Chapter 7

Deckard let himself back into his house as silently as he could. He hoped Perry had eaten dinner and was now sleeping. The alarm had still been armed and all seemed quiet. Nix didn't alert as they entered.

Stepping into the living room, he rocked back on his heels, wondering if he'd somehow passed into another dimension. In the low light of the corner lamp, the whole room was framed in cream and blue, with silver and gold accents. The coffee table's black base had turned silver, the recliner was royal blue. Only the black couch, draped with a snoring man, remained familiar.

Nix trotted over to her now-blue bed and jumped in as if nothing had changed, lying down with a tired sigh.

Her small sound woke Perry. He came to himself flailing and snorting, and pushed up to sitting, his glasses crooked in front of his wide dark eyes.

Goddamn, he's cute. Deckard schooled himself to severity. "Ahem, had a busy evening, did we?" He pointed at the blue wall.

"You're not dead." Perry blinked at him, then straightened his glasses and turned to follow Deckard's gesture. "Oh, crap, I was going to turn it all back to boring before you got home. I must've fallen asleep." He raised a hand in that now-familiar gesture.

"You don't have to," Deckard said quickly. "I don't mind the colors." He'd thought of his house as a calm, familiar space, but he was surprised at the warmth the changes brought. "You can leave it."

Perry lowered his arm. "They'll fade out in a day or two."

"That quickly?"

"Wasn't sure what you'd think." Perry gestured at the wall. "Might have to break out some paint on your day off, if you like it."

"I just might." If you help me find the right colors. He hurried to another topic. "I told you to take the bed."

"I didn't mean to sleep here, I just conked out. Although sleeping in your bed would feel weird. At least, without you in it."

"Surely it'd be weirder with me in it."

"Uh, no." Perry pushed to his feet, his eyes sweeping over Deckard. "It wouldn't be."

Deckard's dick tried to tell him that was a come-on worth going for, but he'd been up for twenty-two hours, he'd been through the wringer, and he was toast. Anyhow, he reminded himself Perry was a witness and good cops had a code. "I'll get you a real pillow, then," he muttered. "And a blanket."

"Are you okay?" Perry asked.

Deckard shuddered. Not so much. "Long night."

"I may not look it," Perry said, "but I'm a decent listener, if you want one."

"I can't tell you." The carnage interspersed with clumps of glitter had been made worse by Deckard's realization that the victim could've been Perry if things had gone only a little differently that day. Yesterday. It's tomorrow. He rubbed his face. "I need a shower."

"Oh, God, me too." Perry raised an arm and sniffed his armpit. The gesture made his T-shirt ride up and revealed a flat belly and narrow hips with a thin line of dark hair leading downward in what should've been an interesting way.

Deckard wished he could offer appropriate enthusiasm but he felt like he was seeing the world through blood-colored glasses. Perry was safe and that was all Deckard cared about right now.

Perry gestured toward the hall. "You should go first and maybe I'll shower afterward if you have enough hot water."

Or we could shower together. Deckard definitely didn't have the energy for that.

Plus remember— cop, witness, principles.Maybe his exhaustion was a good thing. "My hot water tank's decent. I'll get a towel out for you when I'm done." As the host, he should offer Perry the first turn, but he desperately wanted to feel clean. He'd worn protective gear. His clothes were probably untouched. But the smell of blood lingered in his nose.

He glanced at Nix to see if she needed anything, but she was chin-down in her fuzzy bed with her eyes closed. She'd peed before they came inside. Her water bowl was full if she wanted a drink. She'd be fine.

In the bedroom, he stuffed all his clothes into the hamper right down to his shorts, grabbed sleep pants, and headed out to the bathroom. Only to come face-to-face with Perry, hovering in the hallway. "Oh!" He realized he was naked with his dick hanging out, and froze, torn between turning around or covering his groin. In the end, he decided it was too late for either one. "Excuse me." He stepped past Perry with all the dignity he could muster and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Pee. Shower. Hydrate. Bed. That was a good priority list. Anything else could wait till morning. Later in the morning. He had the morning off in exchange for the overtime. Except for writing his report. Not thinking about that now. He pissed, flushed, turned on the hot water, and stepped under it, letting the pounding flow wash every last thought from his brain. Bliss. He wanted to stand under there forever but he found himself swaying and stepped out before he fell over.

After drying off, he pulled on the sleep pants, left a fresh towel on the vanity for Perry, and opened the door. Perry was still there, or maybe again there. Silent. Holding out a cold bottle of water as if he knew what Deckard needed most.

