I was clean? As opposed to dirty? “Fuck you!”

Cam flinched, and I recognized the regret that flickered across his expression before he could hide it. “That’s not what I… I just meant…” He closed his eyes while I tugged my shirt back over my head, glad for the half second it shielded me from their scrutiny and judgment.

When I sank iair, dressed, but still pissed, Cam settled onto the arm of the couch. “I made Anne promise to let you out of this if you were bound to one of the syndicates.” Because, having lived in the city almost as long as I had—I was pretty sure he’d followed me there—he understood how dangerous and complicated her favor could make things for anyone sworn to serve on one side of the black-market divide.

It was very…compassionate of him, and it took real effort for me to deny the sudden rush of my own pulse. Because compassion was the last thing I needed from Cam Caballero. “I don’t want your pity, or sympathy, or whatever this is.”

“Fortunately, it looks like you don’t need it,” he said, with another glance at my now covered arm. “So let’s move on.”

Irritated that he seemed to be taking control of things, I turned back to Anne. “I’ll find your husband’s killer, and I’ll take you to him. But you can kill him yourself,” I said, careful not to actually refuse to do the second part of her request.

Anne paled, and Cam stood, scowling at me across my own desk. “No, Olivia.”

“What, she’s brave enough to come in here demanding vigilante justice, but not brave enough to do the job herself?”

Anne glanced back and forth between us, her purse trembling in her grip, but Cam answered before she could even open her mouth. “She’s never even held a gun. Even if she had any chance of actually pulling this off, can you really send her back to her half-orphaned daughter with blood on her hands?”

His point was subtle, but it still stung. Anne wasn’t like me. We’d started on the same path, sure. Parents, school, friends, college. Then Anne had continued down that path toward a respectable career, civil responsibility and family, while I had jumped the track entirely and derailed my own life with violence, under-the-carpet jobs and solitude.

If I made Anne take the shot herself, I’d be dragging her from her mostly tidy suburban life into the gritty reality of my own existence. Most people can’t commit murder then go on living their lives, even if that murder was actually justice. And I had no doubt Anne was one of those people.

But I was not. And Cam obviously knew that.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” I sighed, finally fully resigned to her request, and the last of the resistance pain faded. “You have a name or a sample of his blood?”

“Well, he didn’t leave a business card,” she snapped, her anger currently winning the battle against grief. “But I can get you several blood samples from the house.” She sniffled, then visibly swallowed tears. “They found Shen holding a bloody knife, so I’m hoping at least one of the blood samples will belong to his killer.”

But that made no sense. Why would a Skilled killer—especially a professional—leave his own blood at the scene? Maybe he was interrupted?

“The police left a huge mess, and obviously I haven’t had time to have it cleaned yet,” she continued.

Obviously? “Annika, when did he die?”

“Tonight.” She froned and glanced out the window, where the first rays of daylight had changed inky black to deep, dark blue. “Last night, I guess.”

“Last night?”

“Around eight o’clock”

“Your husband’s been dead for less than ten hours?” I rubbed my forehead, then let one hand trail though my hair. “Don’t you think you might be reacting before you’ve had a chance to really think about this?”

“No.” For the first time since she’d walked into my office, Anne looked at me as if she didn’t even know me. As if I was just some stranger she’d hired from an ad in the phone book. “And I would rather have this whole thing over with before I go pick up Hadley. I don’t want to have to think about this while I’m trying to decide how best to explain what happened to her father without scarring her for life.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say—I wasn’t sure rationality would have had much attraction for me, either, in her position. I opened my mouth to name my one condition, but she beat me to the proverbial punch.

“Liv, there’s one more thing…” Anne hesitated, and I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever else she had to say. “I want you to work with Cam.”

I sucked in a long, slow breath, hoping she would deliver the punch line to the world’s worst joke before I had to actually say something. But she only watched me, waiting. “No,” I said finally. “No way.” I turned to Cam for support, but could find no resistance to the idea in his expression. Instead, I found…satisfaction. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” I demanded

He crossed both arms over a still-broad chest. “Does it matter? Is it going to kill you to work with me on one job? For Anne?”

Yes, it just might kill me. Or him. But there had never been a less appropriate time to explain why I’d left him. Why working with him could be more dangerous than hunting and killing a murderer on my own. And it didn’t help that while my brain protested on the basis of logic, the rest of me ached for this excuse to be near him again, if only in a professional capacity.