Author's Note: I couldn't remember or find Harper's radio number, so I just provided a random one. Also, can this please be the last time I say that every OC in this book was not intentionally named after anyone? I swear all names are taken; I even named a character Mae Whitman once. Anyway, on with the show!

Harper watched as Ella closely inspected their equipment. "So I'm curious... Where does a scientist get her impressive shooting skills? Bradford told me you knocked 'em dead at target practice."

"Oh. My dad taught us with a BB gun in the backyard when we were just a bunch of kids, and when we were actually old enough, we moved on to the real deal."

"Was he a cop, too? Is that where you got this little...idea?" she asked, as if Ella were just a child playing dress-up.

"No. My dad was a hunter. And you know, I love store-bought food, but it just tastes better when you've gutted it yourself!"

Harper was a little grossed-out by that comment. "It's actually perfectly enough for me to be thankful; I would prefer to not look behind the curtain, I don't even need to hear about the main event."

"Well, how can you really appreciate something you don't fully understand?"

"Ahh..." Harper nodded, her beautiful smile betraying her hostility. "That's why you're doing this."

"I'm actually doing it because there was an itty-bitty screwup, and I haven't wanted to run screaming," at least not enough times to do it. "I think I could actually have a place here. Maybe it's even my..." Her words tumbled to a halt and she timidly surveyed Harper's reluctant expectation. "My second... Uh, wait, how many callings do you think a person can have?"

"None," she answered, and sighed upon remembering that she was, after all, talking to somebody who was lost. "I think you can dream all you want. It's good. It might even help you get through life. But a calling, no. Some divine intervention, some purpose―no, it's not real. There is only this, and you either have what it takes or you don't. If you're looking to make it day-to-day, that's admirable. Don't start thinking you belong here. None of us do. There is no 'place in life' where you just magically fit. Just because it's your life, doesn't mean it's tailor-made for you. You will never be truly content somewhere. You'll just get tired of running, and you won't ever have the guts to admit it to yourself. Get the gear," she added, "Meet me in the shop. You don't smoke, right? Because there is no smoking in the shop."

"I...don't...smoke," Ella said, robotically, wondering if she should start.

"Good," was all Harper would say, as she walked down the hallway. Changing her mind, she turned back long enough to call, "There's no eating in there, either."

Ella activated her bodycam, and moved to attach her gun, quickly realizing she was about to put it on the same side as her bodycam and instead moving her hands to the opposite side.

"Nice catch. You'll be doing circles around Smitty in no time."

Ella didn't have to look to recognize Nolan's voice; even by now it was unmistakable. "Thanks. Long as I'm not doing a freakin' Möbius strip," she added in a grumble, and looped one of several shoulder straps around her shoulder. "Hey... Sir?"

"Oh, please don't call me that," he chuckled.

Ella nodded in agreement, already weirded-out by the fact he was her junior; Christ, he didn't even really look it. "Uh, were you the one who told Sergeant Grey about Sergeant Bradford pushing me?"

He gave a small, crooked smile of apology. "Yes. I'm sorry, I panicked a little―he's never put his hands on anyone."

"Wow, I feel so special," she muttered.

"He is an exceptional T.O.," Nolan said, "Who wants to help you become exceptional. The only problem is, sometimes he can be a bit of a bully, and if you can handle it, it's fine, but... Jesus, what are you, 17?"

She chuckled. "Obviously my skincare routine's working. No, I'm, I'm actually 46."

For once Nolan was at a loss for words. She was still grinning as she put on another shoulder strap, feeling with the hefty weight of each bag that she would sink through the floor like Kitty freaking Pryde. "Well, guess I know who to call if I need a hero."

"Uh, well, not to brag, but I'm also good for a joke and fatherly... Or regular," he amended, "Advice."

She took a slow, deep, and trembling breath, telling herself that she was probably older than―oh, shit―she turned around quickly with big eyes. "Hey. Uh, how old is Sergeant Grey?"

Nolan didn't seem to know the answer, so Juarez filled the void. "He's 52."

Ella couldn't stop herself from sighing in relief. "52, okay. That's good," she said, sounding like she was on the verge of a psychotic break as she continued loading herself up with weapons. "Uh, hey, do either of you believe that everybody has a calling? In life?"

"Yes."

"Yeah," Juarez added. "Totally."

"What about, say...multiple?"