Deckard took the sweating bottle, cracked the top, and drank a third of the blessed cool liquid in one go. "How did you know?"

"Nix got up, went to her bowl, sucked down most of it, and staggered back to bed. I figured, whatever she was doing tonight, you were too."

"Yeah." Deckard's throat closed. A tremor began in his knees, and he clenched his teeth, determined to get into his room before he fell apart. Except he couldn't unstick his feet from the floor. Perry will go take his shower soon and then I can move. He blinked and clutched the water bottle.

To his surprise, Perry stared at him for another minute, then slowly held his arms wide. "Hug?"

I should say no.It wasn't Perry's job to take care of him. But he couldn't pry his gritted teeth open to say anything, and when his head moved, it was a nod.

As if taming a wild beast, Perry moved closer inch by inch and enfolded Deckard in a gentle hold. Deckard sucked a breath. The shaking in his knees climbed higher, making his belly flutter and his shoulders tremor. Perry grabbed him tighter. There was more strength in his slender body than Deckard would've imagined. His cheek, pressed against Deckard's, was rough with half a night's stubble.

Deckard let himself be held. He clung to Perry's shoulders, as the stress of that long evening worked its way through every muscle and sinew in his body. He made no sound and his squeezed-shut eyes were dry, but he trembled like a level-six earthquake had struck him. For several minutes, he hung on, clutching Perry hard until the shaking eased.

He heard Nix's nails, then she whined softly by their feet. Deckard blinked and peered down. She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the low hallway light.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, Nix." Nights like these, he let her into his bed, breaking their rules, but she was a fifth of his size and he always held her gently. He couldn't cling to her like this with all his strength and weight, and accept support.

She was his baby, though, and Perry would be gone in a few days. He pulled out of Perry's grip, and Perry let go immediately.

Deckard bent and hefted Nix into his arms. "Hey, girl, couldn't sleep?" She wiggled and licked his chin.

Perry watched them, wearing an expression Deckard couldn't interpret. When a particularly enthusiastic tongue-swipe over Deckard's mouth made him sputter, Perry chuckled. "Dogs are great, huh?"

"Absolutely." Deckard pressed a kiss to the top of Nix's silky head, somehow unashamed in front of Perry. Her fur smelled faintly of things he didn't want to think about, but also of her warm, perfect self. "Dogs are the best."

"I always wanted one. Mom didn't like dogs, though, and Mrs. Goshima's allergic."

"Well, you can share Nix when she's off duty. Until you leave, at least." Deckard winced at his clumsiness as Perry's dawning brightness shuttered.

"Yeah, probably won't be long, huh?"

"We don't know." He couldn't say much about the case, but he added, "Tonight was probably related to yesterday." Definitely related. "So I'd just as soon keep you close for a while."

"Ah." Perry gestured toward the bathroom. "I guess I'll have my shower. Do you want… The bed's more comfortable than the couch, I guess, if you wanted to share. Or I don't mind the couch at all."

I should say no to sharing. Really should. He had visions of waking flailing. Would it be better to fall off the couch or smack Perry in the nose if they shared the bed? Couch, for sure. Even so, he said, "Your call."

"You take the bed," Perry told him. "I'll get clean and then we'll see."

"Just sleeping," Deckard felt compelled to say. "You're a witness. I shouldn't touch you."

"Except for hugs?" Perry wrapped his arms around himself, looking uncertain.

Deckard wondered if their frantic clutch had felt as good, as safe, to Perry as it had to him. The guy's had a hell of a day too, and he's not trained for it. "I guess hugs are okay."

Perry nodded and slipped past him into the bathroom. The door shut. The shower went on.

Deckard rubbed his cheek on Nix's head. "Exception night?" She licked his neck. "Good answer." He eased her to the floor. "Come on, baby, you're too big to carry around."

He climbed under the sheets with Nix curled against his chest, and lay drifting but not sleeping until the bed dipped behind him.

"This still okay?" Perry whispered.

"You're fine." He expected Perry to keep his distance, and was prepared for the difficulty of falling asleep with a stranger lying rigid six inches away.

Instead, Perry folded himself around Deckard's back, warm against his shoulders and thighs. "This okay too? I promise, I don't mean anything sexy by it."

Sleeping close like this was a bad precedent, and Deckard knew he should say no, but the comfort of being held between Perry and Nix had him sinking fast. He mumbled something even he couldn't understand and fell asleep.

