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My gaze ping-ponged between the envelope and Rita, astonishment at the gift warring with astonishment at what she said.

“My dad’s Cherokee, yeah. Hardly anybody sees that in me.

My coloring’s all wrong.” I had Dad’s black hair, but I’d gotten sunburnable pale skin and green eyes from my Irish mother, and people rarely saw past that to notice my bone structure.

In black and white, I looked Indian. In color, I looked Irish.

“Um. God, Rita. I’m not sure I can accept these.

I mean, like, legally, ethically, all of that.

I had to make the lady who runs my favorite Chinese restaurant stop giving me free food when I became a cop… ”

“Take them.” She patted the envelope, then pulled her hands away.

“I really can’t use them, percussion makes me crazy.

If you can’t use them yourself, you probably know more people who could than I do.

” She made a small gesture at herself and added, “Most of the people I know wouldn’t pass the dress code. ”

I smiled. “You’re assuming I’ve got something nicer to wear than what I’ve got on.

” I did, but even my polyester pants were probably more suitable to an evening out than Rita’s blaze-yellow safety jacket.

On the other hand, this was the Pacific Northwest. I doubted they’d throw her out if she turned up in it.

I picked up the tickets and tapped them against the table, then nodded and tucked them in my coat pocket.

I was sure Morrison wouldn’t approve, but I didn’t want to insult the woman.

I’d go back to the office and skulk around until he showed up so I could ask him what to do about them, out of Rita’s sight and hearing.

For the moment I said, “Thank you. It’s not at all necessary, you know that, right? But thank you.”

“I know. But I can’t use them, and it made an excuse to meet you.”

She had a smile to break my heart. I wondered what her story was, and couldn’t think of a way to ask without seeming rude. We chatted a few minutes longer, then at the same time glanced toward the clock on the O’s back wall and said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back.”

I grinned, and Rita added, “The shelter starts serving dinner at four and I help cook, so I need to catch a bus back downtown. I hope you go to the concert, Detective. And thank you for letting me meet with you.”

I shook my head. “Thanks for coming up. We don’t usually get visitors who are just coming to say hi.

Usually something terrible’s happened. It’s nice to see something wonderful happening instead.

” Especially after today, but that was yet another thing she didn’t need to know.

We got up and I figured if I was going back to the office, I might as well return bearing gifts.

I ordered Morrison what the menu called a St. Patrick’s Day Latte, and examined the doughnut cabinet, which had an array of mint-to pine-green frosted doughnuts lined up by hue.

The drink that came back was swamp-green and decidedly nasty-looking.

Rita gave it, then the doughnut cabinet, a considering look, then smiled at me.

“I’ll go catch my bus while you decide if you’re brave enough to bring someone that horrid-looking drink or make people break a bunch of Lenten promises with those doughnuts.

It was nice to meet you, Detective Walker. ”

“I think I’ll do both.” I ordered one of each shade of doughnut and waved goodbye at Rita at the same time.

“It was nice to meet you, too. Visit again sometime, okay?” She nodded on her way out the door, and a couple minutes later we waved again as I hurried past the bus stop back to the precinct building.

Billy had returned by the time I got back and took the latte with a suspicious sniff.

I’d meant it for Morrison, but Billy’s grimace after taking a sip made me just as glad he’d swiped it instead.

The rest of the Homicide detectives swarmed the doughnut box like a pack of wolves, and I retreated to Morrison’s office, ticket envelope held between my fingers like it might bite.

He was concentrating on paperwork, which gave me a moment to stare at the top of his head and get my nerve up.

I usually thought of him as silvering, but looking at the top of his head made it clear he was really just silver.

He wasn’t that old, not yet forty. I wondered when he’d started going gray.

Not that it mattered. It looked good on him, playing into the whole aging-superhero look that I thought of as being his thing.

I rattled myself and tapped on his door. Morrison glanced up, curiosity sliding across his face. “You look nervous, Walker. Caldwell said the interview went well. What’s wrong?”

“You said to come by, and besides, I have a ques…” My knees buckled a little as my brain caught up to what he’d said. I caught myself on the door frame. “She said that?”