A sudden silence met her ears, and picking up the last gun, she turned around to see Nolan slowly shaking his head, while Juarez stared off into space, frowning as she contemplated. "Yeah, I was afraid of that," Ella muttered, and her words brought Juarez back into the present―she immediately focused on the three guns dangling off of one hand―and Ella sighed, using her free hand to double-check her bodycam. "Well, with any luck, this is my calling," she said, and doubtfully added, "And I was just on the wrong path before. Wasting my time as a scientist, because...I was stupid."

She didn't sound like she felt lucky, and 7-Adam-15 were frowning as they watched her walk away, carrying the arsenal.

Nolan looked down at Juarez. "How do you know his age when I've been here longer? You're making me look bad," he joked.

She shrugged, looking up at him. "Hey... It's not my fault I'm friendlier than you."

"I've made up my mind about you."

Harper's words came as a shock; she had been driving in silence for seven minutes. "What do you mean?"

"I will only continue calling you Handout if you're still wearing long sleeves by New Year's. If you graduate in time, then I'll start calling you Repeat."

"Great, good for you."

"Eyes up front, Handout... We're looking for the kidnapper of a little girl, and you have seen him in person."

Ella turned her eyes up front, and the drive progressed in silence...for awhile. The quiet atmosphere was soon broken by Bradford's voice coming over the radio. "7-Adam-100 for 7-Adam-22. Lopez! You there?"

Ella picked up the radio. "I'm here."

"I think, uh... What was Maddie wearing? Do you remember?"

"Uh, a knitted, light pink sweater. Why?"

"Because I think I just found it in a garbage can."

Ella recognized the look of determination in her new T.O.'s eyes. "What street are you on?"

"Cloverdale."

"Alright, let him know we're coming," Harper muttered. She began to accelerate.

"We're on our way," Ella said into the radio. She clicked off, and the rest of the drive to Cloverdale was completely quiet...almost like Ella was dead to her T.O.

When they arrived, Thorsen was speaking to the family of the house, and Bradford was standing with him but not at all invested in the conversation; he simply stared into the shadows of the trees across the street. Ella couldn't tell if he was annoyed by the sunlight or annoyed in general. He had absent-mindedly put the nice pink sweater over his shoulder, which she found ridiculously adorable. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was clenched. Ass was probably clenched, too, Ella thought, given how tightly-wound he was. She looked at Harper first to see if she would get caught hazarding a glance.

She quickened her pace, beating the bewildered Harper to stand in front of him. One minute he was thinking about what it must be like, to be young, alone, lost, and frightened; the next he was being blasted by a rookie. "Hey. What's wrong with you? I mean―getting hate-mail? Mega-scary, okay, not even the pros like it. But your wife... Well, fiancée, whatever. Calling her a sucker, man, that was so uncool. And trust me, I know uncool. I-I used to do puzzles with the picture side facing down, okay, and I was always picked last in gym... But you do not go around calling your wife names, unless they're terms of endearment, unless you want to be sleeping on the couch. And I know I've been here for, like, a second, but she deserves better, okay, especially from you!"

Bradford had listened with an overwhelmed face as she had bumbled to her point, and now his eyes flicked as he realized he had been lectured in the street.

"Sir," Ella concluded, belatedly and awkwardly.

"I was kidding."

"Well, it really upset her. And I think you owe her an apology, Sergeant."

Bradford watched her for a moment, then smiled. "No."

"Why not?"

"If she's upset with me, she can tell me herself. She and I have a mature, functioning, adult marriage, part of which you're not. Please tell me your qualifications for your last job were not that you dissected frogs―once."

"No. I'm very...pro-animal."

Bradford nodded, still squinting in the light. Still wearing the pink sweater on his shoulder. "In the summer of 2009, I had to shoot a rabid dog. When it fell, I learned it had recently whelped. Scouted the area and found her pups. All dead, from hunger and dehydration."

"Are you telling that just to torture me?"

"I'm telling you that because it's not always about helping people―and you don't belong here if you can't deal with that."

Thorsen walked up to his T.O., apologetically butting into the conversation. "The family says they don't recognize the sweater and have no idea how it got into the trashcan, but their bin was empty this morning. And the only kids who come down this street are the ones who live on it."

