"No, no. No problem at all. In fact, rather the opposite."

"Great." I waited.

"So how long have you been on the street now, working cases?"

"Eight years, sir."

He emitted a low whistle. "That's what I'd understood. Do you realize that you're the senior caseworker downstairs?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"And you've had nothing but glowing evaluations all that time."

I shrugged. "I care about the work, sir."

"Obviously. Obviously." Sitting back, he linked his hands over his stomach. "The point is that you've got a lot of firsthand street knowledge you could pass on to new caseworkers coming up into the department."

"I try to help when I can."

"Yes, well…but I was thinking we might want to formalize that relationship a bit." He came forward, his small eyes locking into mine, a smile of sorts appearing. "I'll put it right to you, Wyatt. Have you ever considered stepping up to supervisor?"

"I've never applied, no, sir."

"Why not?"

I gave it a moment's thought. "I guess I like being on the street."

"That's commendable. Where the action is, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Would you consider moving up?"

Again, I didn't answer right away. I must have appeared to be looking around the room at his pictures and trophies.

He blindly read it as envy. "With your stellar record to date," he said, "it's not out of the question you could be sitting here where I am in a matter of years."

Oh, be still, my heart.

Besides, this was a blatant lie. Mayhew himself had never worked the street. I didn't even know for sure that he had a master's in social work, which was a prerequisite for us street types. But casework was not one of the prerequisites for deputy director. Political connection was. Mayhew was the brother of a city supervisor, Chrissa Mayhew. I neither had nor wanted to have any part of that.

But we were being friendly, and I saw no reason to change the tone. "Well, it's flattering that you should consider me…"