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Halle frowns. “Which part are we referring to here? You trusting a mysterious person who says they can have this case dismissed or you working with Rowan Vasilyev?”

“Both?” I try.

“I understand why you are choosing to trust the email, but when it comes to Rowan…” she trails. “I don’t know, Alex.”

My tattoo burns, but I ignore the weird feeling I get in my belly when I think about what happened. “Nothing is happening between us. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Say it enough times and maybe you’ll believe it too,” she shoots back.

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, Halle’s phone buzzes on the wooden table. She groans, reaching over to pick it. When she looks at the screen, she immediately pales, a deep frown forming on her forehead.

“Hello?” she says.

The person on the other end says something, and she nods once, a laboured jerk of her head. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. Yeah. I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When she cuts the call and looks at me, I immediately know what it was about. The police are calling her in for more questioning.

“They want me to come in for questioning,” she says, echoing my thoughts.

“Right now?” I ask.

“Not necessarily, but I got the feeling it’s better I go now.” She pauses. “That’s a good thing, right? That they gave me an option? If they were going to arrest me, they would have just shown up here.”

She’s right. It means they are digging for something, but they don’t have enough to arrest her yet.

I nod, trying for a smile. “It’s probably just standard questioning.”

She bites the corner of her bottom lip, her eyes losing focus for a second, but she quickly recovers and shoots me that reassuring smile that is quintessentially Halle. It’s a smile she would give me when it was too cold in the house, and she would hand me her coat, telling me she couldn’t feel the cold at all.

I’m made of ice, Alex. You are fire.

“I’ll get ready,” she says, pulling me out of my memories.

I stand, pulling out my car keys. “I’ll drive.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’ll get a taxi. I don’t want you there worrying.” I open my mouth to protest, butthe way she’s looking at me tells me that there is no room for argument. “I’ll let you know once I’m done, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I want to argue.

When I leave Halle’s apartment, I don’t want to go back to my own place. It feels claustrophobic in there, knowing Rowan walked through it and touched my stuff. It’s only six p.m. so I decide on going somewhere else instead.

The Mastis a bar near the OCU building that we all go to for Thirsty Thursdays. Tonight, it’s full of hockey fans, dressed in oversized black and green jerseys that mark allegiance to the northwestern area of Senna, places like Queen’s Peak and Flower District, The Snake’s playground.

I take a seat by the bar, as men scream when the referee makes what they deem a bad call. I’m not here for the hockey. In fact, I don’t know the first thing about it, but I do need a drink, something that will stop me from worrying about Halle and checking my phone every two seconds.

“Long day of crime fighting?” Nate, the bartender asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

He smiles, shooting me a quick wink. “I’ve got just the cure.” He walks away before returning with a shot glass filled to the brim with foamy black liquid. “Baby Guiness,” he says, sliding it over to me. “Goes down easier than the tequila.”

I probably shouldn’t drink. I should wait for Halle to call me, but I need to feel something other than the overwhelming anxiety that has made a home in my bones for the last few weeks.

“Thanks,” I say, lifting the glass and downing it. He’s right, it doesn’t burn as much as tequila does. A part of me wishes it did.

There’s another loud cry and flinging of arms from the gathered hockey watchers and Nate rolls his eyes as slides a beer to me and gets back to serving the other customers. I slip outmy phone again but there is nothing from Halle yet. It’s been an hour now. What could they possibly be asking her?

“Sorry about my friends, but it’s a qualifier tonight and the ref sucks,” a deep voice comes up next to me. I turn to find a man dressed in the black and green jersey, an apologetic smile on his face.