The office felt completely different with the door closed.  It was more compact—intimate even.  The heat of their two bodies seemed to raise the air temperature and fill the space like a tangible field of energy.

She had entered so quietly that Delgado was still absorbed by the report in his hands.  He only looked up when she said, "I found her."

He was instantly on his feet.  The muscles in his jaw flexed with anxiety.  "We shouldn't talk here."

Barbara took a step back, pressing herself to the door.  Her hand took hold of the handle; the cold steel between her fingers tethered her there, while he approached.  She paled, but it was a subtlety that could be felt more than it could be seen.  Her body moved by instinct, reacting before her mind could stop it.  There was no fear in her—no sense of danger—only a twinge of anticipation.

He grabbed her arm.  The gesture fell somewhere between aggression and tenderness, and Barbara found herself comforted by it.

"It's not safe here."  Delgado followed her gaze down to where his fingers dug into her skin.  Although he didn't let go, his grip slackened.  "Hell, it's not safe anywhere."

Gracie lowered her voice.  "Then we have to meet again soon.  I found her."

"Found who?"

"The woman in the photo."

"Shhh!" 

She had been speaking softly but Delgado reacted as though she'd yelled and the room was porously leaking every sound.  He pulled her away from the door and into the corner formed by the office wall and a gun-metal gray filing cabinet.  His body hovered less than an inch from hers.  "How?" he whispered.

Barbara had been spending all of her spare time on the case.  It was infinitely more interesting than the work in the bunker, which she drudged through until the end of each day.  The investigation also had the added advantage of moments like this with Delgado. 

She still believed that Wiley was the most likely culprit, but Delgado had made her promise that she wouldn't keep tabs on him.  Maxwell Wiley was too adept at spotting a tail and surveilling him was too big of a risk.  So she stuck to Emily.  It didn't take long to confirm the relationship between the two of them.  Although as the Major pointed out, it wasn't evidence of their involvement in the crime.

"I still don't get it," Delgado had said during one of their covert rendezvous.  They were in Old Town Scottsdale browsing through a deserted tourist shop.  He picked up a mass-produced beaded basket designed to resemble Hopi art and examined it as though he were thinking of buying it.  "So they're having an affair.  I don't see under what circumstances he would kill Cullen because of that.  Even if he had found out about them, Maxwell is a pro at manipulation.  He would have been able to make Tray keep his mouth shut about it without killing him."

"Emily was extremely upset with Tray.  She must have convinced Wiley to do it."

"But why?  I just can't see why anyone would have someone killed just because they were being hit on.  Do you think he did something to her?  Something bad?"  He dropped his voice down to a lower register for his last question, as if the words could invoke some lurid scene before their eyes. 

Barbara shrugged.  Despite a millennium of civilization people were savages—capable of anything.  Tray most certainly could have been willing to violate her.  But could he have gotten the upper hand with Emily and walked away without any visible wounds?  Emily isn't exactly a shrinking violet.

But she might have used Wiley to simply get rid of her unwanted admirer.  She was dating a trained killer; why shouldn't she use him to her advantage?  But Delgado would never see the world that way.  He had a moral code and for some reason expected others to have one as well.

Who is Emily more like: Delgado or me?

Delgado dropped the basket back on the stack and they both strolled to a rack with tourist t-shirts.  Barbara took a shirt down and placed it to her chest, posing as if to say what do you think?  It had a crude drawing of a desert with cacti in the background and a large rattlesnake front and center.  The caption read: "I bite."  Delgado shook his head, and she put it back and kept looking through the hangers.

"What if it was something else?" She said, keeping her attention on the shirts.  "What if Tray found out something about her she didn't want anyone to know?  Something she didn't want Maxwell to know.  Maybe something from her past."

Delgado rocked his head back and forth thinking it over.  "Possibly.  But how?"

"Maybe a previous connection.  Perhaps the Music Box wasn't the first place they crossed paths."

"But how do we prove that?  We can't ask her.  If she really is behind this, she'll go straight to Maxwell if she suspects anyone is on to her."

"We need to find out more about Tray.  What about talking to his parents?"

"No good.  He hasn't been in contact with them for years."

"Then we need to find out who the other person in that picture is."  That woman was important to him; perhaps he had told her something.

