1. Don't break any laws.

Thank God it was Friday. Gus sighed, his brain melting into an exhausted blob now it didn't have to focus anymore. Midterms were coming up, and the professors had all decided they needed extra homework to 'help' them study. Gus' backpack felt like it was made of lead, and he sped up so he could get home and ignore it for the rest of the night.

Homework was weekend-Gus' problem. Tonight was for vegging.

His hand made its way into his pocket and he pulled out a folded piece of paper. The writing on it was gorgeously curvy, just like the girl who'd given it to him. Underneath the phone number, she'd written, 'Party tonight at Deltasig. Find me.'

Shawn would have been so proud of him. Gus had actually talked to Molly four times already, and he hadn't forgotten his name once. And he'd managed to get her digits.

Though he really needed to throw away the evidence before he got to their room. Shawn would definitely find it, and he'd probably tell Gus to go to the party. Which would be a terrible idea. What would happen if he accidentally drank spiked punch? Or if the cops raided the frat house and he was charged with aiding and abetting underage drinking? Was that even a thing?

Gus didn't intend to find out.

Besides, as much as he'd love to get to know Molly better, he really didn't have time for any other relationships right now. School kept him plenty busy even without the cop stuff added on. Still… it was nice to imagine. She'd probably be wearing something black and clingy, and bright red lipstick would make her dazzling smile even more enticing…

Gus' blob brain stayed very happy with his imagination as he saved her number in his phone and threw away the paper. The imaginary-him was just leaning in to smell her hair when the sound of a loud slap brought him back to reality.

"Stupid cow, look what you did!"

Gus' stomach churned and he unwillingly turned to see what was happening. A boy with greasy blond hair glared at his cringing slave and the books that littered the ground around her feet. The boy snapped his fingers and pointed down. "Pick up your mess."

The slave quickly bent down and reached for a notebook, but before she could pick it up, her body tensed and she fell to her knees. The boy sneered as he released the button on his remote. "Well, what are you waiting for? Lazy bitch."

Gus' hands shook with how hard he was clenching them. Every muscle in his body tensed to keep him from launching himself at the boy. It was wrong, it needed to be stopped, he could stop it…

If being around drinking teenagers wasn't allowed, then punching a teenager definitely wasn't.

The slave's hands were shaking too as she quickly picked up the books. A thin folder fell from her fingers, and the boy retaliated, each sentence punctuated by a kick. "You useless twat. Can't even pick shit up right. Don't know why I even bother feeding you."

"Hey!" The word left Gus' mouth before he could stop it.

The boy looked up, and Gus froze as their eyes met. Why did he do that? He'd only make things worse, and he was putting Shawn in danger, and bullies hated it when they were challenged, and it was always the weakest that paid the price…

"You got a problem?" the boy called out.

Bullies didn't like being challenged. He couldn't make things worse. Gus forced his face into a smirk and walked over to the boy. "No, no problem. I've got one too, and he messes stuff up all the time."

Shawn would forgive him. He'd understand it was for the best.

The boy relaxed, his aggressive posture turning back into a grimy sneer. "Yeah? Does he whine and drag his feet too?"

The still-silent slave grabbed the last book and stayed on her knees, waiting for her next order.

"Sometimes." Maybe Gus could make it a little less worse… "He gets a lot clumsier after getting shocked too. I had to back off so my stuff stopped getting mud all over it."

The boy snorted. "Sounds like he wasn't punished enough. Slaves do what you say, no excuses. Or they're supposed to…"

Gus heard a faint buzz and the slave jolted again. None of the books fell. Bile burned Gus' throat at the display he'd caused; how much training did it take for that sort of response?

Shawn had never dropped anything when his collar had gone off either.

"You're lucky you managed to not be a complete failure. Get up." The boy held out his hand to Gus. "I'm Tom, by the way."

"Jimmy," Gus lied as he gave a friendly grimace and shook the bully's hand.

"Nice to meet you. Maybe we could get together sometime and I could show you a thing or two about correcting a slave."

Surely just a little punch wouldn't be that bad… Gus kept his hands in his pockets as he answered as Jimmy. "Sounds fun, but this place is too much of a dillhole for me. Can't flunk out if you quit first, right?"

"Oh man, I hear you. The girl teaching English hates me; I just got back another paper that I have to re-write. Fucking bitch."

