I pass across two lanes and hit the off-ramp at full speed. I park in my spot, the one marked with a yellow sign that reads Det. Tennyson. I climb out of the car, telling myself not to take no for an answer. This is just what I need, I tell myself over and over. It's time for a change. Maddox wants a new partner, then he can fucking have one.

I walk briskly through the building, keeping my head down to let others know I don't want to chat and I especially don't want to talk about the exciting Madiffany news. I've made my own name up for the duo and decide it works just fine. I'm bracing for a big fight with Captain Clark, but I'm determined not to back down.

Two pieces of luck in an otherwise unlucky day—Maddox is nowhere in sight and Clark's door is open. He has a policy that if his door is open, you can walk in as long as you knock once before entering. I hear his deep, baritone voice a few feet before I reach the blinds on his office window. I can see him clearly, but the person he's talking to is tucked too far into the corner of the office. It seems strange considering there are two empty chairs directly in front of the captain's desk. A shot of adrenaline jolts through me as I consider the possibility that the corner visitor is Maddox, but I push that ridiculous thought away. Maddox is more of a walk in and sit on the edge of the desk sort of visitor. I knock on the open door.

"Actually, Tennyson, I'm in a conversation."

"Jeez, it stinks in here." The smell of sweat, grease and bitter grime has permeated every inch of the office. I lift the collar of my t-shirt up over my nose and blink the odor away from my eyes.

"That's why the door is open. It's my new air freshener called 'dirty ass'. Otherwise known as Detective Olson." Clark motions to the visitor tucked in the corner.

Detective Olson is sitting on a metal chair. He's normally a semi-sloppy guy who always looks as if his shirt and pants were just pulled out of a wet laundry basket, but today he's taken the grunge look to a whole new level. He has on a ripped, grease stained overcoat that makes him look vaguely like a creepy flasher. His bare toes can be seen through the tips of his filthy worn shoes, and he is wearing a pair of pants that look as if they are wearing everything Olson has had for lunch for the last three months. The pervasive, pungent smell polluting the captain's office seems to be rolling off Olson in waves. But it doesn't stop him from gobbling up a submarine sandwich. Bits of lettuce tumble to the floor in front of his worn shoes.

"Christ, Olson," Clark growls, "I'm going to have to have a ten person cleaning crew come through here after you're gone. What is it you want, Tennyson? If it isn't obvious, Olson just got off an undercover assignment and we're debriefing."

"Yes, it's comically obvious." Before he can order me out, I sit in one of the empty chairs. "I want in on the Lace Underground investigation. Send me undercover."

Olson scoffs hard enough to spit sandwich from his mouth. Clark yanks a tissue from the box on his desk and makes a pathetic attempt at sailing it toward Olson. The tissue doesn't make it a foot before floating gracefully to the floor like a supple leaf from a tree.

I turn to Olson. "Just vacuum that sandwich, Pig Pen. You don't even know what we're talking about."

He scoffs again but has the forethought to cover his mouth first.

"Olson knows more about the Lace Underground than anyone else on the outside, which isn't saying much," Clark says. "I'm not sending you undercover on it. Way too dangerous. No one knows exactly what's going on in this secret society, but whatever it is, it ain't wholesome or legal. There are at least ten girls missing and those are only the ones where someone cared enough to report it."

I scoot the chair around to talk straight to Olson. The unsavory fragrance wafts my direction. I swallow to get the bitter taste out of my throat, but it only intensifies the odor. "If Freestone is luring rich men into his society, what's with the trashy sex perv coat and the sweet smell of Olson's shower-free body?"

Clark gets up to close the door. "I know I'm going to regret this." He swings it shut and returns to his chair. He takes out a peppermint to suck on, apparently hoping it will mask some of the odor. I have serious doubts about that theory and turn down the offered mint.

"Like I said, it's too dangerous." The mint clacks against his teeth as he pushes it against his cheek to talk. "I could have sent Olson in undercover as some rich asshole looking for whatever kinky good time Freestone is offering, but I decided it was too dangerous. Even for Olson. Besides, this undercover gig suits him better. We all know he's a slob." He laughs at his comment. Olson is unfazed and too focused on his sandwich.

Clark gets serious again with a throat clear. "So I'm certainly not going to send a wom—" He stops abruptly, knowing he just stepped on my favorite button. "I'm not sacrificing any of my detectives, man or woman," he amends quickly.

"Anyhow"—Olson swallows his mouthful before continuing after a warning scowl from Clark not to talk with it full—"Freestone is looking for wild, pretty young girls."

I blink at Olson a few seconds without a word to let him figure out his misstep.

