We paused before the metal detectors, where a fat female officer sat, right hand pumping on her mouse in what could only be Minesweeper. "Anything to declare, Miss Frost?" she asked.

"Frost?" Beyond the barrier, a sharply dressed, Kojak-bald black plainclothes officer perked up at the sound of my name: Andre Rand, my dad's best friend. "Dakota Frost?"

"No, I've nothing to declare," I said, trying to ignore him as he stalked briskly towards me. The woman waved me in, and I swept through the metal detector just in time for him to corner me. I sighed, folded my arms, and stared down at the black man. He was tall, but I was taller. Wonderful. He'd known I was coming-and probably engineered this whole thing.

"Dakota," he said, voice forced cheeriness, sparkling eyes genuine. He was twice my age-I'd bounced on his knee when he and my father had been partners-but he was still a fashion plate, if you go in for the whole GQ look. "Your dad will be glad to hear you're doing well-"

"Hey, Rand," I said, smiling, shaking my head-half at his infectious grin and half at whatever he was planning. "Let's get this over with. Where is he, and when did he get in? You know, I do have a cell phone. He could call me. There's no need for the goon squad-"

Rand's face fell. "I-your dad's not here, Dakota. We needed to see you."

"We?" I asked.

Rand's face went stony, blank. "Homicide, Dakota. Homicide needs to see you."

We got in the elevator and Rand punched the sixth floor, motioning to me to join him in the back. The officers-big men, almost my height-stepped in front of me, making me feel even more like a prisoner… or perhaps someone being guarded? But the guard theory evaporated when a sandy-haired older man slipped past the officers and joined us in the back of the elevator, leering at me and nodding to Rand.