"Okay. Mr. Garcia hasn't been reachable since yesterday, his work hasn't―" Bradford's voice broke off abruptly as somebody screamed in the distance. The four cops moved as one in the direction of the distress call that they realized, as they drew nearer, was actually a commotion. Somebody was shouting, and another person was crying.

"Let me go, please. Don't hurt me―"

"Shut up! After everything―everything you've done, you're finally going to get what you deserve."

The group came around the corner between houses, to the backyard, where a man had his arm around a woman's chest. She had been reduced to tears, and was capable only of gasping excessive apologies in her fright. The man was wearing a bomb around the arm that he had wrapped around her chest. "If I die," he uttered, "You die."

She yelped as he started dragging her away―he hadn't taken two steps when Bradford made their presence known by calling, "Let her go!"

"No. Hell, no. I don't deserve to die, but she... She's a worse person than I am. She slept with my brother, my cousin... My sister-in-law!" he added in an enraged shout, tightening his arm and making her choke.

"I...didn't," she said, barely able to speak.

"And she's been lying to me about it since President Obama. I'm sick of her bullshit and seeing her slutty―"

Bradford suddenly fired a silenced shot. The man released his victim, grasping his injured thigh instead as the woman rushed to the cops. Without saying anything more, Bradford walked into the backyard and grabbed the man, beginning to force him right back towards her. The gap between the house and the fence was fairly wide, and he gave them a wide berth. That plus the loaded, drawn firearm convinced the man, now a bomb and a gunshot victim, to remain submissive as they passed. Thorsen hesitated, but his steps were sure as he followed his partner.

"You live here, right?" Ella asked the frightened woman, who nodded. "Go inside, have a drink or something... You're gonna be okay."

"Handout! Let's go."

Ella rushed after Harper, whose shop, she was dismayed to see, tailed Bradford's. "It's early. Can't we work on the Garcia case?"

"After."

She was too scared to ask what that meant, and figured she would find out soon enough.

Ella kind of assumed that Bradford would take the bullet-bomb victim to somebody who could remove the explosive, inside or outside the precinct, but no. He led Harper's shop to a peaceful Los Angeles cliff. When he and his victim got out, the first thing Ella noticed (after she stopped lamenting that the action of getting out of a car was not simply referred to as decarring) was that Bradford was no longer holding him up at gunpoint. Then she noticed, he didn't have to. The vic was obviously resigned, but he seemed to have thrown in the towel.

"Why are we..."

But Ella couldn't finish her question, and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear the answer. But when he got to his knees, she knew.

"Because it's more humane," Bradford said. "We failed Andrea, but we're gonna do it right this time. Lopez, Harper―this is Earl Scott."

It wasn't like Ella had forgotten how he had been ready, intent, on taking somebody down with him. But he was moments away from turning into a firework, so she forced herself to say, "It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, it's a real pleasure," Harper muttered.

"Uh, I hate to interrupt the formalities," Thorsen said, with only a trace of sarcasm. "But how are we going to put him out?"

"We're not," Bradford answered. "After I shoot him, we'll dump him in the water."

Ella and Thorsen stared at him, horrified that he could speak so openly about the man's demise; then he looked at the man and said, "Sorry, my fault."

"I always thought I'd be donated to science. I registered as an organ donor in the '90s," Earl said, disbelieving. He still knelt on the rocky terrain, knowing the pain it caused him would be over soon. "My decision to be one is older than my daughter... She's a med student."

"What was the name of the woman you were trying to kill?" Harper asked, unemotionally.

The man spared her a glance, but didn't answer, continuing to kneel and letting them judge him―which they would anyway. Ignoring her stuffy superior, Ella abandoned her place between Harper and Thorsen, walking up to the dead man and getting carefully down to her knees beside him, with everybody looking at her like she belonged in a nuthouse. Ignoring them, she asked the one question she even felt comfortable with. "Do you want to use my phone and call her?"

"She wouldn't want to hear from me."

"Maybe not now. What about ten years from now? You know, what if she wished she had a chance―a choice?"

The man looked doubtful, and kind of annoyed. "Lopez," Bradford called. "Stop pushing."

Now she understood the look on Earl's face. Muttering an apology, she stood up and walked back to the little cluster of cops. "What sense is there in hurting a bunch of random people?"

"You'd know, if you showed up on Thursday," Harper told her.

"These disciples are men and women who have been let down by police," Thorsen informed her. "They want the world to know they can't depend on the LAPD."

