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can come back and figure out all those baffling murder mysteries?”
     
    “Putting your pointed sarcasm aside and taking the sessions seriously, yes, that’s what needs to happen for you to see the inside of this department in the near future.”
     
    “Uh-huh,” Jane muttered, her eyes canvassing the ceiling. “Well, I’ll go to that psych counsel when pigs fly out of my ass.” Jane started for the door.
     
    “You know, Jane. One day that stubborn, insolent streak is going to get the better of you.”
     
    “What makes you think it hasn’t already?”
     

Chapter 4
     
    “Jane!” Chris said, barreling over to her from his desk. She was out the door and headed for the elevator. “Jane, wait!” He caught up to her as she was slapping the “down” button at the elevator. “What in the fuck’s going on? Why haven’t you answered my twenty plus phone messages? I came by twice and your old neighbor lady said you were inside but you weren’t answering the door.”
     
    Jane stared ahead, ready to explode. “Leave me alone, Chris.”
     
    “We need to talk.”
     
    “Talk about what?” Jane said, turning and glaring at Chris.
     
    “The fuckin’ price of rice in China! What do you think?” Chris furtively looked around, making sure their conversation was still private. “We gotta talk about us,” he said, softening his stance.
     
    Jane looked at him in silence, shook her head and turned back to the elevator. “Jesus! You really do think you’re God’s gift but you’re just a fuckin’ boot licker!”
     
    “Excuse me?” The softness quickly dissolved.
     
    Jane slammed the heel of her palm against the elevator button. “You tell them exactly what they want to hear in your psych counsel and you kiss their asses—”
     
    “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not a maverick like you! I just come in here day after day and do my job and put the occasional son-of-a-bitch behind bars whenever I can!”
     
    “Save that shit for the media, Chris!” Jane gave up on the elevator and turned toward the stairwell. Chris followed, determined to get in the last word. Jane headed into the stairwell, digging into her satchel for cigarettes. Popping one out of the pack, she lit up as she made her way down the stairs. The sound of their footsteps and voices resounded throughout the cement structure.
     
    “Are you crazy?” Chris yelled out.
     
    “The jury’s still out on that one!” Jane replied, keeping a good ten steps in front of Chris as she puffed on her cigarette. “Get off my back, Chris! I mean it!”
     
    “Jesus Christ, don’t you ever turn it off?” Jane neared the heavy security door that led into the Denver PD lobby. Chris bounded down the stairs and blocked Jane’s ability to open the door. They stood face-to-face, inches from each other. Perspiration poured from Chris’ forehead, causing a minor rash to become redder around his hairline. His fair skin and ruddy complexion always made it look as if he’d run a marathon after only minor exertion. Between his wired persona and his aggressive, take no prisoners demeanor, it was all Chris could do to keep his natural rash outbreaks to a minimum. “I said wait!” Chris demanded, out of breath, as he slapped the palm of his hand across the door.
     
    Jane took a long drag off her cigarette. “Is it that you like to hear the sound of your own voice or is it that you just don’t hear?”
     
    “Jane, we fucked up the case. Okay?” Chris said, confidentially.
     
    Jane was taken aback by Chris’ statement. He was never usually one to admit wrongdoing. Jane studied his eyes. “You mean it?” she asked with a softer tone.
     
    “Of course I mean it.”
     
    “Why didn’t you say that to Weyler?”
     
    “I told him I blamed myself!”
     
    “You said you blamed Stover!”
     
    “Jane, Weyler just made me point person in a double murder I can really put to bed. But you and I have to work together on it. This case, Jane, is gonna put me . . .