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“Oh hell no.” Callie pushes the guy into a corner. “You need to get your shit together. Whatever this is.” She waves her hands at me. “Shelve it.”

Meanwhile he stands there with his hands zip-tied behind his back and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I have no idea what’s wrong with me,” I hiss, hoping he doesn’t hear.

The elevator door pings open. Saved by a literal bell.

She eyes me up and down. Not believing me, which I get. I don’t believe me, either. At all.

At least this floor feels significantly cooler, and I am not ashamed to say I fan myself as we walk out and the elevator doors close behind us.

It takes a moment for the lights to come on. The automatic is more like a three-second delay and even then, it’s a soft glow. Just ahead is the door to the parking garage and his exit.

“When was your last period?”

“You want me to kill him?” Callie lets him go and turns to him, all six feet of him. One hand is on her stun gun and the other the baton.

I’d bet on her any day.

“Not today, Callie. You look terrible in orange,” I remind her.

“I’d make it work for you,” she grunts. “Say the word and he’s dead.”

“I know you would.” Even though she shouldn’t.

“This is why women serial killers are never caught.” He looks between us before settling that sexy gaze back on me. “Seriously, can you answer the question?”

“Can you?” Callie looks at me, one hand on her hip, and her head doing that little wobble. She really wants me to say,yes kill him.See, unhinged.

“Outside.” I push his chest.

Mistake. That was a terrible, awful, amazing, and delicious mistake.

He smells so fucking good my panties soak right then. Right there. All wet and ooey gooey.

I’m sonotfucked.

“Jesus.” He grabs my shoulders. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Out, out, out.” Callie grabs him, dragging the man away from me because I am, in fact, trying to lick his neck.

Just one little lick. I want to beg her.

But then I bitch-slap myself with reality.

What the fuck was that? This is the single most important night of my entire career. What the hell am I thinking?

Callie is halfway to the door. He’s staring at me.

“Seriously, we need to talk right now.” He looks desperate.

Somewhere there is a woman in a dress she saved a year for, standing in a service corridor under fluorescent light, watching a man she let in get dragged out by her best friend. Her mouth is open. She has not closed it in some seconds. Her hands are at her sides. She is not assessing. She is not thinking. She is a body in a hallway and the body is empty.

I am the woman. I know I am the woman, and yet I can’t get back to her.

“Fuck it. What you think happened up there isn’t what you think,” he rushes out. Callie has her hand on the door.

The woman in the dress doesn’t respond.