re nuts if they don’t go for the one with the balcony,” I said as the first episode drew toward its close.

  “I like the one with the bay windows and the big backyard.”

  “You just want to cut the grass.”

  Tobin’s mouth flicked up toward a smile. “Guilty as charged. I actually saw an article recently that said this whole show is a ruse. Said the people already bought the house ahead of time.”

  I’d seen the same article, but for a little while I let myself forget.

  We watched a couple of Caribbean episodes then switched over to Europe. Eventually, that gave way to some sort of dating show where contestants spend weeks getting to know one another without ever laying eyes on the other. I’d say it was riveting, but let’s be honest, it was junk food for the brain. That was okay though. Sometimes you need that.

  As the episodes passed, so did the hours of the day, and little by little, the sun made its way across the skyline, eventually sinking below the buildings. I could feel it like a silent timer in my body, a soft countdown in the back of my mind. Eventually, it rang zero.

  Sighing, I rolled off the sofa, grabbed my gun, and made my way to the kitchen. I downed a glass of water and then retreated into my bedroom. I used the bathroom, then changed my clothes, hesitating briefly over what to wear. It wasn’t like I was technically going into work, after all. I hemmed and hawed, and eventually settled for jeans, hiking sneakers with good traction that claimed to be waterproof, and a loose-fitting black T-shirt that I tucked into my belt. I topped it all off with a black windbreaker jacket. I clipped my shield and my gun onto my belt, then double-checked that my flashlight and handcuffs were secure. Warman’s Blade came last and I patted it twice for good luck before walking back out into the living room.

  Tobin was waiting for me. He’d changed back into his gardener uniform and was standing by the door holding a pair of water bottles taken from my cabinet. He handed one over with an unsure smile. “Wouldn’t want to get dehydrated down there, now would we?”

  “No, we wouldn’t,” I said.

  A part of me wanted to say something encouraging. Something about how it would be all right, or how it would all be over soon. I hesitated, though, and the moment passed. Trying after it was gone would’ve seemed forced, so I clapped him on the shoulder, seized the doorhandle and pulled it open.

  Rickson stood there. One hand raised to knock. He gave a start as the door came open, then let his hand drop, his gaze switching back and forth between us before settling on me. “Chloe,” he said.

  “Evening, Rick.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Right,” I said. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

  Secrets Among Friends. Friday, August 7th 2100hrs.

  “Busy day?” Rickson asked.

  We were standing in my doorway. A soft summer breeze danced between the streets, it’s fingers tugging at my clothes as I adjusted my belt. Tobin was waiting in the car. I refused to let him out of my sight even if it meant risking that our words might carry.

  “You have no idea,” I said.

  “Actually, I kind of do.” Rickson was dressed as if off duty. Jeans and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I could see the outline of his gun in the shirt’s fabric.

  I took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “Something you want to ask me, Rick?”

  “I was just wondering when you and your friends started robbing museums?”

  Time slowed, and I stayed very still for a handful of seconds. “Who else knows?”

  “You mean did I tell anyone?” He shook his head. “Christ, Chloe.”

  “How is he?”

  “You mean the security guard? Uh, let me think. What was his name? Sorenson?”

  “Skarrson,” I said, fully aware that I had just incriminated myself if Rickson were wearing a wire. I was betting that he wasn’t but that’s the thing about bets. You can have all the information in the world and still get it wrong sometimes.

  “Yeah, him. He got peppered with crossbow bolts. Doctor thinks he’s going to live but he’ll have a long road to recovery ahead of him.”

  My chest loosened a fraction of an inch, and my hand shifted near my side. “Better than the alternative, I suppose. Did they get the shooter?”

  Rickson gave me a hard stare.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Figured you would know more about that than I do.”

  “Me? How would I know?”

  “Maybe because the shooter is one of yours?”

  I stared at him. “Oh, come on now. You don’t seriously think that do you?” His face didn’t change, and I sighed and shook my head. “You know me better than that, Rick.”

  He shrugged and spread his hands. “I thought I did. Now I’m wondering if I was wrong.”

  My jaw tightened, and I raised my face to meet his eyes. “I have no idea who the shooter is. They’ve shown up twice in as many days, and each time they’ve tried to punch my ticket.”

  “And you have no idea why?”

  I gave a half shrug and shifted my jacket aside. “Pretty sure it has something to do with this new case I’m working. I can’t say much more.”

  “A case.” He mulled it over in his mind, working the angles. I could tell he didn’t much like what he saw. “And this case has got you stealing from museums?”

  “It was supposed to be a quick in and out. And we’re borrowing more than stealing. We’re going to return it when we’re done.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded and held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Rickson stared at me then snorted and shook his head. “What the heck do you want with an old tree anyway?”

  I wanted to tell him. I really did. Rickson was a good man and a good friend, but anything I said now could come back to bite him if he were ever forced to testify. I didn’t want to put him in a situation where he would be forced to choose between being my friend and upholding his oaths. “Sorry, Rick. I wish I could tell you more. But I can’t.”