"Not that you aren't pretty, Ten." Olson nearly chokes on his own tongue, tripping to get over it. "I mean everyone around here thinks—"

"Shut the fuck up, Olson, before you bury yourself deeper," Clark barks.

I skewer Olson with my gaze for another moment before turning back to Clark. "I want this, Captain. I can do it. How much do you know? How can I get in as one of the girls in the Underground?"

Clark crunches down hard on the mint and winces as he rubs his cheek. "Think I've got a cavity. Look, Tennyson, as much as I want to bring Freestone's operation down, I'm just not willing to risk it. You and Maddox are carving a big notch in the drug problem around the city, and that's where I want you to stay."

"Except that Maddox wants a new partner."

Clark's face smoothed. "You know about that?"

"I was sitting at his desk today, icing my leg." I let that fact sink in a second. He shifts his jaw side to side in remorse over his wide open for all to see memo to Maddox. "Ever hear of email, Captain? But that's old news." I sit forward and look him straight in the eyes. We have a good relationship, but occasionally, he slips into his father figure character with me. I'm not having it this time. "Look, I'll go in, but I won't stay long. If things get sticky I'll find a quick way out. Either way, I'll find out enough about the location of the sketchy secret club. I'll bring it back to you. Then you can send in the cavalry or whoever to stop Freestone. It's a win-win."

"Unless it's a lose-lose." Olson gets up and shifts to the chair next to me. Instinctively, I scoot my chair away from him. Clark rolls his chair back so fast it hits the file cabinet behind him.

Olson isn't the slightest bit bothered by the fact that we're shoving furniture around to stay out of his circle of stink. "My miserable weeks undercover bore little fruit. All I know is the girls are suddenly gone one night. Then they're back the next morning. I asked around to some of the other street people to see if they knew what was going on and they freaked out. No one wants to answer or have anything to do with it."

I look up and down at his over-the-top disguise. "Maybe that's because you look like a fucking flasher or stalker instead of a homeless guy."

Olson moves his shoulders beneath his overcoat. "I thought I looked pretty convincing but might be why none of the girls would get within ten feet of me."

"Ya think?" I sighed. "So you just spent—" I pause for him to fill in the span of time.

"Two months."

My eyes widen. "That explains the stench. So you spent two months living on the streets and all you found out is that people run when you ask about the missing girls? But wait, you said they all come back."

Olson, who is maybe ten years older than me, grins. The lines around his mouth are creased with grime. "I see you never outgrew your smartass rookie phase, Ten. And I do have more, but since you're not part of the investigation." He reached up to twist an invisible key in front of his mouth. His fingernails were black, and his knuckles were crusted with dirt.

I turn back to Clark. "I won't let you down, Captain. Send me in. Please. Let me do this."

Clark looks at Olson like my mom used to look at my dad when it seemed they were about to give in on something. "The truth is, we don't have many ideas on how to get to Freestone." Clark sits back but then shakes his head. "But I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, Tennyson." He laughs dryly. "Shit, Maddox would personally put me in the grave."

"He'd probably be relieved. Then he could have his new partner," I say flippantly as if it doesn't matter, as if I didn't drive around for hours wondering when the heaviness would leave my chest and my limbs.

Clark looks at Olson again. "What do ya think? Even with the scant information you have, we might be able to get her close enough to Freestone to find out where and what the hell is going on in this secret society."

"If she can get out of there alive," Olson adds darkly. "While I was out there every girl came back. But from the bits of information I picked up, every once in a while, a girl doesn't return. No explanation and the other girls keep a tight lip about it."

Clark slaps the arm of his chair. "Olson's right. I can't do it."

"I'll get in and get out. Alive." I lean forward with two goals—to look him harder in the eye, letting him know I am dead serious and to get out of the circle of stench flowing around Olson. "Captain Clark," I say with as much charm as I can muster, "I. Have. Got. This."

Clark's barrel chest lifts and falls with surrender. "Maybe this could work." He sticks his elbow on the desk and points at me, reminding me of my dad telling me what I was doing wrong during the mile relay. "There's no way we can send you in with a wire. Freestone is too clever, and from the information I have on him, he trusts no one. He has a few confidantes and that's it. A wire or any hint that you're not actually a kid off the streets and you'll wind up just like those guys with their skulls bashed in or worse."

I smile. "Not sure where worse goes once you get your skull bashed in." Adrenaline is surging through me and, at the same time, a dose of apprehension. I'd been undercover before but posing as a junkie or prostitute out on the streets was child's play compared to this. None of us have any idea where this secret club takes place, which means I disappear and my usual safeguards and safety nets are stripped away. It will be just me and my wits, and even though I feel pretty confident about those wits, I'm not completely sure how they'll hold up facing whatever the hell is waiting for me in the Lace Underground.

