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right?”
    “Just overworked. But who isn’t these days?” He scanned the stark office with its old metal desks in three corners, filing cabinets in the fourth, and a huge window with crappy locks. Locks that apparently didn’t get used, because the fan kept the window propped open. “Your father was worried when you didn’t show up at the restaurant.”
    She gave him a one-shoulder shrug, a bead of sweat on her brow the only sign of what she’d been through. “He cancels on me. I cancel on him. It’s a thing we do. Make appointments. Pretend we want to see each other but find an excuse at the last minute.” She straightened, her thumb fidgeting with the butt of the gun. “Were you at the restaurant with him?”
    “We waited for an hour before we started looking for you.” He pivoted back out into the hall toward the rear entrance. He twisted the dead bolt right below a Crime Stoppers placard bolted down at eye level.
    “Don wanted us to meet up?” Shay called from a few steps behind. “That old man is crazier than I thought.”
    “He told me you’re interested in starting up a Civil Air Patrol squadron for teens here.” Vince turned around and shouldered past her on his way to the front door, assessing the place for the best way to stage surveillance.
    The walls were lined with pen and ink sketches and watercolor paintings, obviously by the teens, framed and mounted by the staff in some kind of attempt to re-create a mom’s refrigerator door. As if that would be enough to make them think someone cared.
    Shay reached past to flick both bolts. “You can tell Don I did lock up and set the alarm system.”
    So she still didn’t call Don “Dad.” He’d never understood that. He would have killed to have a father like Don Bassett. “The kid probably picked it open with a fourth grade magician’s set.”
    “Vince, you’re new here. We do the best we can with what we have.”
    “You should have called your dad to meet you here. Any man would have been over in a heartbeat.” He pulled out his phone. “As a matter of fact, I should text him now.”
    “Why don’t you do that on your way back to your car?” She smiled for the first time.
    “Motorcycle.” He glanced down at his cell phone and away from how pretty she looked when she ditched the scowl. “Your dad hooked me up with a killer loaner while I’m on leave.” He thumbed the rest of his text message to Don. “It’s not often a guy on a government salary gets to drive a 1098R Ducati.”
    “Of course he did. He would do anything for you.”
    He glanced up from his phone. “Aren’t you kinda old for jealousy?”
    She blinked her expression blank, the tiny gold studs in her ears the only visible glint. Even her lips were free of so much as lip gloss. “Thank you for coming in when you did. The police will be here any minute.”
    “I’ll stick around while you wait. They’ll want my statement, too.” Vince stood his ground. The clock ticked through another two minutes.
    She sighed. “Well, Vince, your hairdo—or lack thereof—is different, but you’re obviously still you.”
    He scrubbed his palm over his shaved bald scalp. “Cuts down on morning grooming.”
    Her eyes followed his hand so intently he could almost swear he felt her touch replacing his on his bare skull. A touch he’d wanted once upon a teenage fantasy, except nothing, but nothing could have made him betray Don Bassett’s trust. Even thoughts of getting naked with Shay in those days had left him with a guilt so heavy he’d rediscovered his path to the confessional.
    He pivoted away from her, the air too thick with the scent of soap. Soap, for God’s sake. “Where the hell are the police?”
    “Probably busy with a dozen other bigger problems. I expect it’ll be a while before they get around to taking my statement.” She crossed to the window and turned on the box fan. “Thank you for putting yourself in harm’s way to help. I really do mean