Bryce put the finishing touches on his anti-bullying PowerPoint and shut down his computer. Macey’s shift would be starting soon, and he had to know if she’d heard from her sister. The temperature had dropped to forty-two last night, and the thought of Alexis shivering in her car, parked somewhere all alone, had him grinding his teeth in frustration. If he could get her phone number. If he could hear her voice to know she was okay, maybe he could relax.

He strolled by Macey’s desk, but it sat empty. His promotion had earned him a coveted spot on the day shift; Macey worked nights. It didn’t matter what time of day he went to bed, as long as he got to sleep, but working without his former partner had left an emptiness inside him he hadn’t expected.

It had taken years of hard work and studying to earn his position as a negotiator, and saving lives and his work in community policing provided a satisfaction like nothing else. Though he’d never felt any kind of romantic stirrings for Macey, losing her as a work partner felt a little like losing a life partner. She was the closest anyone had ever gotten to actually knowing him. If Alexis would let him in, he wouldn’t mind letting her get to know him too.

“Hey, Samuels.” Lieutenant Johnson hovered in his office doorway. He kept his curly, dark hair sheared short, and the sprinkling of gray at his temples gave him that distinguished, senior officer look. A look he wore well. A series of fine lines etched into his forehead revealed the stress of the job.

Bryce made eye contact, and Johnson stepped back into the room and settled into his chair—his way of saying, “Come see me in my office.” He was a man of few words. Bryce could appreciate that.

“What’s up, LT?” He leaned against the door jamb.

“Sit down.” His brow knit as he opened a file folder.

Bryce lowered himself into a chair and waited for the man to speak.

“I’m impressed with your work at the high schools. The kids are connecting with you. The principals are singing your praises.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.”

“You’re doing it well. But…” He pulled a photograph from the folder and slid it across the desk. Michael’s red-rimmed eyes stared back at him. “You didn’t tell me you knew him.”

His throat thickened. “Oh. Yeah, he’s my neighbor.”

Johnson slipped the picture into the folder and let out a slow breath. “There’s a reason we don’t let friends and family talk to the jumpers when they ask for them. Do you remember why that is?”

He twisted his brother’s ring on his finger. “More often than not, the loved ones will be a trigger. When emotions run too high, the jumper’s more likely to go over the edge.” Shit. He’d broken a rule. He was Michael’s friend, and it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he might be a trigger. He’d only been concerned with getting the kid off the ledge.

“Exactly.”

“But, technically, he didn’t ask for me. I happened to be there by coincidence.”

Johnson pushed the folder aside and folded his hands on the desk. “It doesn’t matter. You put that boy’s life at risk by being there.”

Bryce gripped the arms of the chair. “I saved that boy’s life. You want to tell his mother I shouldn’t have been there?”

“I know you did. That’s why I’m giving you a verbal warning. Your record is nearly spotless. Not a single reprimand since you joined the force—aside from the cigarette incident.”

When he’d first made detective, he’d dropped a lit cigarette onto a body, singing the skin a bit. It happened six years ago, but no one would let him live it down. “That was an accident.” He hadn’t had a smoke since.

“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Johnson turned to his computer, ending the conversation.

Bryce grumbled as he left the office and turned down the hall toward Macey’s desk. Thank God he’d gotten a verbal warning. He was proud of his nearly-untarnished record. He didn’t need it blemished for saving a life. Rules and laws were made to be followed. His job was to enforce them. He couldn’t go around breaking them; that would make him a hypocrite.

He stopped by the vending machine on the way to Macey’s office—out of Snickers bars again—and he bought a Milky Way. Macey sat at her desk, examining a case report.

“How’s it going, boss?” He stood in the doorway and took a bite of the candy bar.

“I think I should be calling you boss now, shouldn’t I, Sergeant?” Macey smiled, her green eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lighting. He’d never noticed how similar they were to Alexis’s eyes. They had the same hair color too, though Macey’s golden locks flowed past her shoulders when she wore it down. Alexis had chopped hers into a short style that showed off her slender neck and heart-shaped face.

He sauntered into the room and plopped into a chair. “If I’ve learned one thing in all my years, it’s that the woman is always the boss.”

Macey rolled her eyes. “As long as she’s cooking for you and keeping the house clean?”

He grinned. “You said it, not me.” She knew damn well he’d never expect a woman to wait on him hand and foot, but it was fun watching her bristle when he joked about it.

She shook her head. “How’s Michael?”

“Better. He’s home now.”

“That’s good. I heard you pulled him in. Going out on the ledge like that? I don’t know how you do it. It’s amazing.”

He shrugged. “Johnson doesn’t think so. Seems I broke a rule.”

She laughed. “You? That’s a first.”

“What can I say? I’m becoming a rebel in my old age.”

“And mixing things up, I see.” She nodded to his candy bar.

“Machine was out of Snickers.” He shoved the last of the chocolate in his mouth and dropped the wrapper in the trash can. “You working on anything important?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Nothing pressing.”

