“Chief, it was just me and Frank and some of the boys shooting the breeze.”

“I don’t care what it was. And I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Blackwell pounded his fist against his desk. “I don’t understand this, Mike. Hell, you’re supposed to be the sensitive one on the force. The college man with the graduate degree. The English major, for God’s sake. And you’re behaving worse than the worst of the old-guard male chauvinists. The difference being-they don’t know any better. You do.”

Mike’s mouth felt dry. “Chief, you know I don’t have a problem with women working on the force-”

“I don’t know that I do, Mike. I used to. Now I’m not so sure.” He leaned across his desk. “What do you think would happen if word got around about this? What if the press got a hold of your ‘panties’ remark? What if it got back to the mayor? Huh? I can assure you she would not find it amusing.”

“Sir, I have absolutely no objection to women police officers. Or even personally working with women. It’s just… this woman. Baxter. I can’t work with her.”

“Why? Are you hot for her?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that Sergeant Baxter is quite attractive. And I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice, either. Is that the problem? Do you have feelings for her? Are you suppressing your sexual frustration with open hostility?”

“Sir, I can assure you that isn’t the case.”

“Yeah, I hear your mouth working. But I’m not sure your brain is along for the ride.” He rapped a pencil on his desk. “That would explain a lot. I’m aware that your personal life has been totally screwed up ever since your divorce. Rarely a date, from what I hear. Hanging out with defense attorneys. Perverse stuff like that.”

“Sir, I give you my personal guarantee. There is no sexual attraction. If the rest of the female population were covered with pustulant weeping boils, there would still be no sexual attraction.”

“Says you.” Blackwell stared across the desk at him. Mike didn’t remember ever seeing the man look so angry. “May I remind you how this assignment started, Major? It started because you screwed up. Badly.”

“Sir-”

“Just shut up and listen. A lot of the higher-ups thought I should’ve yanked your badge right then and there, after you butted into that hostage scene where you had no business and made a mess of it. But I said no. I said give him another chance.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“Our record as an equal opportunity employer has not always been the best. The mayor wants to change that.” He paused, looking squarely at Mike. “You can see where she might have an interest in that sort of thing. She wants Baxter to succeed. And therefore, so do I. That’s why I assigned her to you. And that’s why you are going to do everything possible to make the assignment a success. Do you understand me?”

Mike’s face tightened. “I suppose.”

“I will not accept excuses, Mike. You will make this work.”

“I’ll do my best-”

“Don’t give me that schoolboy crap about doing your best. You will make it work. Are we clear on that?”

Mike stood at attention. “Yes, sir!”

“I’m tearing up this bogus report you wrote. I wouldn’t allow that to sit in anyone’s file, much less Sergeant Baxter’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blackwell pointed a finger. “And make no mistake about it, Mike. I don’t care how long we’ve worked together. If you screw this up, I’ll have your badge.”

“Chief-!”

“I mean it, Mike. You keep that in mind as you continue to work with your new partner. You want this to work.” He lowered his voice. “Because it’s not just her career that’s on the line here. It’s yours.”

Ben was almost out his front door when Joni stopped him. “Got some news.”

He pulled the door closed behind him and locked it. “Mr. Perry finally going to pay his bill?”

“Not that exciting.”

“You got the Silvermans’ air conditioner fixed?”

“Not that mundane, either.” She shifted her weight, and as she did, Ben couldn’t help but notice the tool belt slung low around her hips. Pretty darned appealing, as handymen go. “It’s about that bundle of fur you room with.”

“Giselle?”

“Yeah, that one. I took a look at her last night, before you got home.”

“Did you take her to the vet?”

“Didn’t need to. It’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious? Feline schizophrenia?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. All the signs were there. Moodiness. Strange behavior. Desperation to get outside. All those cats swarming outside the house. All of them male.”

“Is this Final Jeopardy?” Ben asked. “Because if it is, I’m about to lose everything I wagered.”

“That’s because you, for all your brains, are so pitifully unaware of some of life’s little fundamentals.”

“Like what?”

“Like sex, Ben.” She grinned. “Your cat is in heat.”

Ben was nonplussed. “Then get her a fan.”

Joni sighed. “Come along, Benjy. We’re going to have a little talk. The one your daddy should’ve had with you a long time ago…”

The man who greeted Ben an hour later at the front door of the laboratory was wearing a white coat with a pocket protector that held an array of pens and pencils and even a small calculator. Ben supposed he looked the very image of an industrial chemist, but for some reason he kept thinking of Sherman and Mr. Peabody.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Dr. Reynolds.”

“Not at all.” Conrad Reynolds was a short, balding man in his late forties, and remarkably convivial for someone who spent his days with test tubes and formulae. “I still remember Ray Goldman fondly. And Frank Faulkner, for that matter. Please come inside.”

Ben followed him through the door. The front lobby of the building was about as stark as it was possible to be without becoming a warehouse. No attempt whatsoever had been made to meliorate the trek from the door to the elevator bank. Only a single sign that read: prairie dog flavors, inc.

“Mind if we go upstairs?” Reynolds asked. “I’ve got some chairs in my lab. And there are a few others you should talk to.”

“People who knew Ray?”

“And Frank, yes. All those years ago. Not many employees have lasted that long, but a few.” They rode up three floors.

When they stepped out, they faced a heavy iron sealed door. “I’m afraid the security around here is in the same league as the Pentagon’s. Excuse me just a sec. Retinal scan.”

Ben grimaced. “Can I wait outside?”

“That was retinal, Mr. Kincaid. Re-tin-al.” Reynolds pushed a button, and a screened panel on the door flickered to life. Reynolds pressed his face against it. A red light flashed across his eyes. A moment later, Ben heard the door click open.

“Wow. That really works? I thought that was just on Star Trek.”

“This isn’t even new tech,” Reynolds replied. “We’ve had this for more than a decade. Nowadays they’re using voiceprints and DNA tests.”

“Is all this necessary?”

Reynolds nodded. “Our owners are very protective of our secrets.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

Reynolds gestured toward the interior. “Because the stuff we come up with in here is worth billions, that’s why.”

Ben stepped into what seemed to him a prototypical chemistry lab, not that he would really know. There were long tables covered with tubes and Bunsen burners and vials of brightly colored fluids held upright in wooden racks, some of them labeled with long Latinate names. It reminded Ben of his organic chemistry lab class back at OU. He only hoped he handled this case better than he had the class.

The one difference was the smell. Marvelous mouthwatering aromas assaulted his senses the moment he stepped inside. Part bakery, part steakhouse, part patisserie. No wonder Reynolds seemed so genial. If Ben worked in a place that smelled this nice, he’d probably be happy, too.