Deckard woketo Nix bumping his chin. The angle of sunlight through the curtains said they'd slept in, something he rarely did. The other side of the bed was empty and he lay stunned that he couldn't remember waking when Perry got up. So much for situational awareness. Or maybe… a dim memory rose from the back of his mind of struggling up from sleep to Perry murmuring, "I'm going to work. I'll take a cab. You rest some more."

I wasn't totally out of it, but I just went back to sleep, like he was some kind of hypnotist. Like it was safe. Deckard sat up. Nix immediately jumped off the bed and went to sit by the door, asking to start her day. She hadn't barked when Perry left, either. "I guess you trust him too, huh, girl?" He got up and stretched. "I bet your reason isn't as stupid as mine." I like those dark eyes behind the nerdy glasses, that determined chin with the smallest cleft, like the way he hugged me— "I should know better than to trust a pretty face, right, girl?"

But it wasn't Perry's looks that did a number on Deckard, it was his vulnerability, the way he met Deckard's gaze so openly, how obviously he was crappy at lying.

Deckard fumbled for his phone, found it giving him a low-battery warning, and plugged the charger in before dialing Perry.

"Hey." Perry sounded cheerful. And alive and safe. "You're up, huh?"

"No, I'm dialing you in my sleep." Deckard coughed and rubbed his eyes. "You're at work? Everything okay?"

"So far, so good." Perry's tone went a little thinner. "I'm paying attention to the vibes of all the boxes. That detective is supposed to be here in half an hour to interview me. Hey, what should I say when she asks me where I'm staying?"

"Odds are she won't. She'll ask where you live and you give her Mrs. Goshima's address." Deckard opened his bedroom door and followed Nix to the kitchen as he spoke. When he let her into the yard, she peed a lake, then ran around sniffing. "If for some reason Zamora does ask, tell her that you're not comfortable letting her know."

"I can just say that?"

"Even if she arrests you, you're not obliged to answer any questions. Ask for a lawyer." As a cop, Deckard shouldn't be saying this stuff, but fuck that. This was Perry and that was Zamora who was a ball-buster on principle. She was probably clean, but if it came down to protecting one of the two, Perry was the guy who needed it. "Be honest, but you don't have to tell her anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"I don't want my you-know-what going into a report."

"Your you-know-what?" Deckard raised an eyebrow and let innuendo color his voice.

"My power, you dork." Deckard imagined a flush probably colored Perry's cheeks.

Oops, brain-to-mouth-filter not fully engaged.Deckard turned away and let Nix inside, then eyed his living room over the half-divider. The walls were still greenish-blue and cream. Maybe lighter shades? Or maybe that was just the morning light. "Unless your power's relevant to the case, it's none of her business."

"Oh." For some reason, Perry sounded unhappy.

"You choose what she gets to hear, as long as you tell no lies. You haven't had any more contact from SPAM, have you?" He felt silly even saying those words.

Perry answered seriously, "Not so far."

"Let me know if you do. I'm going to write my report and take a run before I go in to work, but I'll have my phone." And I'll assign you a ring tone.

"And eat breakfast," Perry urged. "Because I bet you didn't eat dinner."

No. Despite queasy memories he was trying to shut out of his brain, his stomach let him know food was a good idea. He was a professional. That meant keeping mind and body sharp. "I'll eat."

"I finished the leftover pizza. It was awesome. Sorry."

"I told you to help yourself." He liked picturing Perry finding sustenance in his refrigerator— wow, my brain's really warped. "Pizza's not breakfast, anyhow."

"Sure it is. Cold pizza. Breakfast of champions."

Deckard snorted. "You're deluded. Although Nix might agree." Pizza wasn't on her diet but she tended to wheedle bits from Deckard's teammates on long assignments, and she sure eyed his plate longingly when he ate it. "I'll have some good, healthy cereal."

"I guess you have to suffer to be beautiful." Perry cleared his throat. "That came out wrong. Have a good day, Deck."

"Let me know if anything comes up. I'll pick you up after your shift." Deckard ended the call and stared at his phone. He called me beautiful. He called me Deck. His interactions with Perry were sliding into dangerous territory at warp speed. And I don't want to stop.

Setting the issue aside, he chose a mix of cereals and filled his bowl, pouring milk on top. Coffee was a life-and-death necessity this morning. He washed and refilled Nix's water, put on his shorts and T-shirt and clipped Nix's off-duty leash to her collar.