It had been two weeks since that afternoon in the store, but Barbara had finally managed to locate her.

"She was in a hospital as I thought," Barbara said answering Delgado's question.  "I still know a few people who owe me."

That was an exaggeration.  There wasn't anyone in the medical community that believed they owed the Angel of Death anything.  But there were a few people she knew who she could coerce into helping her.

Barbara picked Gil Mason.  The former claims administrator at St. Claire, now a manager at a major insurance company.  She wasn't disappointed.

The moment he realized who was calling he began to panic.  "How did you get this number?"

"Gil, Gil, Gil.  Your corporate website, silly.  It has everyone's extension."

"I'm...I'm going to hang up."

"That would be a bad idea."  Barbara found herself using that same lilting singsong voice that her Aunt Marie used to use.  The woman never raised her voice in her entire life.  She never had to.  Whenever she was angry, she just spoke in that strange way that made her sound like a drunk little girl.  Barbara never found out why her aunt did it, but she was always impressed by how nervous it made everyone.  She had filed the trait away for special circumstances.  Usually, those where she couldn't put the force of her physical presence into play, like phone conversations.

"I'm out, Gil."

A cloud of confusion hovered over his shrill terror.  "What?"

"I'm not in prison anymore.  Don't believe me?  Google the FBI's most wanted.  I'll wait."

There wasn't even a beat before he said, "Good Christ, what the hell do you want?"

"You've certainly done well for yourself, Gil.  That's a beautiful house you and Laura bought.  And you have children now.  And a dog—how cute."

The noise on the phone sounded like he was having an aneurism.  "You're not at my house, are you?"

Gil wasn't very bright.  She had always liked that about him.  He had no idea how much he and his wife overshared on Facebook.

"No.  I'm not there."  To give emphasis to her next words, she dropped the lilt from her voice.  "Not yet anyway."

"Listen, you crazy bitch: leave me and my family alone."

She returned to the high pitched playful tone.  "Oh, Gil.  You used to be so much nicer to me.  Don't you remember how you used to let me take you?  How I'd straddle you right on your desk?  And you and Laura still newlyweds—what a naughty boy."

There was dead silence on the line.  But she knew he was still there, almost as though she could smell his fear through all the wires and transmission signals separating them.

"Is Laura rough with you the way I was?  Maybe I should go over right now and compare notes with her?  Make sure she's doing all those things that you like."

"No-no-no-no-no."  The stuttering pleading was muffled as if he had dropped to the floor and climbed under his desk for protection.  "What do you want?  What will it take to make you stay away?"

Barbara scanned the demanding look in Delgado's eyes as he waited to learn more about the mystery woman.  He would never crumble and beg like that.  He had too much strength and pride.  Although there were some circumstances where she was certain she could get him to beg.  She smiled inwardly at the thought.

"I got in touch with someone in insurance and had him search for anyone with the last name Cullen, aged twenty-six to thirty-five.  There was a match at the University of Colorado's hospital.  His sister."

"Colorado?  Tray's family was from Chicago.  Are you sure it's her?"

"Positive.  I'm going to go and pay her a visit."

"Are you crazy?  If you just take off.  You'll be seen as a security risk.  They'll kill you."

"I thought you said the DTAA didn't kill people?"

"I was speaking figuratively.  Although these days I'm a little less certain."

She placed her hand to his chest and ran it down his side.  "You sound like you care."

"That's because I do." 

His body was warm beneath his shirt.  There was a subtle but unmistakable tension in his lips and eyes.  Barbara looked at him trying to guess what he was feeling. 

"I don't want you doing anything that will get you hurt," he said, no longer whispering.  "We have to be careful."

"Oh, I think you'll find I'm a very careful person."  Her hand continued down, inching over his hip and along his thigh.

"I'm serious.  I want to find out what the hell is going on as much as you do but just wait.  I'll figure out a way to get you to Colorado but it'll take time.  Will you wait?"

"I won't go, yet.  I'll wait.  But what should we do until then?"

Her hand moved up over his solid ass and hooked into the small of his back.  She pulled herself against him and leaned in for a kiss.

"We can't.  It's not safe here," Delgado said, pulling his mouth away but not his body.

Barbara raised herself another inch on her toes, pushing her face towards his.  "It's not safe anywhere."