“Uh.” He looked down at her hand. “No, I take that back.”

She let go. “Sorry.”

“Man, wouldn’t want to face you down in a dark alley!”

“I may be upset, but I know what I saw.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“Don’t you even care that this girl is dead?”

“Of course I care. Jasmine was a civilian, even if she went with that animal Slice. She wasn’t a bad kid, and she was actually a decent mother.”

“Mother? You knew about her baby?” She looked at him sharply.

“Oh,” he said, startled, “yeah.”

“You knew she had a baby with Slice?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Guess I heard that at some point.”

“You heard it when? Why didn’t you say so when I told you about that tape last night? You acted like you didn’t even believe she was Slice’s girlfriend!” She took a step backward, hands clenching. “What the hell is going on?”

“Whoa, calm down, okay? Let’s get my car, and then I’ll explain.”

“How are you gonna explain that? I feel like you lied to me, Dan. You better not’ve, because you’re the only person in my life I trust right now.”

As she said that, she realized how true it was. The thought scared her as much as anything else that had happened recently.

He took a step closer, looking down at her with earnest blue eyes. He had such an honest face. Such a handsome, all-American, innocent face. Could he be lying with a face like that?

“Melanie, please. Don’t be upset. I promise, I want to catch this guy every bit as bad as you do, okay?”

“Then why cover up the fact that Jasmine and Slice had a baby together?”

“I was protecting a source.”

“You were protecting a source, so you lied to me?”

“Hey, I didn’t lie, all right? Maybe I didn’t give up every last detail, but that’s a big difference.”

She said nothing, shaking her head incredulously.

“You gotta understand,” he said, “I have my own priorities and obligations. Every agent does. But we’re still on the same team.”

“Oh, gee, glad to hear it.”

“That’s right! Never doubt it either. You’re upsetting me, you know.”

“I’m upsetting you!”

“That’s right!”

He looked away, seemingly stung. She had a powerful urge to reach out and touch him. But she kept her hands at her sides. Dan obviously had his own agenda, and she had no idea what it was. Maybe this whole thing was a con, start to finish-his admiration, the way he looked at her. She was surprised how much that idea hurt. But it would serve her right, for being weak. She’d known the instant they met that she found him attractive. She knew how vulnerable she was, how devastated by Steve’s affair, and yet she’d let her guard down. It wasn’t smart. She had to stop. She’d fight it harder. Keep her eyes open. Remind herself not to trust him, not to like him too much.

Dan looked back at her. “I’m only this upset because I care what you think.”

Can it, she wanted to say. With everything I’ve been through, I’m sharp enough to see through your bullshit.

“Dan, please,” she said instead. “Can we focus on Jasmine right now?”

“Sure. Of course.” His eyes were wary, as if he expected her to say something else to hurt him.

“Do you have an address for her?” she asked. “We need to notify the next of kin.”

“Us? That’s not our job. Somebody from the ME’s office-”

“We’re doing it,” she said flatly.

He looked at her and saw how much it mattered.

“Okay, yeah. I know where she lived. Come on, my car’s down in the garage.”

OF COURSE JASMINE LIVED IN BUSHWICK. DAN seemed to know his way around, so Melanie restrained herself from giving him directions. She knew if he went the most direct route, he’d take her old street, drive by the house she grew up in. She planned to keep quiet about it.

She was looking out the window, and, bam, there it was. It’d been years since she’d seen it. The attached brick house looked exactly the same. Maybe a little smaller, but the passage of time played tricks like that. The unisex hair salon that had replaced her father’s furniture store on the ground floor was still there. Through the plate glass, she caught a glimpse of Inez, the owner, sitting in a chair smoking. She looked the same. Heavy, with a big mole on her lip. There were no customers. Amazing how these small businesses could survive year after year on practically no income. Her father’s store had been like that, hanging on, a fixture in the neighborhood, just surviving. Until, one day, it didn’t. The banners were in English and Spanish. CASH AND CARRY. NAME YOUR PRICE. At the end of the day, as the Salvation Army truck drove off with what was left, Uncle Freddy handed her mother a pile of cash. “But where will Papi work when he comes back?” Melanie asked desperately. Her mother just looked at her, then walked into the house.

“You okay?” Dan asked, glancing at her with concern.

“Sure.”

“I’m really sorry about Jasmine. First Rosario, then her. That’s a lot in two days.”

“Yeah.”

She had no interest in explaining herself. She watched the familiar blocks roll by until they got to Jasmine’s street.

The apartment was what she expected-a third-floor walk-up with peeling paint and the smell of urine in the hallway, but otherwise all right. Could’ve been a lot worse. Standing on the landing, she heard a small child crying inside. She looked at Dan grimly, then pushed the buzzer.

A woman opened the door a crack and peeked out, keeping the chain on. She was short and plump, with dark hair permed into kinky curls, but she had Jasmine’s eyes.

“Yeah, who you?” A dark-eyed toddler clambered about the woman’s legs, sniffling. She reminded Melanie of Maya. The woman shoved the child back from the door.

“My name is Melanie Vargas. I’m looking for Jasmine Cruz’s family.”

“The DCYS been here last week already. Why again?”

“No, I’m not from Children’s Services, ma’am.”

“Oh. You look like the social.”

“No. Are you related to Miss Cruz?” Melanie asked. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“I’m her mother.”

“May we come in? I’m here with my colleague, Special Agent O’Reilly.”

The woman unchained the door and stepped back. Melanie entered the small foyer. It was bare of furniture, decorated with an enormous framed print of the Virgin Mary. The living room beyond was dominated by a large television playing a Spanish-language soap, which faced a battered old sofa. The little girl toddled over and plopped down on her diapered behind in front of the TV. She picked up a plastic bottle filled with apple juice from the floor, put it into her mouth, and proceeded to ignore them.

Jasmine’s mother stared at Melanie with wide eyes. The expression on her face was awful to see. She knew what was coming.

“Mrs. Cruz-”

“Yolanda. Call me Yolanda.”

“Yolanda, I’m so sorry, but your daughter was killed-”

“¡Ay, Dios mío!” Jasmine’s mother cried, rocking back and forth and keening. “¡Dios mío, Dios mío! ¡Mi hija preciosa!”

As Jasmine’s mother sobbed, Melanie patted her ineffectually. She felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do for this woman, so why had she insisted on coming? To see for herself, to bear witness to her grief? As if she needed any more motivation to find the killer, with her background. As if she didn’t fully understand the consequences of leaving someone like Slice on the street. She understood better than anybody, so well that she had no words now. Dan took control of the situation.

“Let me help you, ma’am,” he said gently, and led the grief-stricken woman to the sofa. Melanie fetched a glass of water and a roll of paper towels from the tiny kitchen.

“There somebody who can come stay with you?” Dan asked.

Mrs. Cruz sobbed into the paper towel Melanie handed her.