They both loved his morning runs. Nix would happily gallop at heel for a dozen fast blocks, then sniff the world while he did a cool down. The rhythm of his feet on the pavement made thinking hard and he could put his brain in idle and watch the world go by. At each break, he had Nix go through some basic commands, rewarding her from his waist pouch to get her breakfast completed. By the time they got home, he felt refreshed with the shakes worked out of his muscles.

Perry had given him a yen for pizza, so he had another one delivered. He ate a slice, calling it brunch, as he filled in the first part of his report, then set the rest of the large pizza he hadn't really needed in the fridge and drank some water. Nix was snoozing but he checked her water bowl and wiped down the counter.

Enough procrastinating.

He forced himself to sit back down and move on to the tough part of the report.

At 17:37 while making a first sweep of the exterior perimeter, I was informed by Lieutenant Jeffries that a new communication from the perpetrator narrowed the threat down to 1472 to 1476 Plaza Circle, three small businesses along the north side of the plaza. I approached with detection dog Nix toward the Daniels-Cohen law offices, the easternmost of the three businesses. Uniformed officers were approaching from the north to begin evacuation. Before any of us reached the first location…

Fifteen seconds later, and the first cop would've been in range. A minute more, and it might've been Deckard and Nix inside when the bomb went off. Instead, it was the lawyer at his desk, and someone, probably a client, sitting across from him. That identification was going to be challenging. Deckard swallowed and regretted the pizza.

…the explosive device was triggered. The resulting explosion caused significant interior damage but no identifiable major structural damage to the law offices at 1472 Plaza Circle. Two victims were present within the blast zone at the time of the explosion. K9 unit Nix and I performed a thorough sweep of the affected area which did not reveal any remaining intact devices. All remnants of the original device were documented, tagged, and collected by myself and the other bomb squad officers.

Adding details of all the locations he and Nix had checked, with reference to a map and street views called up on his phone, was nice dry work, and then he appended the list of fragments booked into evidence. By the end of a long series of place names and descriptions, he was less queasy.

Both victims had no doubt died instantly. The ME's office had overseen collection of the bodies, while Deckard and his squad had gathered the fragments of the bomb. They'd try to work out its design, and whether the trigger was a timer, a remote, or something else. That was a job for the bright folks in the lab, not Deckard. He and Nix had done their part, working through the carnage, sniffing out the bits of debris with strong scent on them to be collected as evidence.

I observed glitter residue in multiple locations within the blast zone. He went back to his phone to find the list. The color mix and density appeared visually similar to that found in the defused bomb at the Hoffward Building and to the substance fired at my patrol car yesterday. See reports…

He found the relevant report numbers. Was that just yesterday? His world felt tilted on its axis. The blue-green wall in the living room was now definitely a shade paler than last night. Still soothing, though.

After e-signing and submitting the report, he changed into his uniform, buckled on his sidearm, and slipped Nix's vest on her. He made double-sure the door was locked and the alarm set before heading to the precinct.

He'd been half-afraid of being greeted with a shower of glitter. Cops' black humor was seldom in good taste. But apparently someone had the sense to keep glitter out of his teammates' hands for the protection of the squad room. Jeffries waved him into the biggest conference space. "We're just waiting for Fong, then we can get started."

Deckard scanned his teammates gathered around the table, noting dark-circled eyes and tight jaws. Bending, he unbuckled Nix's vest and told her, "Off duty." She immediately began making the rounds, cadging pets and praise from everyone there. Faces brightened as she passed.

Dogs really are the best.

Fong slipped in the door, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun today. Once she and Deckard were seated, Jeffries began, "I'm sure no one's surprised that the lab found the glitter in the Hoffward bomb and last night's were the same. The composition also matched the smear on the side of Deckard's cruiser. You want to run through that story again for us, Deck?"

He described the man in the fox mask as best he could, described the chase, although he stuck with the malfunctioning traffic light explanation for his crash.

"Dash camera footage confirms both lights were green at the same time," Jeffries agreed. "Which is just weird. We also got the full license plate for the Mercedes. Sadly, the plate was stolen from a Toyota minivan."

"Crap," Deckard muttered.

"The voice recording from last night's perp was a digitally modified voice modeled on the mayor."

"That's why she sounded familiar!" Fong exclaimed.

Jeffries nodded. "I'm sure none of you are surprised to know the real mayor has an alibi."

Wells said, "I love tech except sometimes I hate it. So, we have no real clues?"

