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“I haven’t canned you. If you think I intend to let you loose on the Boston Police Department, you’re mistaken, Sherlock. But you’ve already spoken to them, haven’t you? They kissed you off, right? No matter, don’t tell me just yet. I’ll call Ralph Budnack.”

She looked as if he’d struck her. Then she gave him the coldest smile he’d ever seen. Her chin went up. “I know how the killer got into the nursing homes in Florida to strangle those old ladies.”

He realized in that instant that he admired her brain. Was she trying to bargain with him? Make a deal? Gain some kind of leverage? “I see,” he said easily, sitting back in his chair, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. “I give you something and you give me something in return?”

“No. I guess I want to show you that I’m not a complete fool, that I do care about something other than the man who murdered my sister. I really don’t want any more old ladies to die. I just wanted to mention it before I forgot and left.”

“You wouldn’t have forgotten, just as you couldn’t bring yourself to put your sister’s death behind you and go on with your life. Now, I already told you. You’re not leaving. Go back to your desk, Sherlock, and write out your ideas on the Ghost. We’ll talk later.”

She didn’t want to talk to him. She wasn’t in his league. Her very first attempt at deception, and he’d nailed her but good. She hadn’t realized she’d been so obvious. But she had been. He’d seen through everything. His anger was frightening, since he didn’t yell. It was cold, so very cold, that anger of his. Why hadn’t he just plain fired her? She’d betrayed him.

Why?

He would, soon enough; she was certain of that. She’d fire herself if she were in his shoes. She would pull everything else out of the database and then she would just slip away. He would know what she’d done quickly enough, but who cared? She couldn’t continue here. He wouldn’t allow it; the breach had been too great, her conduct too far beyond the line. No, he wouldn’t allow her to stay, no matter what game he was playing with her now.

She’d barely sat down at her desk before Hannah Paisley said from behind her, “You’re stupid, Sherlock, or does he call you by your cute little first name, Lacey?”

“I’m not stupid, Hannah, I’m just very tired. Well, maybe I am stupid.”

“Why are you so tired? Did Savich keep you up all night? How many times did he fuck you, Sherlock?”

Lacey flinched at the harshness of Hannah’s voice, not the naked word. That naked word conjured up some smutty, frankly silly photos in Playboy, showing contorting bodies. Now that she thought about it, they hardly ever showed the men completely naked, just the women. Really naked.

“Please, Hannah, there’s nothing at all between us. Savich doesn’t even like me. In fact—”

“In fact what?”

Lacey just shook her head. No, let Hannah hear it from Savich. It would happen soon enough.

“Just look at me, Hannah. I’m skinny and very plain. You’re beautiful—surely you must know that. I’m no threat to you, please believe me. Besides I don’t like Savich any more than he likes me. Would you try to believe at least that?”

“No. I spotted what you were the minute you walked into the Unit.”

“What am I?”

“You’re a manipulative bitch. You saw Savich at the Academy and you got him interested so he’d bring you into the Unit. But you listen to me, you stay away from Savich or I’ll take you apart. You know I can. Do you hear me?”

Ollie came walking over, nearly sauntering, whistling, if Lacey wasn’t mistaken, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but she saw his eyes. He recognized what he was seeing and he didn’t like it. “Hey, Hannah, what’s happening with the Lazarus case? What does the guy use all those Coke bottles for?”

She wasn’t shaking because of what Hannah had said—no, Hannah and her ridiculous jealousy meant less than nothing to her. Lacey had seen other women in Savich’s office, young women, nice-looking women. Did Hannah go after all of them as well?

Who cared? Forget Hannah. She turned