Spirit Dances. C.E. Murphy

Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” There was a momentary pause while we were both uncomfortable with all of that before Morrison got another very slight smile, this one sly. “Or were you just saying all that to soften me up for something I’m not going to like?”

      I groaned. “No, not on purpose, but now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure I got the killer’s attention when I healed that woman.”

      Morrison’s good humor drained away, leaving him to study me as though I was some kind of new and especially nasty stain on his shoe. “Take a walk with me, Detective.”

      That couldn’t be good. I fell into step with him, arms wrapped around myself. Sleeveless velvet sheath dresses were very sexy, but not at all warm, and I’d left my coat in Petite for dramatic effect. Women weren’t too bright sometimes. We got a little distance from the theater before Morrison said, “You remember you’re suspended from duty, right?”

      “The theater’s not in our jurisdiction anyway. It all works out,” I said flippantly. “It’s not like either thing is going to stop me from investigating.”

      He glowered at me, but it was a resigned sort of glower. “I know. Walker, what do you mean, you got his attention? From what you’ve said, from what I’ve seen, you’ve been throwing power around Seattle for the last year like Jackson Pollock threw paint, and this guy only just now notices you? Explain that to me.”

      We hadn’t gotten more than fifty feet away from the theater, but I stopped to goggle at my boss. Never mind women not being too bright. I clearly wasn’t too bright.

      There was no need to damn my entire gender just because I was a moron. I tented my hands over my nose and mouth, stared at Morrison over my fingertips and finally said, “I can’t. Not unless it’s someone brand-new to the Pacific Northwest, but if it is, I don’t know why he’d choose here to make his attack. I’d want to work from comfortable territory, myself.”