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walked out, she reconsidered. “Sorensen, two minutes.”
    He did a one-eighty and sat back down in the chair. “Yes?”
    “How’s the search?”
    “Still haven’t found a new car. Why?”
    Virago looked over her glasses. Her lips were pursed. “I don’t have time for your games. You know what I mean.”
    “Captain, I’m okay. I don’t need a partner. Besides, if I need moral support, I can always talk to Chu.”
    She raised a finger to admonish him. Her expression was stern, but her voice sounded too tired to be vicious. “Sorensen, I’m about to reach the limit. I’ve been asking you for over six months to find a new partner. I know it’s hard to replace somebody like Chu, but you don’t have a choice.”
    “I have Jon. He’s actually helping a lot. I give him a hard time, but he’s bright and gets shit done.”
    “And he’s not a detective, so he’s not a valid replacement.”
    “I can manage.”
    “What about Lynch?” she asked, ignoring his comment.
    “No. I’ve told you many times. If I wanted a crippled partner, I already have one.”
    “Don’t be an asshole. Chu retired with MS. He’s not active, he doesn’t want to work anymore, and he’s happy spending quality time with his family, so leave it alone.”
    “He’s happy? Spending quality time? He’s happy not being able to make his own coffee or wipe his own ass? He’s happy? How is any of that quality time?” He raised his voice, and his right jugular pulsed with every heartbeat.
    “I’m sorry. You know what I meant.” She lowered her voice but met his eyes.
    Sorensen shook his head, willing himself to calm down. He knew she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
    “Chu retired. You have to move on—that’s all I’m saying. Besides, you know I respect Chu a lot and he’s one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with, but he’s gone, and you have to pick a new one or I’ll assign one for you.”
    “Fine. Give me a couple weeks.”
    “These cases would go a lot faster if you worked with a partner.”
    “ Okay, fine. Give me a week.”
    “I want three names no later than next Monday morning.”
    Sorensen nodded and left Virago’s office.

CHAPTER 10
    T yler Warren eased his Tesla into a spot right outside the Los Altos Rod and Gun Club door. He had the best parking karma. He grabbed his large black duffle bag from the trunk and looked at the sky. Not a cloud and no wind. He opened the store’s door after hearing the double beep of the car lock.
    “Mr. Warren, how are you this morning?” Carmela asked from behind the counter. Two deep dimples framed her smile.
    “Excellent, excellent,” he said.
    “I have row eight outdoors for you ready. The one at the very end, just as you requested.”
    “You always take good care of me,
chiquita.
”
    When he saw her cringe, he winked and scribbled his signature on the form she’d pulled out when he came in.
    Warren made a point of not using her real name, which was diplayed on a tag pinned to her double-D chest. Ever since his first visit to the shooting range about two years earlier, he’d taken some guilty pleasure in seeing her face react when he called her
chiquita
. He didn’t know why he did it, and he was amazed that it hadn’t gotten old yet.
    The store lighting reflected against the yellow walls. The large glass cases contained everything from vintage and antique guns, to revolvers and semiautomatic pistols of all sizes and calibers, and all the accessories a shooter could ever wish for. Shotguns and rifles occupied the wall space, and the shelves were filled with ammunition boxes.
    “Excuse me,” Warren said, passing behind a man drooling over a gun he probably would never be able to afford. His duffle bag brushed the man’s shoulder, but he didn’t protest.
    He stopped before a pair of large double doors and fetched his 3M Peltor earmuffs. He eased them over his slick, gelled black hair and went inside. Warren passed by the rows of indoor shooting,