"The lab folks will be trying to source the glitter, we're working on the explosives components, the Major Crimes folks are trying to link the two crimes. If the judge really was the first target, he and the lawyer have been on the same cases a few times in the last decade. Most recently, that farmer who shot the supe tree-guy for trespassing. The lawyer defended the killer, the judge led the decision that let him off on appeal in April."

"That was just three months ago," Fong noted. "Sounds promising."

"I hate cases with supes in them," Wells said. "The perps disappear into the superhero justice system and we have no say in the outcome."

Deckard shifted in his seat. "We can't be sure this is related to superheroes. Or villains. Both the current victims were human and the bombs weren't any kind of superpower."

"Tell us about that old case," Fong asked Jeffries. "Did the farmer kill a superhero or a villain?"

Jeffries tipped his hand back and forth. "I gather there's not a clear line." He looked down at his tablet. "The murder victim, or justified death, depending on your point of view, was an old supe known as BigTree. His power was to direct the growth of plants."

"Plants," Wells repeated.

Jeffries pointed at his tablet. "Just telling you what it says. In his youth, he was a hero of sorts, helped farmers during a drought get orchard roots to grow down to deep water sources, even convinced that big oak tree in the capital to grow all the natural tree-houses for the kids."

"Ooh, the Mallorn. I loved that thing when I was a kid," Wells said. "Totally cool, with a dozen natural platforms growing out of the living tree itself. He made that?"

"Apparently. Says here he got old and reclusive, holed up by himself next door to an organic farmer. He began convincing some of the guy's fruit trees and berries and so on to grow over toward his property. The defendant said he didn't mind losing a little produce to a neighbor, but then BigTree coaxed every branch of a new apple varietal the farmer was creating to bend into his yard. Took the whole crop. The farmer was pissed, built a tall fence along the boundary. BigTree made the trees put out roots that toppled the fence. The farmer put nets around the trees to funnel all the apples back to his side. BigTree cut the nets."

"Sounds more like a villain," Fong pointed out. "All of that for some apples? I tell you, supes are a weird lot."

Deckard wanted to protest, but there wasn't much doubt who was in the right so far in that story. "Then what?"

"On the night of the incident, the farmer claimed he woke to a noise outside, looked out, and saw his trees pulling their roots out of the ground and walking toward BigTree's place. He spotted a human figure moving among them on his own property, picked up a legally owned rifle, took a shot, caught the old guy in the chest. Dead. Trees quit walking."

They all flinched. Wells said, "Can't legally shoot a guy for theft. Disproportionate response."

"The farmer said he was in fear of his life, referenced the Ents in Tolkien and BigTree's love of those stories. Claimed he thought he was going to be attacked. The first jury convicted him of manslaughter. He appealed on the grounds that three jurors had relatives who were supes and the media had played it up as a superphobia shooting. His lawyer, our bomb victim, showed the jury wasn't properly sequestered. Case wound up in the state supreme court where Justice Carpenter penned the majority opinion that if you woke up to see trees walking toward you, you might legitimately shoot in defense of your own life."

Deckard said, "I thought the trees were walking off to the neighbor's place?"

"The farmer changed his story between the initial report and the trial. That was one of the issues."

"Did BigTree have relatives? Close friends?"

Jeffries shook his head. "Major Crimes is checking into that, but so far, no kids, no spouse, no siblings. Superpowers run in families, though, and maybe he had uncles or aunts or cousins with powers who didn't like the verdict."

"Are we doing anything to protect the farmer now?"

"He died of cancer a month after the acquittal."

"Natural cancer?" Wells asked.

They exchanged dubious looks. That was one of the hard parts of sharing a world with supes. You never knew what they would or could do. On the one hand, you had something as harmless as Perry turning a wall blue, and on the other you had a villain like Indigo who died in mutual destruction with the hero Legendary Flame— in a battle that burned down a building and killed a whole bunch of innocent people.

Not to mention a host of other destructive, plague-bearing, maniacal, gaslighting supervillains through the years who could do as much damage as a bomb without the option of defusing them. Some regular folks might see the whole sharing-a-world-with-supes as adding color and excitement. To law enforcement, it was a major pain in the ass. And the separate legal system added insult to injury. Although Deckard had to admit that human jails wouldn't hold some of the more powerful among the supes.

Jeffries continued, "So far, we have no evidence of actual supe involvement. The bombs were chemical and electrical, the paintball was chemical, things a human could create. Nonetheless, we're coordinating with our Office of Supernatural Affairs. You may hear from a Sergeant Quinn at OSA, and if you have any supe-related questions, let me know."

