She started to fantasize about killing Dan about ten minutes after she sat down. This wasn't unusual; they were, after all, separated. Back when they were still living together, trying to figure out their problems, she'd counted at least seventy-three ways before she'd gotten tired … of counting.

He didn't have the decency to be within punching distance, either. He was somewhere in the background, running surveillance.

"I don't usually do this," she admitted to the guy sitting next to her at the bar. There. That should cover up some awkwardness on her part.

"You don't look like you need to."

She shrugged, staring at her barely-touched drink. "Thanks. I married young. Just recently separated."

He flashed a grin at her. "Not divorced?"

"Not yet."

"You'll do fine." He was turning on the flattery now, just a bit. "Finish that drink, you'll feel better."

"Yeah," she grinned back, but that was just so her lips stayed sealed, so she wouldn't scream in frustration. She wasn't Vice. She didn't do undercover jobs. She had her own job, and she should be doing it now. Her caseload wasn't heavy at the moment, but every file represented a dead person, a family who needed closure. She could have been home in pjs, researching notes, watching Trixie and checking homework. Instead she was in downtown LA in an overcrowded, overrated bar, sitting next to one of their suspects, trying to get him to pick her up.

"You come down here before?"

Time to rally. "Not until recently. You know…. I just needed to get … out." She paused, sipped. "How about you? You a regular?"

"I haven't seen you around here."

"Yeah, I'm just starting to get out." Another sip. "Of my shell."

"Here's to new starts." He raised his glass to her, and she obediently raised hers, clinked it against his. They took matching swigs, and he turned more closely to her. "Where else have you been?"

Where the hell was she again? Dan had dropped her off, and she was getting the debrief on the way down, not tracking their location. But one familiar thing flashed by just before they parked. "Um, that club with the piano. Lux."

"Oh, that's top of the line. That's the kind of place you work up to."

"I guess I've always done things in the wrong order." Smile, sparkle. "And what about you? What's your story?" Sucker him in so she could finish this and go home to those pjs, release the babysitter back to the wild. Damn Dan. At least he was paying. For everything.

He'd asked her when he came to pick up Trixie for school. "Please, Chloe. I need you."

If only he'd said that a year ago. "I'm homicide," she reminded him. Again. For the second time in, what was it, four weeks? "And you might want to get here on time if you're going to ask for favours." At least she was just trying to hustle two of them out of the house. Not three. Thank god. And he'd say something cutting about that. She couldn't let herself smile; Dan would think she was smiling at him.

Lucifer hadn't tried anything in two weeks, which made her suspicious. And Dan was here, asking for her assistance for another department. Gah, men.

"Chloe, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't urgent."

"Why me?"

"All the women in Vice already have already been made in that area of town."

"All of them?"

"There's only two of them. And bartenders talk. Everyone talks."

"But not to the police."

Dan shook his head. "No one ever sees a damn thing. Six women drugged, sexually assaulted, robbed, left naked in the street. And no one sees anything suspicious until they show up in the morning, different parts of town." He took a deep breath, checked to make sure they could still hear Trixie in the bathroom, the water running as she brushed her teeth. "It's escalating, Chloe."

"How fast?"

"We had one a month for two months, then last month there were two, once every two weeks. This month, it's been every weekend." They listened, again, for Trixie, but he dropped his voice anyway. "The last two were cut up."

"He's experimenting."

"Them."

"What? There's more than one?"

"From the traces…. Yeah. At least two. Maybe more."

She shuddered. "The media hasn't said anything."

"Yet. But we have to, if they strike again. We need to warn people. But we have a suspect. We're going to be watching him tonight, because if the pattern sticks, they're going to be out looking. But Chloe, if we don't have someone on the inside…."

And so here she was on a Friday night, trying to glitter and glow at a second-string frat boy hiding behind nerd frames, hoping he made a move on her, proved himself to be one of their guys. So some other woman wouldn't have to find them on her own.