Clark is squinting at me, seemingly trying to read my thoughts. "Tennyson, you're not doing this because of the note about the partner switch?"

"Nope," I say too confidently, and it sounds forced. "I need something new. I'm getting stale. Today, I got outsmarted by a damn skateboard. It's time to push myself." I'm still absorbing the entire notion that I'm going undercover on a big investigation. At the same time, my head is spinning from the stinky man sitting next to me. I turn to him. "What other information do you have, Olson? How do I get noticed by Freestone?"

Olson lifts open his coat and pulls out a notepad. He fans his face. "Whoa, do I need a shower," he comments before flipping open the notebook.

"You need more than a shower," Clark quips. "I was thinking about calling the guys at the fire station to see if they could come hose you off in the parking lot. By the way, don't bother to get too clean. I'm going to need you back out in that roadside tent hanging with your homies."

Olson's mouth drops open. "What the hell? Why?"

"Cuz you're going to be keeping an eye on Tennyson while she's on the street. If Freestone picks her up, we need to know it."

"God dammit," Olson mutters as he looks at his notes. "Cherry Cola," he says, without any context or preamble. Clark and I wait for him to continue.

I can see the dirt inside Olson's nostrils as he faces me. "Not sure what it's connected to but it seems to be a code word for the girls hanging out in the park. It starts with Cherry Cola, that's what I heard them say to each other."

"Was that while you were lurking in the bushes snooping on them in your flasher trench coat?" I ask.

Olson lifts his dirt covered middle finger at me. "On second thought, Ten, you'll do just fine at the park with that smart mouth."

I know the park he's referring to. It's at the end of the city limits. At one time, it was a nicely kept picnic spot, a place to bring kids to play, but as the homeless population grew they sort of claimed the park as their sanctuary. The city manager and police chief decided it was better having them in one place and off the sidewalks and bus benches. So the park became a sort of campsite for runaways and people down on their luck.

"But you don't know who Cherry Cola is?" I ask.

He shakes his head and some flakes fall from his hair. I sit back again to get farther away from him. "I know this sounds strange but the homeless kids hanging out in the park seem to want to disappear. Like they think something better is waiting for them on the other side."

"The other side?" I ask. "What do you mean the other side?"

Olson shakes his head again, dislodging more flakes. "No, I'm using the wrong phrase. Underground. Someone has them convinced it's better for them underground. And the journey to the underground starts with Cherry Cola." He flips through his tiny notepad. The outside cardboard is coated with black fingerprints. "I kept a tally of the days between episodes. It's three weeks."

"What episodes?" Clark asks before I can get the question out.

"The time between the girls disappearing for the night. I never saw them leave or come back. They would all just be back in the morning looking cleaner, happier, less homeless."

"Less homeless?" I think aloud. "Strange. But they all came back? You're certain?"

"Yep. I kept track in my notebook. I had nicknames for each of them so I could keep count of them."

I sit back and look at Clark. He's wearing the same level of confusion that I'm feeling.

I turn back to Olson. "Well, fuck, that's about the most useless bunch of information ever. Two months?" I ask again.

Olson shrugs. "Let's see if you can do better, big shot."

"Yeah. Let's just see." I look at Clark for one last confirmation.

"It's against my better judgment but let's try it."

"You'd better get in there quick then." Olson looks at his notebook and counts a series of tally marks. It's three weeks this Saturday."

"Which gives me four days out on the streets to figure out this Cherry Cola clue."

"And convince the park inhabitants that you're not some undercover plant," Olson adds.

"For starters," I say. "I'm going to skip the coat."

"Yeah?" Olson smiles. He seems pleased with what he's about to say. "You'll be sorry. You won't be sleeping in your comfy bed, Ten. You'll be outside, and the elements don't care if you're undercover or the real thing."

"I'm not a cream puff. I grew up with three brothers and a dad who believed the only good vacation was when you hiked ten miles to a remote location with a forty pound backpack on your shoulders. I'll be just fine."

Clark's phone rings. He answers it. "Clark here." His face hardens and his brows crunch together. He pulls free a file folder from the pile of paperwork on his desk. He opens it. It's the faces and names of the missing girl cases. His wide finger moves down the list. "Yeah, Rachel Booker? I've got her." He pauses and listens. For some reason his gaze now flicks my direction. He nods. "Right. Thanks for letting me know." He hangs up and looks at the faces on the page again before closing up the file.

"What's up, Cap'n?" Olson asks.

"One of the girls has been found." Clark looks at me. "Her body was in a dumpster in an alley. Slit throat and multiple bruises. Coroner's looking at her right now."

"More reason to send me in," I say quickly. "Let's stop this guy before more girls show up dead."

Clark shakes his head. "I fucking hope I don't regret this."