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“Hey,” I said to him. “Can you call Adam at the Daily and postpone that interview and photo shoot. Jaime and I … we kinda got ourselves arrested. Adam’s waiting for us with the photographer. Bryce something-or-other.”
    “Dare I ask what’s going on?”
    “Mmm, better not. Seems someone thought they saw me near an explosion, which is total bullshit. I’ve been baby-sitting—”I cast a quick glance at Jaime, who faked a scowl. “Um, keeping Jaime company. Anyway, it’s a big misunderstanding that I’m sure will amuse everyone at the office later. I’m hoping this will be cleared up soon, but tell Adam to wait no more than thirty minutes. I know he has important things to do.”
    “All right.” Lucas paused, then asked, “Are you both okay?”
    “We’re fine. We didn’t embarrass ourselves too badly, so no emergency intervention required.”
    Another silence on his end.
    “Really,” I said.
    Medina twisted to look back at me. “A short call.”
    “Gotta go,” I said.
    “All right. Let me know if you need legal help.”
    “I’m sure we won’t. It’s just questioning.”
    Medina signaled for me to cut it off. I said good-bye and handed the phone back to Jaime.

TWO
    As we drove out of the city, I realized these were state cops. I suppose I should have noticed sooner. It seemed odd for an outside department to be involved in a big-city case, but maybe even years after Katrina, New Orleans was still in a state of bureaucratic upheaval.
    We pulled into a small station on a regional road surrounded by forest and swamp. Medina got out of the car as Holland made a note in his book. She opened my door. As I started to climb out, Holland opened Jaime’s door, then stopped dead.
    “What’s that?” he said.
    I turned to see some kind of black powder smeared on my seat.
    “Damn it,” I muttered. “Did I sit in that?”
    I went to wipe off my butt, but Medina grabbed my hands and yanked me into position so fast I barely had time to snap, “Hey!” before I stood spread eagled against the cruiser.
    Jaime yelped, genuine now, and tried to get out, but Holland pushed her back in and slammed the door.
    “Is that what it looks like?” he asked as Medina patted me down. “Something from the bomb?”
    “Could be,” she said.

    It wasn’t. Whatever ripped that building apart wasn’t some low-grade blasting powder. But showing any familiarity with what had caused the explosion—or bombs in general—seemed unwise.
    Medina patted my back pockets.
    “Only thing in there is my wallet,” I said. “But go ahead and check.”
    She pulled out the wallet. Then she reached into the other back pocket, stopped, and waved Holland over.
    “What?” I said.
    I tried to twist and look, but she slammed me against the car again. I craned to see, being careful not to move anything but my head. She was holding a folded piece of paper and a crushed cardboard tube sprinkled with black powder.
    “That wasn’t—”
    She shoved me against the car again, then unfolded the paper. Holland leaned over to read it. He swore. His gaze lifted to mine, lip curled in disgust. “So you knew nothing about the bombing? Then why is the address in your pocket?”
    “What? No. That wasn’t in my pocket. Not the paper or that powder. Look at my wallet. Notice anything odd? It’s soaked. Like my pocket. That paper and tube are dry, meaning it couldn’t have been in there.”
    “Okay, so how did you get wet?” Holland asked.
    “I … it’s kind of embarrassing, okay? I fell in a puddle. Landed on my ass.”
    “Yes, that is embarrassing,” Medina said. “But not as embarrassing as the truth.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Your wallet was in your back pocket. It probably fell into the toilet. I lost a cell phone that way once.”
    “No, my jeans are soaked—”
    “Then I guess that bathroom accident was even moreembarrassing. Or maybe you put these things in your pocket after you got them wet.”
    “I’ve been sitting