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I ran into your sister the other day. Have you talked to her lately?”

She picked up a bunch of papers and tapped them on the desk, evening the stack. “Not in about a week. Where’d you see her?”

Crap. He should’ve figured out a story before he brought it up. “Convenience store. Stopped to get gas. Where’s she staying now?”

Macey sighed. “I have no idea. She comes and goes. I’m trying to give her space…you know, time to warm up to the whole family thing again. She’s been on her own so long, I don’t think she knows how to stay in one place.”

“That’s hard, having family you can’t be close to.” He knew that better than anyone.

“It is. But it’s been twenty years. It’s going to take time for us to have a real sisterly relationship again.”

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and flashed her a grin. “You wouldn’t happen to have her phone number, would you?”

She crossed her arms. “Seriously? How many women live in New Orleans? And you have to crush on my sister?”

“She’s pretty.” He shrugged and cringed inwardly. Alexis was so much more than a pretty face.

“So are ten thousand other women in this city.”

“Please?” He couldn’t explain it to her. The possessiveness he felt in his heart. The overwhelming need to keep Alexis safe. It didn’t make sense for him to feel this strongly about a woman he hardly knew, but he couldn’t deny it.

She let out her breath in a huff. “Bryce.”

“C’mon, Mace. It’s just a phone number. I’m not asking for a blood sample. Let me ask her out. If she says ‘no,’ then no harm done.”

She licked her lips and narrowed her gaze. “I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

He raised his hands in a show of innocence. “I’m not going to hurt her.” He wouldn’t dream of it.

“I’m more worried about you.”

Really? He scoffed. “Have I ever let a woman hurt me?”

“Have you ever dated one long enough to give her the chance?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearm on her desk. “If my memory serves right, a year ago you were scared to get that close to a man.” He winked.

She sat up straight. “People can change.”

“I know that’s right.”

Tugging on her bottom lip, she furrowed her brow as she considered his request. “Alexis can be…flaky. I don’t know what her life was like for the past twenty years, but from what’s she told me, it’s been rough.” She punched some numbers on her phone. “Be careful.”

His phone chimed with the incoming message. Alexis’s number lit up his screen, and the fist gripping his heart released its hold. “Thanks, Mace. I will.”

Macey’s phone beeped. “Lovely. Just fished a body out of the Mississippi.” She grinned at him. “I haven’t been assigned a new partner yet. Want to ride along for old time’s sake?”

“I’d love to.”

Bryce rode shotgun as Macey maneuvered the black SUV up Chartres Street in the French Quarter. This part of the city was built in the 1800s, and the narrow streets weren’t made for cars this size…or any size for that matter. Two and three-story buildings in varying shades of red, beige, yellow, and blue lined the street. Wrought-iron railings wrapped around the balconies, and wooden shutters covered the windows, blocking the winter chill from creeping inside. Elaborate wreaths and twinkling lights decorated the terraces, giving the city a festive aura.

Everyone would be celebrating the holidays with their families soon, while he sat at home with his dog. He looked at Macey. She knew him better than anyone, and he trusted her with his life. Most of what she knew was the mask, but her comment about Alexis hurting him made him wonder if she didn’t see a little more deeply into him than he’d thought.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“What makes you think Alexis is going to hurt me? Aside from what you said before?”

The corner of her mouth tugged into an almost-grin. “What is it that you see in her? And don’t just say she’s pretty.”

“She’s independent, capable, smart.” He shrugged. “I know she doesn’t stick around, but she seems to be there for you when you need her most. Like that time you were in the hospital.”

Macey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And she left as soon as I recovered.”

“She came back though. She was here for your wedding. She loves you.” He smiled. “I admire her tenacity. I don’t see why you think she’s going to hurt me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a lot more sensitive than you lead people to believe, but you can’t fool me. I’m psychic, remember?”

They hung a right on St. Philip and another on Decatur to pass Café Du Monde. Macey pulled onto the curb, got out of the car, and started up the steps toward the riverbank.

Bryce followed, mulling over what she’d said. “I thought you could only talk to dead people?”

She laughed and continued her climb.

He stopped on the sidewalk. “Go ahead without me. I’ll be there in a second.”

Macey turned around when she reached the top of the stairs and put her hands on her hips. “Tell my sister I said, ‘hi.’” She shook her head and continued to the river.

He clicked Alexis’s number and held his breath as it rang. Voicemail. Of course.

“Hey, Alexis. It’s Bryce. I wanted to make sure you’re okay…after what happened yesterday. And to remind you that you have my house key. I hope you’ll use it.” His stomach soured as he pressed end and jogged up the stairs to the scene.

The moon reflected off the river, causing the muddy water to sparkle like the stars, and lights from the Crescent City Connection bridge illuminated the water with a reddish glow. A massive white steamboat docked down to the right, and a crowd of uniforms stood in a semicircle around the body. Bryce caught up to Macey as she began to ask questions.

“What have we got?” she asked a man in blue.