"So you're saying twelve people are going to die...because they're proving a point?"

"Yes."

"Great... Great," Ella said, eyes wide. "This is just...great, and... I totally don't need a moment to think at all." She turned away and wandered back to the shop, leaning on it and closing her eyes, as the article Defusing Bombs And Other Situations flitted through her head in useless, broken-up bits of information.

"We observe the tragedy. Remember?"

She quelled the instinct to roll her eyes at Harper's business-as-usual voice. "You can observe it. I actually want to sleep tonight."

"Yeah. Much as I would love to indulge you, Bradford would like you to know that you can either observe, or you can implement those impressive shooting skills."

"What?" Ella asked, not sure if she was understanding correctly.

"Yeah, well, you didn't memorize the Rook Book cover to cover, and you don't have a moment of training, so he wants you to prove your grit somehow."

Ella's pretty eyes came slowly open, and she raised her head to stare quizzically at Harper; then, without another word, she turned and began walking down the trail they had taken in their shops. She ignored Harper's call, stopping only at the gunshot that resonated from behind. Knowing they were going to dump his body into the water, she kept walking, curious to see how far she'd get before they drove by... Maybe they'd even pick her up? Though at this point, she just might have preferred to walk.

She wasn't halfway down the trail by the time she heard the vehicles. Bradford's shop drove past and stopped, and then he opened the driver's door right into her path. "Are you seriously pissed at me?"

"Are you―seriously―surprised?" she enunciated, and pointed behind herself. "This was an assassination."

"This was taking our bomb victim to the place he always dreamed of dying, and ending the torture sooner rather than later. It was not letting him die alone― starting a wildfire in the process."

"Really?"

"Really," he said, and turning back to his shop, he changed his mind and turned back to add, "You know, it's weird―I would've thought you respected the LAPD."

"I do..."

"There are children in that neighborhood, Lopez. Would you have them all witness the exploding man? His kids were in that house! And you're literally standing here bitching about us doing our job."

She sighed, shaking her head in frustration. "Look, whatever, okay? I was supposed to be dealing with the living."

"Whatever feelings of inadequacy you feel, you need to quash them. That's exactly what these terrorists want―for you to feel like you don't measure up."

"But it's so hard, Sergeant..."

"If you don't have what it takes, the library's hiring."

He got back into his shop and drove away, and Harper's shop rolled up beside Ella. "Want a lift?"

"I-I don't... Uh, I―"

"There's bears up here."

"Right. I'll take a lift," she muttered, and circled the shop to the passenger side. Before Harper could criticize her, she jumped in with, "I know, okay, he's just trying to make me exceptional."

Harper chuckled, beginning to follow Bradford's shop. "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"Well, how do you see it?"

"You ever hear, 'A chain is only as strong as its weakest link'?"

"Yeah, who hasn't?"

"Okay, well, think of him and the rest of us," she added, "Not as a chain, but as a fence, going all the way around the prison yard. Because that is what we are trying to keep standing." She paused for a moment, thinking as she mindlessly followed the otherwise abandoned trail. "Guy'd been a T.O. for nearly fifteen years when I joined the fight. And, honey, I joined ten years ago. He doesn't care if you sink or sail; he has a job to do. His only concern is whether you would make him look bad. He's on the path to tenure; if you screw that up for him..." She shook her head. "Let's just say he's not going to be hunting for survival."

Ella sat in her passenger seat, suddenly feeling small (not that she was particularly big, or anything). Finally she asked the one question she was capable. "Is he a good man?"

"If he was a bad man, he wouldn't be on the path to tenure."

"Detective Reiben was a bad man." Ella shrugged, meeting the woman's puzzled and transient glance. "It happens."

"My condolences. Bradford isn't Detective Reiben. He's a little rough around the edges, but he would take a bullet for his Boot. Or be your man of honor."

Ella paused, squinting in visible confusion. "Is this like Two Truths And A Lie?"

"Have I presented a third option?" Harper asked, and smiled at the road ahead. "No. He has... And he was."

"He was a man of honor; that's so sweet."

"And that's why he didn't want me to know. I'm never gonna let him live it down."

For a transient few seconds, their chuckles mingled in the car; then, for seconds more, it was uncomfortably quiet. Harper finally said, "So tell me about this Detective Reiben."

