Stephanie walked ahead of him, the sharp noise of her heels against the marble flooring sounding as decisive as the woman herself. Rico didn’t miss the confident way in which she moved her body, never once glancing behind her to question if Rico was keeping up.

Stephanie talked as briskly as she walked. “We spoke to Mr. Richards after his show finished up. After a brief explanation of the situation, he was more than agreeable to our request for him to speak with you.”

“I wouldn’t call it a request,” Rico told her, though he kept his tone agreeable.

“No, and he’s quite intelligent, though he might play the fool. A ‘request’ from the police is merely the polite step before they drag you in by your ear for questioning, something I’m sure he’s aware of,” Stephanie replied, her walk beginning to slow as they approached the door at the end of the hallway.

“I assume you’re giving me a brief personality assessment for a reason,” Rico noted.

Stephanie turned, her eyes flashing momentarily with what appeared to be approval, “Mr. Richards was and is amenable to cooperating, but he had a request.”

Rico arched his brow. “Meaning?”

Stephanie’s brow tightened, the closest she would get to a grimace. “He wished to be handcuffed for this discussion with you.”

Rico’s brows rose to his hairline. “He wanted to be handcuffed to talk to me?”

A sigh slipped from her. “I am well aware of how it sounds. However, considering his profession and trade, I would hazard his intents are merely to be precocious.”

Rico could tell from the tired tone leaking out from under her words, Stephanie Morgan had a long-standing history of dealing with Jett Richards, or with his type. While relieved he wasn’t walking into a room with someone who mistook a line of questioning for an opportunity to play the flirt, Rico was as enthused about the idea as Stephanie appeared to be.

“So, he finds out there’s a murder in the hotel and the police want to talk to him about it, and he plays games,” Rico summarized, attempting to recover some of his composure.

“This is not my first magician, Detective Hernandez. They are a mischievous and often overly playful bunch, when their egos are not fit to burst. I’m sure Mr. Richards will cooperate, but not without a bit of whizz and bang to go along with it. I don’t know how much comfort it will be, but he did insist I check over the handcuffs to insure they were in fact, the genuine article,” Stephanie told him, and Rico would swear there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Feeling like he might be being played, Rico smiled at her. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Morgan. You’ve been a big help.”

“Of course, Detective. Should you find yourself in need of further assistance, do not hesitate to ask.” With her job done, Stephanie strode off.

Rico let her pass, an amused expression crossing his face once her back was turned. He had met very few people who could look both exasperated and amused, but she had managed it. Shaking his head, he pushed into the small backroom, wondering what he was going to find.

His motion to open the door halted when Rico’s eyes fell on the man sitting in the chair. The calm, in control expression on his face gave way to widening eyes and the slightest tightening of his lips. For a moment, he could barely see Jett’s face behind the blazing aura of magenta surrounding him. Rico blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, struck by amazement at the pureness of the color. There were none of the telltale golden streaks through Jett’s aura, but Rico didn’t know why the aura was there in the first place, let alone so intense.

“Don’t worry Officer, I get that reaction a lot,” a wry voice said from behind the purple-red cloud.

Rico cleared his throat, working to get himself under control as he pulled the pad of paper and pen from his pocket. “Mr. Richards, thank you for coming on such short notice. I’d appreciate a few moments of your time in order to ask some questions.”

Forcing himself to look past the cloud of color was helping, and Rico was slowly able to make out the magician’s features. Jett’s eyes were nearly as dark as his hair, but unlike Stephanie’s eyes, which were dark to the point of seeming to drink in everything, Jett’s were a deep brown of concealing earth, something impish glinting behind his gaze. His black hair was tousled, though Rico couldn’t tell if Jett’s thick hair was naturally unruly or if the magician had paid for the look. Though he was sitting, Jett looked to be nearly as tall as Rico’s formidable height, though where Rico was thick with muscle, Jett was all lithe limbs and wiry strength.

Jett turned his head, making a show of jingling the chains of the cuffs around his wrist. “I was able to gather as much when Stephanie had me tracked down by your friends, Officer.”

“You can call me Detective Hernandez,” Rico said, trying to see past the shifting color to watch Jett’s face.

Jett laughed softly. “My apologies, Detective. I wasn’t aware I was dealing with the big boys.”

If Jett was hoping for a reaction, Rico gave him none as he flipped open his notepad. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts over the past twenty four hours.”

Jett nodded. “Have I been bad?”

The first adjustment Rico had ever forced himself to make was to the flippant, often irreverent way civilians spoke to people in positions of authority. Despite only four years in the military, the hard focus on obedience and respect had been thoroughly drilled into Rico. He had spent the better part of his first year out bewildered and frustrated with the chaos that seemed to make up the world outside the military. The worst were people like Jett, who never seemed to take anything seriously. The five years since Rico’s discharge had been an uphill battle to learn patience, though he would never understand the tendency for some to show blatant disregard for an obviously serious occasion.

“Mr. Richards,” Rico began, adopting the tone he’d used to snap an ensign into obedience.

Jett grinned wide. “I think you can call me Jett.”

“I’m going to need you to take this seriously, Mr. Richards,” Rico insisted.

Jett cocked his head. “Fine, fine, but before we begin, I’m going to need to see some identification. I don’t want to sit here answering your questions only to find out you’re some imposter who wanted to learn my secrets.”

If showing his identification would get the man to behave, Rico was more than willing to. He patted first the inside pocket of the light jacket he wore, frowning when felt nothing but cloth. Shifting, he felt the pockets of his pants, finding only his wallet and cell phone. Rico was fastidious about making sure everything he needed was in its place. He hadn’t forgotten to take something with him since he was a teenager, and he wondered if perhaps he had slipped up for the first time.

Jett grinned, leaning to one side in the chair and displaying one half of his jean covered butt. Rico frowned, confused to what the man was doing until he spotted the top of a leather bifold sticking out from Jett’s back pocket. Rico might have taken it for the man’s wallet, but the outer seam of the leather was stitched together with a still vibrant pink thread. The wallet had been a gift from a young girl he had interviewed. He had been so impressed with the craftsmanship of someone so young, and so touched by the gift, Rico had replaced the standard issue one given to him by the force and replaced it on the spot.

Grunting in annoyance, Rico stepped forward and yanked the bifold free. “An impressive trick, Mr. Richards. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the business we’re both here for. You can save the parlor tricks for someone else.”