It was Guin’s turn to answer the April question. “We fought.”

“Over?”

“Cheryl.”

Sloan seized her slight opening into the subject. “Now that’s plain ridiculous, don’t you think? Jealous of a dead woman?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How so?” Sloan waited but got no answer. She slightly shifted the subject. “Speaking of work stuff—which I don’t like to do when I’m not there—that was solid work on that alarm company case.”

“Thanks.”

“The way you were able to take the little bit of evidence, not a single eyewitness, and still get a full confession out of that shop owner is nothing short of amazing.” She stared Guin down, added in a darker voice, “A damn well, highly unlikely miracle.”

“Well, we examined the computer for—”

“Bullshit, Marcus,” Sloan interrupted her. “I don’t like to be lied to, so let me just stop you there. Besides, you can’t even turn on a computer. You repel technology.”

That was sadly true. Guin only stared at her.

“Now, what’s the real truth?” Another shot arrived at the table, summoned by Guin. Sloan intercepted delivery and held it next to her water, waiting for an answer. “So what’s the story,” she baited. “You psychic?”

Guin blinked several times. A crowded, noisy bar, drinks flowing, a hot nameless actress giving her a come-hither look from across the room, and she was sitting here with her superior having this conversation? Now?

Guin nodded. “Sort…of.”

“Now that didn’t kill you, did it?” Sloan pushed the shot across the table in her direction. “Here’s your reward.”

Guin downed it with such alacrity, her eyes watered.

“So if I got this right, nobody understands the poor little psychic girl, so you come here to drink to dull your senses.” Sloan leaned forward, grinned. “All six of ’em.”

Guin went suddenly serious. “I don’t feel sorry for myself.”

“You sure about that?”

“How did you know, anyway?”

It was amazing Sloan could even hear Guin’s low voice so deeply imbedded was it in the crowd noise. The lieutenant pulled a folded picture out of her jacket pocket, smoothed the crease and slid it across the table.

There she was, with dead Cheryl. Guin folded it closed, reluctantly slid it back.

“Oh, you can keep it,” Sloan told her. “Creeps my girlfriend out, anyway.”

Guin’s expression changed again. “You told your girlfriend?”

“I tell her everything because I trust her,” she said in a chastising voice. “You could learn a thing or two about how that works, from what I’m gathering.”

“Coming from the woman who’s supposed to be building a crib,” Guin mumbled.

Sloan grinned, raised her glass high. “Cheers to that.”

“Amen,” Guin said, and slammed another shot. They set their empty shot and beer glasses on the tabletop. The bartender knew the routine by now, returned with water.

“So, you want to ask me how I do it?” Guin wriggled her eyebrows. “How I see dead people?”

“I don’t even care how you do it.” Sloan took a long chug of ice water, set the glass aside. “I’m just wondering if there’s a way we can get your head on straight off the job so you can be your best person when you’re clocked in.”

Guin’s smirky smile faded. She nodded. “Could take some work.”

“I take it April doesn’t know about this.”

“No.”

“Did I scream and run away?” Sloan waited for Guin to shake her head. “She won’t either. You’ve got to give people credit.”

“I can’t control it—who I see or when. It’s like a…trance.” It was a strange confessional coming from Guin, but Sloan held back, let her clear the decks. “With Cheryl, sometimes I can see her very clearly, like she’s standing right here. We talk, believe it or not. And sometimes when I need her, I can’t find her anywhere.”

“You know what would be nice?” Sloan reached across the table, patted Guin’s hand. “To see somebody alive make you smile as hard as you were in that picture.”

Even in her advancing stage of inebriation, Guin realized what had just happened her.  She said, simply, “Thank you, Jace.”