Ella's smile faded, as she struggled to recall everything―and not because the memory was vague. "He was a racist cop," she confessed. "He arrested two victims basically for being black. My friend..." She choked a little on her voice and had to force herself to say his name. "Dan...fought for their innocence. He and my other friend, Ame...Armistead," she said slowly. "They, uh, they both put themselves between the victims and the cops. But it didn't matter, you know? The boy ended up killed anyway. I have no clue what happened to her."

"Do you think seeing her file would be good motivation to buckle down?"

Ella thought, briefly, giving a nod. She stubbornly looked up ahead at Bradford's license plate. "I wanna know."

Harper was quiet for a long time, finally saying, "You're okay, Lopez."

Ella smiled at her. "Yeah?"

"But you're only getting it out of me once."

"Oh, once is good enough..." Ella then looked down to adjust the camera, into which she said, "I got that on video."

She looked over at Harper when the disgruntled sigh caught her attention. "You know, I can't wait to ask him about his maid-of-honor assignments."

Harper tried to keep a straight face. "Man of honor, and don't you dare!"

"Do you think he had to model some dresses?"

Harper squealed, reaching in a hurry to turn off the dashcam. "Stop, stop―"

Being privy to what still felt like an assassination was weighing heavily on Ella. So was the knowledge that she had come so close to pulling the trigger herself. She didn't think she could ever wrap her mind around what she had almost done. The only good thing that came of it? Now she knew, there were some things she wouldn't be willing to do for this job, or any other. It shed a little light on who she was.

Still, when she saw all the other police vehicles pulling into the precinct parking lot, with familiar faces among them, she felt her heart lift. Maybe this wasn't her calling. But she damn sure wanted it to be. As she got out of the shop and tried to act normal, she looked at all the police officers getting out and tried to imagine who they were after hours. Tried to imagine taking a bullet. For Chen, for Thorsen, for Bradford, or Harper... For the multitude of men and women wearing a badge just like hers, who didn't know her name.

As the others rushed on ahead into the building without any visible fear, Lopez turned to face Harper, standing deliberately in her way. She could tell she was annoyed by it, but she didn't apologize. She didn't back down. She didn't break eye contact. "Just so you know, I will never, ever, shoot someone. Not even if they're on their knees begging. I can't."

"You'd be surprised what you can do."

"Never," she stubbornly repeated. "I'll... I'll walk away."

"And what if the bullet saves Dan?"

"Uh, Dan died. On the job," she added, her voice rough with suppressed grief―most, but not all, for him.

"I'm sorry. But at least he's an angel now."

Harper frowned when Ella's most unusual response was to chuckle. Seeing her expression, Ella forced herself to become very serious, very fast. "Yes. He is," she said, her voice sounding strange and detached to her own ears.

Harper nodded, lingering by the open trunk. "Okay, well, what if it saves Armistead?"

And in the middle of hanging a strappy gun over her torso, Ella lifted her head, frowned, and asked, "Who's that?"

Not even realizing her mistake, she turned and walked into the precinct, with a bewildered Harper walking after her. She didn't realize why Harper was still giving her weird looks when they took their seats in the conference room.

Grey sighed, walking into the room while rubbing his head. The room became deafeningly quiet all of a sudden, as the hushed conversations scattered throughout the room died. While turning to observe their reactions out of morbid curiosity, Ella saw the frown come over Bradford's face right before he surged to his feet and moved swiftly up to join his sergeant. She heard him speak, in a voice so quiet she couldn't believe it was him.

Bradford turned to face the room as Grey began to address them all. "It never stops," he began softly, and raised his voice. "We have a new case. Something that's so horrific, I don't think we can handle it ourselves. The twelve disciples can wait. This is all hands on deck."

His eyes roamed over the faces of those dearest to him. "I've never seen such horrific murders."

And with that, he held up a remote control, pressed a button―

Ella's eyes were glued to the screen. There he was, plastered high for the entire room to see.

"His name is Dallas Tyler Jenkins. He's been evading us for years, but he's just turned up in LA..."

Ella stood up, without her brain even directing herself to move. Like she was just learning how to walk, she slid out of the gap between her desk and chair, her foot catching slightly; not enough to make her trip, but enough to make a loud, embarrassing squeak that successfully interrupted Grey. She continued stumbling towards the exit, knowing only one thing for certain: She felt nauseated.

"Lopez, do you mind? This is important."