It was a complete mystery why the professor hated him… "That sucks."

"Yeah, it does. But I'll get through. See you around."

Gus nodded, guilt and relief warring with each other as he walked away. He could have done more. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of his new mantra: The world was messed up, and he couldn't help that. He could only make his corner a bit better.

That slave was in his corner…

He would have only made that slave's life worse if he'd done anything different. It would have been too risky to Shawn if he'd done anything different.

Unease made Gus a stranger in his own skin as he made the rest of the walk to his dorm.

2. No signs of aggression.

"How could none of the fingerprints match?" Gus asked as he stared at the offending report.

"You're welcome to fingerprint them yourself…" Lassiter grumbled as he leaned against his desk.

Shawn looked up in interest; they could do that?!

Gus shook his head subtly. Spoil sport. "Employees were the only ones who could get those coupons."

"Yup," Lassiter agreed.

"All of the cars that were broken into were around the store."

"I know, I made the map."

"Then how could none of the workers be the thief?"

Lassiter was saved from answering by the theme song from Cops. He quickly answered his phone and walked away, his voice shockingly sweet. "Hey honey."

Gus handed over the report with a grumble. "How could a thief this dumb still not be caught?"

"Mysteries of the universe. Call Daniel Butler…" Shawn said offhandedly as he pieced together all of their evidence. Vehicle smash and grabs, a calling card of a 50% off coupon for Radio Shack, all of the crimes surrounded one certain Radio Shack, the same fingerprint was found on multiples of the coupons… "Why a coupon?"

"They're cheaper than red roses?"

Gus wasn't wrong, but that didn't seem right. "Remorse?" The thief was stealing a lot of tech. But why that Radio Shack? "Put the store out of business?"

A memory of their trip to the Radio Shack answered the suggestion. "If corporate gets wind of this… We're already barely breaking even."

"Coupons can sometimes help a business," Gus said thoughtfully. "People get one item for cheap and then buy three more things…"

Adrenaline rushed through Shawn as everything made sense. Store going out of business, not an employee, a dumb criminal… An overheard conversation.

"Look, you gotta tell your kid brother to stop hanging out in the employee area. I know he wants to help, but it's not allowed. He idolizes you; he'll do what you say…"

He had it. He had it, he had it, he had it… Shawn's hand shot to his head, and Gus quickly said, "Woah, Lassiter's not here."

But… He had it! The answer struggled to be released, and Shawn bounced on his toes to bleed off the energy. Why was the call taking so long?

"Hey!"

The energy stopped instantly at the reprimand from the approaching police officer. The police officer with his hand on his gun. Shawn cringed back, falling into attention; how could he have forgotten where they were?

"Officer," Gus said, his voice carefully guarded.

"Your slave needs to settle down; if you can't control it then we will."

"He wasn't doing anything; we were just talking."

"It was getting worked up and aggressive."

Shawn took a deep breath and let it out; hopefully Gus would follow in kind. He could keep himself under control. It wasn't a secret that most of the precinct didn't agree with the chief's decision.

"He had a vision, he can't help–"

Lassiter interrupted the argument. "Smith. Need something?"

"The slave was acting aggressive," the officer said immediately.

"He was not!" Gus snapped back.

"Stand down," Lassiter warned before his voice went back to bland curiosity. "How was he being aggressive?"

"It was acting out of control."

"Out of control how, exactly?"

"It just… was!"

Gus answered what the officer refused to. "He was bouncing on his toes because the spirits were talking to him."

"I see…" Lassiter drawled. "So, should I bring that up to the chief, Officer Smith? That you were afraid of, let me check my notes, a bouncing slave?"

"Nobody wants it here. Just because you can't do your own work and got in pretty with the chief doesn't change that."

"Noted. Anything else?"

The officer apparently didn't have anything else as he stalked off. Gus waited a few seconds before saying, "Thanks for–"

"If the complaint had been legit, I would have been the first in line to bring it to the chief," Lassiter said briskly. He strode forward and snatched the file from Shawn's hands. "I swear, it's like you're trying to get the contract revoked…"

Shawn winced; he had to remember that the station wasn't safe like the dorm was. Even if he was just talking with Gus.

"Well? What's the vision?"

3. Dress appropriately

Gus thought about their new case as they rode a nearly empty bus. A circus murder certainly hadn't been on his Bingo card this year.

