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my hands in my duster’s pockets, careful of the bloodstained shard of glass wrapped in my handkerchief, and turned my face into the wind, closing my eyes.
    Relax, Harry, I told myself. Calm down. Breathe in and out, and just keep doing it. See? You aren’t dead. Dead people don’t breathe like that. You aren’t Spike, all torn to pieces on the floor. You don’t have any bullet holes in you, either. You’re alive, and Murphy’s all right, and you don’t have to look at that eyeless face anymore.
    But I could see the torn body, still, behind my eyelids. I could smell the ghastly stench of his opened innards. I could remember the blood, sticky on the dusty floor, congealing, thick with tiny flecks of drywall. I tasted bile in my throat, and fought to keep from throwing up.
    I wanted to scream, to run, to wave my arms and kick something until I felt better. I could understand Agent Benn’s reaction, almost, if she had been working a string of killings like the one I’d just seen. You can’t stare at that much blood for very long without starting to see more of it everywhere else.
    I just kept taking deep breaths, in and out. The wind was cool and fresh in my face, sharp with the smells of the coming autumn. October evenings in Chicago are chilly, breezy, but I love them anyway. It’s my favorite time of year to be outside. I eventually calmed down. Murphy must have been doing the same thing beside me, making herself relax. We both started walking back toward the car at the same time, no words needing to be passed between us.
    “I . . .” Murphy began, and fell silent again. I didn’t look at her, didn’t speak. “I’m sorry, Harry. I lost control. Agent Denton is an asshole, but he does his job, and he was right. Technically speaking, I didn’t have any right to be on the scene. I didn’t mean to drag you into all this.”
    She unlocked the doors and got in the car. I got in the passenger side, then reached out and plucked the keys from her hand as she began to start the engine. She quirked her head at me, narrowing her eyes.
    I closed my hands around the keys. “Just sit down and relax for a while, Murph. We need to talk.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry,” she said.
    “This is the thanks I get for saving your life. Twice, now. You’re going to hold out on me.”
    “You should know how it works,” she said, scowling. But she settled back in her seat and looked out the windshield of the car. We could see the police, forensics, and the FBI suits moving back and forth inside the building. We were both quiet for a long time.
    The funny thing was that the problems between Murphy and me came from the same source as the problems with Kim Delaney earlier tonight. Murphy had needed to know something to pursue an investigation. I could have given her the information—but it would have put her in danger to do so. I’d refused to say anything, and when I’d pursued the trail by myself all the way to its end, there had been some burning buildings and a corpse or two. There wasn’t enough evidence to bring any charges against me, and the killer we’d been after had been dealt with. But Murphy hadn’t ever really forgiven me for cutting her out of the loop.
    In the intervening months, she’d called me in for work several times, and I’d given the best service I could. But it had been cool between us. Professional. Maybe it was time to try to bridge that gap again.
    “Look, Murph,” I said. “We’ve never really talked about what happened, last spring.”
    “We didn’t talk about it while it was happening,” she said, her tone crisp as autumn leaves. “Why should we start now? That was last spring. It’s October.”
    “Give me a break, Murphy. I wanted to tell you more, but I couldn’t.”
    “Let me guess. Cat had your tongue?” she said sweetly.
    “You know I wasn’t one of the bad guys. You have to know that by now. Hell’s bells, I risked my neck to save you.”
    Murphy