I kick the hell out of the back door before it swings open. Tiffany's face appears on the other side, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Sweetie, was that you? It sounded like you were kicking the door."

I squeeze my teeth together and breathe through my nose. Steel toed boots might protect feet from falling objects, but it seems a head on collision with metal doors, not so much. I motion Tiffany back inside the precinct, but she leans to the side to look past me.

"What were you doing out in the parking lot?" She says it with humor but there's an edge of suspicion in her tone. I was sure she noticed me following Ten out. She just wants me to admit it.

"I needed to talk to Angie before she left."

She steps back into the cool, dark hallway. "Angie's gone for the day? That's probably a good thing. I ran into her outside the ladies' room and she looked terrible. Pale and tired."

I don't want to talk to Tiffany about Ten. "She got hurt today." I brush past her. I wasn't expecting her to show up to the office this afternoon and it's thrown me. I hadn't mentioned the engagement to anyone and especially not to Ten. I wanted to tell her earlier, on the stakeout, but couldn't find the words . . . or the courage. After what happened with Ten finding out about my request for a new partner, the last thing I needed was for Tiffany to saunter in with her ring.

Tiffany shuffles behind me on her heels. "I thought we could go grab a bite to eat. I haven't eaten all day. I'm dying for a chicken salad sandwich." Tiffany is practically skipping to keep up with me.

"I had a lunch break already. I told you I've got to head down to the interrogation room." We stop short of the office. The excitement and cheering has died down and everyone has gotten back to the work day.

Tiffany wipes some lipstick off the bottom edge of her lip with her thumb. My gaze is pulled to her mouth, only I'm not thinking about my fiancée's lips. I'm thinking about the crazy deep curve of Ten's bottom lip. There's no lipstick. Ten doesn't wear the stuff. I know it's because she's self-conscious about her full lips. When she confessed her insecurity to me, I had a good laugh, which earned me a solid thump on my arm. Somehow she'd convinced herself they were clownish. If she only knew how often I'd imagined those clownish lips on me.

"James." Tiffany's irritated tone pulls me back to the conversation. "Can't they find someone else to question the person? I was really hoping we could talk about venues."

"Venues?"

She smiles. "For the wedding."

I shake my head. "No, I've got to question the guy myself." I lead her along the hallway that bypasses the offices and heads straight to the front desk.

"You know, if she just cleaned herself up a little. Dressed a little more feminine. Put on a dab of makeup. She'd be very pretty," Tiffany says as we head along the hallway.

"Who?" I ask as I open the door for her.

"Angie." Tiffany slips past me. "A little more effort in her appearance. Don't you think?"

I don't answer. It feels like a loaded question. I lean down to kiss her. It's a quick kiss because every eye in the front office is on us. There's even an applause for the stupid kiss.

"Don't you people have work to do?" I say with a forced smile.

"Anyhow, I know she's a good friend." Tiffany has not dropped the subject yet. "Why don't you just suggest it? Or maybe I should . . ."

"No," I say sharply and soften my tone when I see her eyes flicker. "Bad idea, Tiff." I kiss her again to stop her suggestions. "I've got to go," I say to hurry her along.

Margaret stops Tiffany on her way out to look at the ring one more time. The rock sparkles as she waves at me from the door.

I think about Tiffany's comments. She's always trying to find ways to fix people, people she decides need fixing. But she's wrong. She's wrong about Ten. "I wouldn't change one damn hair on her head," I mutter to myself before heading over to interrogation.

News travels faster than the internet in the precinct. I'm stuck stumbling through questions about wedding plans and honeymoon locations on my way to the interrogation room. I end up with a business card for a cake baker. Officer Trent's sister is apparently the best baker in town. A sticky note from Gina in the forensic lab with a phone number for her cousin's florist is stuck in my palm. I thank everyone and shove the phone numbers into my pocket. The wedding is the last thing on my mind. Spending the next few hours questioning slimy Vinny isn't high on the list either.

My phone echoes through the narrow hallway leading to the interrogation rooms. I know it's Ten before I even grab the phone from my pocket. "Ten," I say quickly, but she talks before I can say more.

"Just tell me. And I want a simple answer not some big, long bullshit response. When did you stop trusting me? When did you decide you couldn't count on me to have your back?" There's a slight waver in her voice, and it makes me squeeze the phone in my hand.

"Never, Ten. That's not what this is about. Fuck, you're the best detective on the force."

She laughs but it's not her usual laugh. "Obviously, since you can't wait to pawn me off on some other poor sap."

"I'm not trying to pawn you off. You're being dramatic."

"Then what the fuck, Maddox?"

Earlier, I'd followed her out to the parking lot to explain everything, but the truth was, I couldn't explain a fucking thing. I had nothing then and I have nothing now. I have my life and she has hers and that was the way it had to stay. I was asking for a new partner for self-preservation and sanity reasons, but not in the way she thought.

"I guess your silence says it all. Later, Maddox. I'm off to get laid."

I'm thankful she can't see me flinch through the phone at the idea of her naked in some other guy's arms. "We'll talk more tomorrow, Ten."

"I think we've covered the subject just fine." The call is ended.

I fight the urge to throw my fist into a wall and unlock the interrogation room. Vinny is leaning his head on his forearms taking a nap. He lifts his pinched, pale face and skewers me with bloodshot eyes. "Bout fucking time," he grumbles. He looks past me. "Hey, I'd rather talk to the red haired babe with the sweet curves."

He startles when I slam the door shut hard enough to rattle the one-way window.

"You picked the wrong fucking day to get yourself arrested, pal. There ain't no good cop or bad cop today. No red haired, curvy babe. There's just me."

Vinny's face blanches as I swing the chair around and sit down on it.