  He chewed on that for a long minute. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you’re up to.”

  “Not your job to protect me. It never has been. I appreciate everything you’ve done. You’re a good friend. But this is my choice. And I don’t need anyone taking arrows on my account.”

  “Except Skarrson, apparently.”

  “In fairness, he shot first. Trigger happy maniac. Regardless, the best way you can help me right now is just to stay out of my way.”

  “It’s like that, huh?”

  “Has to be,” I said, hand twitching at my side. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it’s what’s best for everyone.”

  “This could change your life. You get that, right? Never mind losing your job. We’re talking prison here.”

  “You going to arrest me, Rick?”

  “Don’t push me, Chloe.” He blew a hard breath through his nose and stared at the ground for a long moment before he shook his head. “It’s not my case.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “They assigned it to one of the detectives who works out of Dorchester. Her name’s Virginia.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Rumor is she’s more of a think tank officer. But she’s got a good reputation.”

  “She didn’t ask you for a report?”

  He shook his head. “We were more concerned with securing the scene. And then hunting this shooter.”

  I hadn’t considered it before now, but the shooter’s unexpected arrival could end up being a blessing in disguise. It would give the police someone to focus their attention on. With any luck, they would assume we were just regular lawn company employees who’d gotten caught in the middle and didn’t want to be involved. It would take them a while to figure out the truth, and by then the White Oak sample should have been returned and the matter could, hopefully, be laid to rest.

  “What does Lieutenant Kermit think about all of this?” Rickson asked. I didn’t say anything, and his gaze hardened. “Chloe?”

  “It’s better this way.”

  He exhaled. “Christ, you really are intent on isolating yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I’m on the clock here, Rick. I don’t have time to talk about professional ethics.”

  “How about a warning from someone who cares about you? You can’t keep going like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this,” he said, his exasperation leaking through. “Look at yourself, Chloe.”

  “I’m just trying to save two innocent lives.”

  “At the cost of your own?” He placed his hands on my shoulder and turned me to face him. “I know what this job means to you. But have you looked in a mirror recently? You’re running on fumes. You skip meals. You barely sleep. You’ve burned off every ounce of body fat you had on that stupid exercise bike, and your apartment could serve as a guide to minimalism.”

  “What’s your point, Rick?”

  “You’ve touched your gun six times since we started speaking.”

  I blinked, feeling a heaviness suddenly form in my chest. “What?”

  “Six,” Rickson repeated.

  “Huh.” Had I done that? I wasn’t sure, but even as I thought it, I felt my hand start to drift upward toward the grip. I had no intention of drawing my weapon from the holster. I just wanted to reassure myself that it was still there. That I wasn’t defenseless. That I was still alive.

  Rickson slowly let his hands drop. “Chloe we’ve been through the wringer together. More than once. And I’m telling you, as a friend, you’re headed down a dark path.”

  “You afraid I won’t be able to find my way back?”

  “I’m afraid you won’t want to. You’re like a race car driver, pushing yourself to your limit. Faster and faster you go, and everyone around you can see it’s only a matter of time before you….”

  “Crash?”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning bad guys don’t start out wanting to be bad guys. It happens one step at a time. One choice.”

  “There’s a bigger picture here. A greater good.”

  “Said every dictator ever.”

  His words hit me like a fist to the chest, causing me to swallow.

  “We’ve seen enough cops go bad to know how it goes down. You can wax poetic about the greater good, but what sets us apart from them is those invisible lines that we refuse to cross. The things, and people, we’re not willing to sacrifice.”

  “I’m trying to protect them. And you.”

  “By keeping us in the dark? How’s that going to work long term?”

  “Well….”

  “It’s not,” he said, cutting me off. “The path you’re walking down right now can only end two ways. Best case, you end up in prison or on the run. A fugitive from justice hunted by the very people you once swore to protect.”

  “That’s best case? What’s the other option?”

  “You end up like Mackleroy. A dirty cop who does more harm than good. Who poisons everyone around him. How many careers do you think he’s ruined during his time? How many victims in his wake?”

  “I’m not like that.”

  “Then prove it,” he said. “You’re not the new kid on the block anymore, Chloe. You have other officers looking up to you. They expect you to lead by example and cutting them out and keeping them in the dark might work on a short-term basis. But you’re going to pay for it down the line.”

  “Ease up, Rick. It’s not like I’m going to be running the division anytime soon.”

  “Oh, no? If not you, then who?”

  “Don’t know. Bulwark will have to find somebody for when Lieutenant Kermit gets ready to retire.”

  “I repeat. Like who?”

  “I… don’t know. But Bulwark hates my guts. First chance he gets, I’ll be out the door.”

  “If it were that easy, don’t you think he would have done it already?”

  I hesitated. Rickson had a point. Bulwark had been threatening to fire me practically since day one, but I was still here. And this was before I’d caught him diddling one of the academy cadets. He’d given me a wide berth since then, although I knew it was far from over.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Rickson said. “Maybe you’re destined to end up slinging coffee or working loss prevention. But you’re here now. So, why not do some good?”