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out into the nightlife traffic. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find her still awake.
    “Sorry for the delay,” I told her sincerely. “Do you still want some company?”
    “Of course!” she said eagerly. “Shall I brew the tea or uncork the wine?”
    “Wine,” I said firmly. “Definitely the wine.”
    “That sounds rather ominous.”
    Dear Elizabeth—perceptive as always. “You have no idea,” I informed her. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”
    Fortunately, Eliza’s house was nestled in one of the elite neighborhoods of Chicago’s North Shore and so wasn’t that far a drive from headquarters. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in her foyer, finding myself the recipient of Eliza’s warm embrace.
    No matter how often we saw each other, Eliza had a way of making me feel like she had desperately missed me while we were apart and couldn’t wait to hear all about the events of my life.
    As I followed my friend into her favorite sitting room, I was struck as always by the tasteful yet opulent decor of the Darcy home and how perfectly it reflected Elizabeth’s personality—warm, open, comforting, but exhibiting just enough sass to make it interesting without being pretentious.
    The moment I curled up on my favorite sofa I had in my hand what I knew would be a fabulous glass of Pinot Noir. As soon as Elizabeth had procured her own glass, she nestled into the opposite corner of the sofa, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement.
    “Rough day, dearest?” she asked with a grin as I took a long draft of my wine.
    Yep, it was just as good as I’d imagined.
    I laughed a little, in spite of how I felt. “You could say that.” I took another sip, smaller this time, then let out a long sigh. “One of my marks committed suicide on me tonight.”
    Elizabeth’s lovely face contorted into a concerned frown. “Are you all right?”
    Leave it to Elizabeth to be more concerned about my well-being than the details of the story. It was moments like these that reminded me why we were friends.
    I nodded, staring down at my wine. “It doesn’t make sense, though,” I told her. “He was scared to death of being taken in—literally, as it turns out. What would make a person so afraid that he’d take his own life?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know,” Elizabeth told me gently. “But I do know that if anyone can discover the truth, it’s you.”
    “That’s just how the night started, ” I told her before draining my glass. Without even asking, Elizabeth got up and poured me another. As soon as I was holding the next installment, I continued, “Right after you called I got another call from Al at headquarters, requesting my presence in his office posthaste.”
    Eliza’s brows rose just enough to indicate her surprise. “Oh?”
    I let my head drop back against the cushions as I sank lower into the couch. “There’s a series of murders the FMA’s investigating and they want me to bring in the three main suspects.”
    “That’s not so unusual, is it?” Elizabeth asked, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, waiting for my response.
    I shook my head a little, wishing I could tell her more specifics. “No,” I replied, “not so unusual. It’s just a tough case.”
    “I imagine so.”
    We sat in silence for a long while, sipping our wine and listening to the fire in the fireplace crackle, the occasional pop enough to keep me from dozing off in the warm glow of firelight and friendship. Then I heard Eliza’s barely perceptible sigh and sat up straighter, suddenly realizing what a lousy friend I was.
    “How are you ?” I asked, feeling guilty for not asking sooner. “Is everything okay?”
    Elizabeth gave me a tight smile. “Mmm-hmm. I love being in the Here and Now,” she said rather whimsically.
    “But?”
    “But Darcy . . .”
    “Still not adjusting so well?” I filled in.
    She shook her head, confirming my suspicions. “I thought it would get easier. . . . It really has been