“Male. Mid-forties. A couple found him floating face down a few feet out. Hasn’t been in the water long, but it looks like something tried to eat him.”

Bryce followed the man’s gaze to the mangled body lying in the grass. Jagged tears covered the dead man’s flesh from head to legs, and obvious teeth marks punctured his arms. Bryce’s skin crawled. After seven years of working cases like this, he was happy to be saving lives rather than investigating deaths.

“What do you think, boss?” he said to Macey.

She slipped on a pair of blue latex gloves, snapping them at the wrists, and bent to examine the body. “Looks like an animal attack to me. Maybe a wolf or rabid dog.” She gestured to his arms. “See the teeth marks here?”

“I don’t know. The neck’s clean. Seems like a wolf would go for the throat on instinct to kill its prey before eating it.”

She yanked off her gloves and tossed them in a trash bag. “Then it was a dog.”

“A dog dumped the body in the river?” Was she serious?

“Maybe he fell in while trying to run away. Anyway, I don’t think a person did this, but we’ll see what the autopsy says.”

He followed her while she investigated the scene, though he hesitated to call what she did an investigation. A half-ass glance, maybe. She shined a flashlight on the ground in a few spots and walked along the bank where they’d dragged the body from the water for a total of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Then she nodded to a uniform. “I’ve seen enough. Pack it up.”

“What about your spirit sensors?” Bryce asked as she made her way toward the street.

She shrugged. “No objects to touch. Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bryce may not have had psychic abilities, but his cop sensors screamed murder. Macey had never been one to overlook evidence, but the way she dismissed this as nothing more than an animal attack seemed downright strange. It was her case, though, so he’d let it go. For now. “Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee or a beignet? It’s been a while.” He slid into the passenger seat and clicked his seatbelt.

“I would love that, but I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.” She turned onto Decatur and headed back to the station. “Besides, your shift ended an hour ago. Don’t you want to go home and get some rest? Leave the night shift to us lowly detectives?” She playfully punched him on the arm.

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Rain check. I promise. Hey, maybe you can come to dinner with me and Luke sometime. I cook a mean pot of gumbo.”

“Sure. That sounds great.” He stared out the window.

She stopped in a parking space and shut off the engine. “I guess Alexis didn’t answer?”

“Voicemail.”

“That’s not surprising.”

He got out of the car and walked around to Macey’s side. “Need any help with your paperwork? I remember how to investigate a murder.”

She cast him a sideways glance and shook her head. “This wasn’t a murder, but no thanks. I’ve got it.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. Her answers didn’t sit right with him. She was hiding something, but he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t share it until she was ready.

“Go home, Bryce. Tell Sam I said, ‘hi.’”

“Will do, Mace. Take care.” He got in his car and headed out of the French Quarter, through the Central Business District, and into the grandness of the Garden District. The “American” part of New Orleans. Massive Victorian, Greek Revival, and Italianate homes built on generous lots populated the neighborhood along St. Charles. A streetcar chugged along the track as he made a left into the neighborhood and pulled into his driveway.

Karen sat on her front porch, sipping a mug of coffee. Light from the television flickered in the window behind her, and she waved as Bryce trekked up the sidewalk.

“Evening, ma’am.” He stopped and rested a hand on the railing. “How’s he doing?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Shaky, but better. Sam’s a good stress reliever.”

“That he is.” He nodded to her mug. “Careful. That stuff’ll keep you up all night.”

“It’s decaf.”

“Good deal.” He tipped an imaginary hat and started toward the stairs.

“I made you dinner,” she called after him.

He stopped and turned around. “You didn’t need to do that. A man can be sustained on candy bars and potato chips.”

“It’s just to say thank you. Again. I can’t say it enough.”

“You don’t have to say it at all.” Rules be damned. Seeing Michael safe at home with his mom trumped any kind of reprimand Bryce could have received, verbal or not.

She folded her right leg beneath her left and gripped the mug with both hands. “You worked late, so I left it in your fridge. I hope you don’t mind.”

He smiled. “I would never be opposed to finding a home-cooked meal in my fridge. Thank you.”

Once inside, he gave Sam a good scratch behind the ears and headed straight for the refrigerator. A large plastic container occupied an empty shelf. A handwritten note on pink stationary sat atop the blue lid.

He set the note on the counter and scooped out a generous helping of jambalaya. Covering the rice and sausage dish with a paper towel, he popped it in the microwave while he poured himself a glass of whiskey. The smooth liquid warmed his insides as he settled onto the sofa and flipped on the TV.

When the microwave beeped, he retrieved his dinner and found Star Trek: The Next Generation—the best TV series ever created—on Netflix. The herbs and spices of Karen’s jambalaya danced on his tongue as he savored the tangy sausage. Sam sat on the floor, his snout resting on the edge of the sofa, his sorrowful puppy-dog eyes pleading.

“Sorry, buddy. You know the rules.”

Sam let out a pitiful whine. Bryce took another bite as his front door swung open.