“I didn’t know you had a guy down there. Nor did I know Daniel over there was so paranoid that he disabled the fire escape. You might have shared your plan with me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Except my fingernails hurt. How’s your hand?”

“It’ll heal. Especially when it’s holding a ten-thousand-dollar check. So, I guess it’s your turn: What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, right, the Twelve. My sources say the Twelve are a group of imprisoned demons who escaped hell and are coming here to rip me apart.”

He stilled.

“No, wait, to rip me to shreds. I think that’s what he said.”

He leaned against the tailgate with me, testing the bandages on his hand. “Dr. von Holstein told me there were several mentions of the Twelve. I’ll ask him to look closer at that.”

“Sounds good. In the meantime, be really really really really careful.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yeah, some men broke into my apartment and said I had to find this lady within forty-eight hours or my friend was dead.” I took out a photocopy Cookie made me of the picture. “The problem is, I have no idea which friend it is.”

“I didn’t think you had any friends.”

“I have you,” I said, petting his manly biceps. “You don’t happen to know her, do you?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. But I can look into it.”

“Thanks. And just so you know, I have no intention of finding this woman. It could get sticky.”

“Sticky works.” He put the folded picture in his back pocket. “So what happens when the Twelve get here?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, we all die a horrible, painful death. Or I could use the dagger you found. I figure I’ll just talk them all into throwing themselves on it, one at a time.”

“Your plans suck.”

“People keep telling me that.”

“I had a thought recently,” he said.

“Just one? Don’t strain your brain.”

“I think we should work together.”

Another partner. First Aunt Lil, now Swopes? Was there something going on I didn’t know about?

“You have a job,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but I want to broaden my horizons.”

Well, I already had Aunt Lil on board. We could be a threesome, I guessed. We could be the Terrific Trio. It could work.

“I’ll think about it. Do you have any references?” I asked.

“None that would really impress you.”

“Hmm, we can work around that.”

“We should grab a bite. Talk about it.”

A woman in a yellow halter and cutoffs walked around the corner, took one look at the plethora of cop cars and the ambulance, and turned back the way she’d come. I wondered if she was the girl sent by Crystal. “What about Muffy?” I asked Garrett.

“Who’s Muffy?”

“Daniel’s Yorkie.”

“Well, okay, but only one. I’m not that hungry.”

“She needs a home.”

“Don’t look at me,” he said, horrified I’d looked at him.

“Swopes, I can’t take her. I’m never home.”

“And I am?” When I glared, he said, “Fine, I think I know someone who will take her. But you’ll owe me. Again.”

I snorted. “I don’t owe you. Just because I got you shot a few times and sent to hell doesn’t mean I owe you.” He didn’t answer. We were at a stalemate. An impasse. A standoff. I caved first. It never took long. “Fine. What do you want?”

He looked at the activity around us as he spoke. “Do you remember that woman who kept coming over just to have sex? Marika?”

“Yeah, sure. You said she had a son. He might be yours.”

“Yeah, well, I want to know for sure.”

That should be easy enough. “You want me to ask her?”

“No. She put her husband down as the father. She’d never tell you the truth.”

“Ah, but that’s my specialty. I can tell when people are lying, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll give you the name of the father. And I don’t want her to know I’m looking into it. If someone starts asking around, she’ll get suspicious.”

“Okay, what, then?”

“I’ll let you know later,” he said as Javier walked up to us. “Until then, do you know any good Yorkie recipes?”

“That’s not even funny.”

“It’s a little funny. We should still grab a bite. Talk about our future together.”

“Don’t get any ideas about us, Swopes. I’m nigh affianced. And I only put out for coffee.”

“I read your status updates,” he said. “I know the score.”

I frowned. “I could cook

you

for dinner, instead. Roast you over an open pit of flames.”

One side of his mouth slid north. “Been there. Done that.”

I winced at the reminder.

* * *

After answering questions from the APD and taking a tongue-lashing from the owner of the apartment building, who was very particular about his fire escapes, I said my good-byes to Mr. Garrett Swopes and headed downtown, Mr. Andrulis and I driving until we came to an ever-familiar mental asylum. It wasn’t familiar because I’d spent time there or anything. This mental asylum had been abandoned in the ’50s and housed one of my favorite people on planet Earth, the Rocket Man.

The last time I saw him, I’d behaved very badly. I hadn’t been back since, mostly because I’d threatened to rip his little sister, who was five, to shreds if he didn’t answer my questions. Shame consumed me at the memory. I had driven here more than a few times in the last couple of weeks, and each time I couldn’t bring myself to go in.

I sat in front of the building for ten minutes before I realized I was not going in this time, either. Well, that and the fact that a car had followed me for several blocks and was now parked down the street doing the same thing I was doing. Sitting and waiting.

At first I thought it might be the guy from that morning with the camera, but it was a different vehicle and the driver had dark hair. I pulled out the telephoto lens I’d recently acquired from a guy selling telephoto lenses and Chia pets out of his trunk. I bought it so I could be a real PI and take photos from a distance instead of just on my phone. Way too many instances where I had to get really close for a money shot, only to be chased down the street by men trying to scam an insurance company for a neck injury that kept them from being able to walk at all. Those guys could book it. I took a few shots over my shoulder, trying not to scare the guy away. And/or convince him to come after me. Car chases were never as fun in real life as they looked in the movies.

When I scrolled through what I’d shot, mostly the inside of my Jeep, I picked up my phone and dialed the office.

“Davidson Investigations,” Cookie said. That sounded way more professional than my greeting, which often mentioned flavored lubricant.

“Yes, ma’am, can I get a pizza, thin crust, extra pepperoni?”

“No.”

Gah. Testy much? “I think someone is following me.”

“Is he in a white coat and carrying a butterfly net?”

Odd that she would say that while I was sitting in front of a mental asylum.

“No, but I know who it is. And I know who sent that cop to take pictures of me this morning.”

“A cop took pictures of you this morning?”

“Yes, I posed for the annual Daughters of the American Revolution dessert calendar. You’d be surprised at how good cupcake pasties look on me.”

“Doubt it.”

“You saucy minx. Actually, I think I’m being set up, and I just want it on the record that whatever it is they’re going to say I did, I didn’t.”

“Well, nobody can say life with you is boring.”

“Thank God.”

“Any idea who’s behind it?”

I glanced down at the camera screen again. “Sure do. He’s tall, wears a uniform, and seems to come out of nowhere.”

“Superman?”

“Captain Eckert.”

“The captain?” she asked with a soft gasp. “Why? What does he have to gain?”

“I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll be paying the captain a visit very soon. Until then, what do we have?”