Runa pulled away and took a step backward so she could see him better, her face growing serious. “Listen, Jess, I’m really sorry about your grandmother.”

“My—oh. Right. Thank you.” There was a reason why he had never worked undercover, Jesse thought wryly. “Thank you, but she was in a lot of pain and it was almost a relief.”

Runa nodded, hugging him around the middle again and leaning her upper body back to meet his eyes. “You going to the funeral?”

“No, it’s too far. I’m just…well, doing a little work on a couple of my cases, actually.”

“That sounds like you,” she replied, eyes sparkling.

“What are you up to today?” he asked.

“Oh, today is big. First, I did laundry. Later, I’m getting groceries. And in between…are you ready for this? Get psyched. Are you psyched?” He nodded, grinning. Her cheerfulness was infectious. “Okay. Today is…backup day!”

“Backup day? What, you and Odin drive around town in a convertible, exchanging quips and knocking down doors with your blazer sleeves pushed up?”

“Not that kind of backup, silly. Come see.” She led him past her rumpled bed—like Jesse, Runa was not a big bed maker—and to her workstation, which was usually covered in a layer or two of tripods and detachable flashes. Today she’d cleared all that off to make room for two very serious-looking external hard drives. “This,” she explained, “is where I back up all my photos. The good ones, anyway. I used to keep all of them, but with digital photography it’s just too easy to fill up even the biggest hard drives with data.”

The calm that had started to seep into Jesse’s chest disappeared again. “This is for your artistic stuff?” Runa was a civilian employee, meaning she only worked part-time for the department. She also taught yoga classes and worked on her own personal photography to sell at shows.

She tapped the two different drives, and Jesse saw that they were faintly labeled, one with an R and one with the letters LAPD. “Both, the cops and the artistic stuff.”

“They let you do that?” Jesse said incredulously.

“Well, I’m not allowed to duplicate, print, or share any of my crime-scene stuff. Not that I’d want to. But you know how the evidence room is, and the department computers. I got paranoid that some of my photos would be lost before a case goes to trial, and the department would blame me for not producing the evidence.” She shrugged. “So I back it all up, and delete it after the trial.”

“What about the stuff from last night?”

“Yeah, that’s here too. Why?”

“No reason.” Jesse pulled her back into a hug, kissing the part of her hair. “Listen, is there any way a guy could get a home-cooked lunch around here? I’ve been dreaming about those vegan teriyaki burgers…”

“Liar!” she teased, swatting him on the shoulder. “You hate my food.”

“No, really. I think I might be coming around.”

Her face lit up. “Okay, I’ll make some lunch today, and you can buy me dinner tomorrow night. Deal?”

Jesse wondered how long it would take to catch Olivia. “The night after okay?”

“Sure.” She kissed his cheek. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be back in a few.” She gave him a strange look as she left the room, sort of speculative and curious, but Jesse was too distracted to worry about it just then. The moment she was gone, Jesse turned back to the computer, unable to believe what he was about to do.

Chapter 9

By 3:00 p.m. I had already done two loads of laundry and been to the dry cleaner’s and the drugstore. Jesse and I weren’t supposed to be at Dashiell’s until 6:00—the sun went down at 4:48 that day—so I should have tried to nap, but I was keyed up, worrying about Olivia and the witch situation. A distraction sounded pretty good right about then. Eli and Caroline were both working at Hair of the Dog, and I wasn’t in the mood for Molly, so I called Jesse. My list of friends is not long.

“Cruz. “Just checking in. Anything new on your end of things?”

Jesse sighed into the phone. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Santa Monica PD believed the suicide story on Denise. Every single detail fits, except for what Kirsten said about the hydrophobia. I can’t even really blame them for dismissing her.”

“Yeah…” I didn’t know what else to say. What did I even want out of this phone call?

But Jesse read my mind. “You’re totally antsy, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?” I protested halfheartedly. “No way. Cucumbers wish they were this cool.”

“Lies,” he said solemnly. “Shameless lies. You are antsy in your pantsies.”

I couldn’t help it: I snorted into the phone. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Come to think of it, neither can I,” he said thoughtfully. “But I’m restless too, and I have an idea. I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Wear…oh, just wear what you usually wear.”

“What does that—” I began, but he had hung up.

An hour later, I was at an honest-to-God shooting range.

Jesse had explained that I needed to know how to defend myself against a human threat, and I didn’t necessarily disagree. Besides, I figured learning to shoot was going to be more fun than sitting at home chewing my nails during reruns of crime shows on cable. And I was right—except for the terrible elbow pain.