Morrison elevated an eyebrow. “Did you think other wise?”

“Morrison, I’ve never shot…” I closed the door behind me and sat down, probably signaling to everyone in the open office area outside that I was in trouble again, but for once I didn’t care, possibly because for once I wasn’t actually in trouble.

“I’ve never shot anyone before,” I said quietly.

“I’ve never spent any significant time talking to a shrink.

I had no idea if it went badly or well.”

“I’ve talked to Holliday and Caldwell. They’re both working up their reports, and I saw you already dropped yours off. It was a shit situation, Detective, and from what I’m seeing so far you handled it as well as you could’ve.”

“Even…” I waved a hand, encompassing the whole magical aspect of my skill set which I’d utterly failed to use.

“As you said, if it was anyone else, I wouldn’t even have asked. I shouldn’t have asked you. You did what I’d expect any detective to do when her partner was in danger. The suspension is still in effect,” he warned me. “I can’t do anything about that.”

“No, I know, it’s fine. It’s standard procedure.

I just…” The last word came out as a shuddering breath and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying not to let stinging tears overwhelm me.

My hands smelled like maple frosting and cinnamon now, a vast improvement over the pre-shower scent of blood.

“Sorry. I’m a little up and down. I just, I feel like I made the right choices, but it helps to hear you say that, sir.

Thank you. And if there’s anything else I need to do or not do while the incident is being looked into… ”

“Just keep your nose clean. You can manage that for three days, right?”

I groaned and pushed the envelope across his desk at him. “I don’t know. Tell me if this qualifies. The woman whose life I saved down at the Fremont Troll in December just gave me these.”

Morrison shook the tickets free of the envelope before eyeing me. “Dance concert tickets?”

“She won them at a…” It didn’t matter. “She gave them to me as a way of saying thank you. I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted and I didn’t want to insult her and I didn’t know if it was like an ethical breach to take them so, well, I just thought I should take them and then come ask you?—”

“Ask what?” Morrison said in amazement, interrupting my breathless explanation. “If I wanted to go with you?”

“—er.” For an excruciatingly long moment that was all I could think to say.

Long enough that Morrison figured out that wasn’t at all what I’d meant to ask, and began to look uncomfortable.

I followed up my initial witty “er” with a salvo of, “Uh,” then rubbed my nose ferociously.

“Actually I’d been going to ask if it was an ethical breach or if it was okay for me to take them.

But now that you mention it, um, there’s only two tickets so I can’t invite Billy and Melinda along, and Gary’s out of town, so if it’s okay for me to accept them, um, well. Would you… like to go with me?”

Someone with a modicum of cool wouldn’t have put all the emphasis on like .

Sadly, I was not that person. The way I asked it sounded as if the idea that Morrison might want to go out with me was only slightly less unlikely than, say, the idea that a Hollywood producer might walk into the precinct building and randomly choose me to be the next twenty-million-dollar star.

For a few seconds I waited for a Hollywood producer to walk into the room, but it didn’t happen.

Instead Morrison glanced at the tickets again, then shrugged.

“I don’t have anything planned for tonight, and God knows you probably need some kind of distraction.

Just log the tickets as a gift, and if the woman ever needs anything else from you make sure every second of your interactions are observed. ”

“Yes, sir.” He could’ve been suggesting I take a long walk off a short pier, for all I was comprehending. I took the tickets back, got up, made it to the door, and said, “Er,” for the second time in our conversation. “Should I pick you up…?”

There was no chance on earth he would agree. My car was a 1969 Mustang named Petite who clocked over a hundred and ninety miles an hour. His was a nameless 2003 Toyota Avalon with the highest safety rating in its class. Ne’er the twain should meet.

Morrison’s expression, almost without changing, suggested the idea was so outrageous it stretched all the way to funny. “I don’t think so, Walker.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to meet there, because I have my pride.” And my smarts. Petite would never forgive me for tarting around with an Avalon. She knew these things.

Minute laugh lines crinkled around Morrison’s blue eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at a quarter to eight, then. Go home and get some rest.”