The Darker Side

for life, you know.'

'And are you? Sure?'

Her gaze at me is almost wary. Callie is one of the most private people I know. If there is anyone that she trusts with her inner self--

other than Sam--it is me, but she doesn't often throw caution to the wind, even so.

'Yes. I'm sure.'

Then she smiles and it catches me by surprise. I realize that for Callie, this--being sure--has made her happy. Callie was never what I would call depressed, but there is a difference between contentment and joy. This is joy.

'Feels good, huh?'

'Yes it does.'

She puts the smile away and retreats back behind that familiar wall of mischievous irony.

'Now,' she says. 'You and I will never be Sex and the City girls, so let's change the subject and get to work.'

I tip my cup to her. 'I'll drink to that.'

16

'WHY DON'T THEY EVER REPLACE OUR CARPETS?' ALAN grouses as we head down the hallway to our offices.

'Because no one is allowed up here that the Bureau is trying to impress,' I reply. Callie and I had run into Alan on the elevator.

'If that's true,' she says, 'then the carpets can stay. I prefer them to the media.'

The truth is, there's nothing much wrong with the carpeting. It's a thin tight weave, built for heavy traffic, a little worn but more than serviceable. But we'd had to pass through reception on the way to the elevators, and Alan had noticed they were replacing the marble backdrop behind the large reception desk for the second time in five years.

'Be fair, Alan,' I say. 'The last time they had to fix the lobby was because of us.'

Two years ago a man burst into reception and lobbed a few grenades. He followed this up with automatic- weapons fire before making his escape. He had been connected to a man that we were hunting, so it was kind of our fault.

'Yeah, yeah. But look.' He points to a small stain with a hint of outrage. 'New marble down there, but I have to see that stain every time I walk to my office for the last four years. It's not right.'

'I didn't know you were such a priss,' Callie teases. We take the final left to get to our offices, known within the building as 'Death Central.'

The current title for my position is NCAVC coordinator. NCAVC

stands for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. It's headquartered in DC. Each Bureau office has a person in charge of NCAVC activities for that geographical area. Death's representative, so to speak. In Podunk that might be a single agent who also carries numerous other responsibilities. Here in Los Angeles we rate a fulltime coordinator-in-charge--me--and a multi-agent team. I guess serial killers are like the rest of us: they enjoy the sunny California climate.

'Speaking of not being let up here,' Alan remarks. Kirby is standing outside the door to the offices, twirling a lock of blonde hair around a finger. Her eyes light up as she sees us.

'Hey, guys! How's it going? How was it out East? Too cold for this girl, I can tell you that. I need to know I can have beer on the beach when I want it, you know? Anyway, I have to confer with Callie-babe about some wedding stuff.'

This is how Kirby talks, like a runaway freight train without a care in the world.

'How'd you get up here, anyway?' Alan asks.

'Hey, I have my ways, remember?' She winks at him and makes to give him a friendly punch, but he puts up a hand in protest. 'Don't need another bruise there, Kirby.'

She's only five-seven but her 'playful punch' apparently packs a wallop. She grins at him.

'Don't be a wuss. But okay, because your wife makes a heck of a cupcake. I had a few yesterday and--'

'What?!' Callie cries.

'Relax, Callie-babe, they were just the test run. I didn't down any of the chosen ones.'

'Hm,' Callie says. 'And stop calling me that.'

She's wasting her breath. Kirby will call her that and 'Red Sonja'

and whatever else she feels like. She's just not afraid of Callie. Or anyone else, for that matter.

'Hey, sorry about the cake guy.' She rolls her eyes. 'Who knew that an accidental flash of my weapon would make him so jittery?'

'Accidental, huh?' Alan asks. The disbelief in his voice is stark and mirrors my own.

'Hey,' she says, reproachful, 'I'm not a barbarian.' She smiles till she dimples. 'I just know how to hold a negotiating position.'

He smirks. 'Is that what they're calling it now?'

Kirby's fist shoots out and lands a pretty good one on Alan's biceps. He winces and rubs it as he glowers at her.

'Men are such babies.' She turns her attention to Callie. 'So the reason I'm here. The tailor wanted to charge us an extra five hundred dollars because of the color changes on the bridesmaid dresses. I told him that just didn't seem fair, but he wasn't budging, so then I told him I would really appreciate it if he'd learn some better manners, and you know what? He agreed.' She smiles like a child who's just handed you an A+ report card.

'Just like that?' Callie asks.

'Well, no, that's the abridged version, but I think the details of diplomacy are pretty boring, don't you? As long as no one's killing each other or going to jail, mission accomplished, I always say.'

Callie decides to let it go. 'What else?'

'The florist is cute. I mean super cute. I've been curling his toes for the last few nights--and he's been curling mine too, let me tell you. Anyway, point is--he's giving us a deeper discount now. I don't want to brag or anything, but'--she bumps her hip into mine--'I'm pretty sure it's because of the deep discount I've been giving him.' She giggles, almost girlish. 'Deep discount. Get it?'

Alan groans. I shake my head and smile. Callie takes it in stride; the pragmatism of a bride to be.

'Slut it up if it will save me another few hundred dollars,' she chirps. 'Anything else?'

'Nope.'

'Thanks for the update. Keep me apprised, please.'

'Yep.' She turns away and heads back down the hall.

'Oh, and, Kirby?' Callie calls after her. 'Keep the gun out of sight for any expense under a thousand dollars.'

'You got it, Callie-babe.'

Alan shakes his head. 'Doesn't it bother you that she's fucking your florist for a discount?'

Callie reaches up and pats him on the cheek. 'Alan. Flowers are expensive.'

'NICE OF EVERYONE TO SHOW up.'

James is glaring at us all in disapproval.

'Don't get your pink panties in a twist,' Callie replies, breezing past him. 'I got as much sleep as you did. Besides, it's Smoky's fault.'

'And?' he challenges Alan. 'What's your excuse?'

'Same answer as always: none of your business.'

'I imagine the AD is going to be calling soon,' I say, interrupting this friendly chatter, 'so let's have a meeting in five minutes.'

James glowers, but shuts up. I head to my office. Death Central is really just two big rooms. The largest is a wide open space where James, Callie, and Alan have their desks. I rate a small office with a door. The arrangements are spartan but functional. I sit down in my chair and dial Bonnie's cell phone number.

'Hi, Smoky!'

Bonnie's voice gives me the lift I had searched for last night in work and a tequila bottle. She sounds so