"Hey," Deckard asked before he could think better of it. "Any of you heard of an organization called SPAM?"

"It's a lunchmeat," Fong told him.

"And the thing clogging up most people's inboxes." Wells buffed her nails on her shirt. "Not mine, of course."

Jeffries waved them off. "Organization? What's that about, Deckard?"

Deckard didn't want to keep too many secrets from his people. "I was over at that mailroom guy's place, scanning for residue." That made a plausible excuse.

"Peregrine Crawford?"

"Yeah, he rents a room. Anyhow, he had a note left for him on his dresser signed by some group calling themselves SPAM. Before I could collect it for evidence, the note vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Into thin air. I mean, I didn't see it happen, but the piece of paper was lying on the dresser. I read it, looked away for one minute, and when I looked back, it was gone. No one went near it."

Jeffries frowned. "What kind of note? A threat?"

"I'm not sure what the intent was." That was the truth, since he had no idea what that SPAM babble had meant. He thought about sharing the photo, but he'd promised not to out Perry and the wording was rather suspicious. Fuck, I'm concealing evidence. He'd have to tell Perry this wouldn't fly. Two men were dead. That was a whole new level of serious. "The whole thing was weird."

"You think the Crawford guy had something to do with the bomb? He didn't seem like the type. Wait, forget I said that." Jeffries made a sign to ward off evil. Cops were a superstitious lot and it sure is quiet or he doesn't seem like a killer were fatal utterances, never to pass anyone's lips.

"No, the opposite. He called in the first bomb and I think he was genuinely freaked out, but someone is sending him cryptic vanishing notes into a locked room. I don't like it."

"What about last night, when the new calls were coming in?"

"He has an alibi." He was with me for the first one.

Wells pointed out, "If the voice was synthesized and computerized, there is no alibi."

Jeffries asked, "Where is Crawford now?"

"At work in the Hoffward mailroom." Deckard bit the bullet. "I put him up at my place for the night. I didn't like the idea that someone could reach right into his locked room like that. What if they slipped in an incendiary instead of a note the next time?"

"Your place?" Jeffries' frown deepened. "Why on earth?"

"The guy's broke. He can't afford a motel, doesn't have a friend he could stay with. He turns out to be a family friend of my sister's. And I couldn't imagine the department would spring for safe housing."

"Not based on one disappearing note, no. You couldn't hand him fifty bucks instead of putting your reputation on the line?"

"My sister would kill me if I let anything happen to him." That was probably even true. "Plus, I wanted to be there if another note appeared."

"And did it?"

"Not so far. But it means he was with me when the plaza incident began, and had been for over an hour. He didn't touch any computer that could've launched the phone calls." Deckard shrugged. "And Nix likes him."

"Then he can't possibly be guilty." Jeffries' lips twitched.

"I just have a feeling about him."

"And your instincts have always been stellar. Look, I'm not forbidding you to protect him on your own time. Or even to bring him home. That damage is already done. Dammit, Deckard!" Jeffries stared at him.

"I know, it was…" Reckless, stupid, unprofessional. He'd imagined a bomb materializing at Perry's bedside in the middle of the night, and panicked. "…not a great idea." Perry makes me act like a fool. As someone who'd prided himself on his control, he hated that. But he didn't hate Perry, at all.

"It was the most ridiculous decision you've made since I've known you. But done is done. Make damned sure you don't compromise case confidentiality and if something odd does happen, let me know immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else I should know about Crawford?"

"Not at this time, sir." But as soon as I warn him I can't walk this secrets tightrope, there's one little factor. "Major Crimes was planning to interview him this morning, along with the rest of the Hoffward's concierge and maintenance staff. They might learn more."

"Not that they'll share," Wells muttered behind her hand.

"It is their investigation," Jeffries reminded them. Deckard figured he was reminding himself too. Jeffries hated leaving mystery solving to other departments.

Although it also gave Deckard a bit of an out. Not actually my case, it's Zamora's. I'm just babysitting Perry.

Jeffries glared at him as if hearing what he was thinking. "But that's not a reason to slack off. Our mission now is to check out the workplaces of the other people associated with the defense and acquittal side of the BigTree case for devices, in case they might be on our suspect's victim list. That mainly means you and Nix, Deckard. You up for a hard-working afternoon?"

"Any time." Keeping busy would be good. It'd keep him from worrying about Perry, off on his own where one bomb had already been planted.

Jeffries stood. "And I'll ask the OSA about a group called SPAM."

"Thank you, sir."