She could hear herself muttering a response, but not even her own mind could decipher it. She heard several people asking, "What?" and could see the confusion on their blurring faces.

Then the vague face of Harper was there, as the world pitched and rolled around her. "What is? What's happening again?"

Before anyone could say anything more, Ella vomited on Harper's boots.

"Okay, nobody panic," Grey said, over the responding commotion Ella was oblivious to. "Harper, you get your rookie to the washroom right now."

"On it."

"It's happening. It's happening. It's happening," was all Ella could say, over and over again, as she stumbled alongside Harper. She saw the vague form of a door opening in front of them, and the next thing she knew, she could feel the floor beneath her hands. And her knees hurt.

"It's okay," Harper tried to assure the concerned people in the hallway. "We're okay. Come on, Boot."

She slid an arm around her and helped her stumble the rest of the way across the hall. But when she sank down on the floor in front of the toilet, Ella didn't need to vomit; she needed to cry. So she rested her arms on the seat, dropped her forehead onto her arms, and she wept. Between sobs, she continued to utter some semblance of thought. "It's happening again. I don't... I can't... It's happening again, I can't..."

Harper got down to her knees, feeling extremely out of place. She was a cop, not a nurse. It was harder for her to reach out and put a hand on the girl's back than it had been to learn how to ride a bike. A skateboard. A horse. Hell, even a helicopter beat it. At least those things got her somewhere; actually, anywhere she wanted. It was fun, it was rewarding. Not this. This wasn't what she did.

"You need to talk to me."

Ella lifted her head, looking at her T.O. with a certainty that she was a soggy mess.

"I can have your back. But only if you let me."

"I can't... I can't say."

"Oh, you plan on being a dishonest cop?"

Ella took a moment to consider her inquiry, then turned away from the toilet to face her instead, wiping her eyes and feeling...so pathetic. "I've been s-seeing Dallas," she growled.

"Tell me you see him where he works," Harper said insistently.

"I've been seeing him in my bedroom."

Harper's nostrils flared. Her eyes flashed. "And you said it happened again. You've done this before?"

Ella nodded, barely able to speak above a whisper. "You ever hear about Pete Daily?"

When she had spun around on the floor, Harper's hand had moved to her shoulder. Now she released her like she had discovered the girl was a parasite that only resembled a human. Recoiling in disgust, she stood and left the stall, leaving Ella to sit there by herself; suddenly craving the company of her T.O. she stood and lurched to the stall door, only to see Harper still in the room. She had gone off to the far wall to rest her head upon it. That was the sight Chen came to when she opened the bathroom door; Harper's head in her hands, back to the world, and Ella standing like a posing corpse in the stall door.

"I'm," Ella's soft voice was unnaturally loud in the quiet room. "I'm sorry about your shoes."

"How could your first instinct be Protect The Bad Guy?" Harper shouted, in the middle of turning around. Too late, she saw Officer Chen in the doorway.

"Um," Chen blinked, trying to push past her outburst. "Uh, Sergeant Grey says all hands on deck, so we're... We're pulling in officers from other precincts, too."

"Great! Nifty! Lopez slept with Jenkins!"

"What?"

"And the Whisper Killer!"

Chen stood still for a moment, then began to leave, until Harper's shrill exclamation, "Chen!" made her turn back around.

"Uh," Chen said eloquently. "Yeah, it... It's going to be a little more crowded than usual."

She gave Ella a little frown as she turned away, walking across the hall.

Harper walked to the door to watch her, then turned to give Ella a dirty look.

"I made a bad choice."

"No, see, posting inappropriate selfies online with family members on your friend list, is a bad choice."

"Well―in my defense, I didn't know he was a criminal."

"You didn't think to ask?!"

Ella gawked for a moment, then began to nod, frowning at her. "I should've asked. Yeah. That's... That is a good idea."

Harper went to the door, and just as Ella came close, with the intent of following her to the conference room, Harper surprised her by slamming it shut in front of her and turning around. "Are you shitting me?" she whispered incredulously.

"I'm sorry!"

"You aren't going anywhere near this case."

"But Grey said―"

"Focus on finding Maddie Garcia. You've seen her, you've seen her father, and I don't want you working the Jenkins case. You're too close." Harper turned back to the door and muttered again, "You're too close to this," as she finally left the washroom, taking confident steps in puke-spattered shoes.