“I need you here, working this case, not lost in your head.”

“I’m here.” I frowned at him.

He shook his head. “I’ve seen you look at worse than this and be better about it.”

“Maybe I’m tired of looking at shit like this. Aren’t you?”

“You don’t mean just this case,” he said.

I shook my head.

“Are you asking if looking at things like this bothers me?”

“I would never ask that, it’s against the guy code,” I said, and just saying it that way made me smile a little.

He smiled back, but more like it was reflex. It never reached his eyes. They stayed cold and empty as a winter sky. Once the other marshals joined us he’d make his eyes sparkle, or fill with some emotion; he didn’t bother when it was just us. We knew each other too well; there was no need to hide.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.”

I shrugged, and finally let myself huddle in the thin Windbreaker. At least with my main gun at the small of my back instead of in the shoulder holster, I was able to zip it and not compromise my gun. I still had my backup gun in the shoulder holster and a big-ass knife down my back that attached to the specially made shoulder rig.

“It’s more that I’d rather be home.”

“With your men,” he said, and again it was totally neutral.

I nodded. I missed the men in my life when I was away too long, and this was our fourth crime scene in a fourth city. I was tired of planes, tired of other cops, tired of being away.

“I’m missing Becca in Music Man. She’s just in the chorus, but she’s one of the youngest they’ve ever cast.”

“She must be really good.”

“She is.” He nodded, smiling, and this time it reached all the way up to his eyes.