Out of nowhere, Shawn quietly spoke up. "How many dead clowns do you think could fit in a clown car?"

"Shh!" Gus hissed, even though there wasn't anyone near them. "What is wrong with you?"

"Do you want a list?" Shawn asked back with a shit-eating grin. He was far too excited considering someone's head had been eaten by a lion. "A circus murderer has so many fun options."

"We have very different definitions of 'fun'."

"Know what would really be fun? If we joined."

"Join a circus?" Gus asked skeptically as his imagination burst into action. Spotlights, glittering outfits, scantily clad women… He'd make a damn good ringmaster.

"They're supposed to be a tight-knit group. Think how much more they'd talk if we were on the inside."

An image popped into Gus' mind: both of them in full clown gear running into the chief's office with the damning evidence. "It's too bad we can't."

Shawn's smile dimmed as he seemed to think along the same lines. "Yeah…" His smile brightened again. "You gotta admit, though. You'd make a dope ringmaster."

Naturally, the ringmaster was the one who'd done it.

4. No yodeling.

"Hey Gus, think the cops will know if I yodel in your room?"

"No."

"Great." Shawn took in a deep breath.

"I mean no, as in no."

"It's too quiet…"

"Sorry I can't study louder for you…"

"Just a small yodel?"

"Why does it have to be a yodel?"

"Because it's not allowed. Duh. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Lassiter hid a camera in my room and you lose your chance at freedom."

"I'll take my chances."

"No."

There were exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds of silence before Shawn couldn't resist anymore. "Yodel–"

"Oh my god, I will use an order. For my sanity, if no one else's."

"...Since when have you been sane?"

5. No reporters

Nerves jangled under Gus' skin as he knocked on Crystal's doorframe. Why had the RA asked to meet them?

"Yo, come on in," Crystal called out from her desk. She looked strange in a white collared shirt and dress pants. Her hair still covered her face, though a white headband was abandoned on her bed.

"You wanted to see us?" Gus asked as he sat on the futon couch.

"Yup." She looked over to where Shawn was still standing in the doorway. "This is for both of you; ya mind closing the door?"

Shawn closed the door and eased himself down next to Gus.

Crystal didn't waste any time as she stated, "I've been putting together a case that can pressure the board to make slaves in the janitorial program safer. As you know, they currently have very little protections despite what the contract promises."

Gus tried to keep his relief off of his face. They weren't in trouble. "Right, you mentioned that last semester."

"Since last semester, I've tried starting a dialogue with what I've found. Keep things in-house. That 'dialogue' has turned into a monologue. And another slave was sent to the hospital this week, so I'm done keeping it in-house."

"Why are you telling us?"

"I want to go to the press. They're going to want quotes. Interviews. I figured you're my best bet at getting a slave who's willing to answer."

They could help make a difference. Gus looked hopefully towards Shawn only to be pulled up short by the regretful look on Shawn's face. "What?"

"No press," Shawn quietly reminded him.

But… that didn't count, right? They weren't going to the press about the psychic thing. Though, reporters usually dug deeper… they could find out about the cops. Or, worse, they might figure out that Shawn had been involved with the last janitor losing his job…

The words nearly had to be physically pulled out of his mouth as Gus said, "I'm sorry. We'd love to help, honest, but we can't."

"You've been plenty outspoken about the system being broken," Crystal pressed. "This is something that could actually help."

"I know. And any other time we'd– I'd be the first in line. But we can't do that."

Crystal sighed, her disappointment sending a spike of guilt through his soul. Why did he care what she thought of him? He had his reasons.

"If you change your mind, let me know. I'll… try to ask around."

"We can ask Rowan," Shawn said quietly.

Gus immediately nodded in relief. Maybe there was still a way they could help. "Their slave was in the program last semester. She might be willing to say something."

"Thanks. Let me know."

"We will."

It took three days, but Abigail eventually agreed as long as she could answer through Rowan.

6. No arguing with the cops

Shawn followed Gus out of the department store, deep in thought. The victim's wife definitely wasn't the one who'd done it…

"That was a big waste of time," Gus grumbled as soon as the door was closed.

"We know he was having an affair," Shawn offered as a consolation prize.

"That the wife was perfectly fine with…"

A new voice sneered, "Well, well, look what we have here."

Shawn froze before shrinking back into his place. How had he not noticed Carp parking on the street? He was getting sloppy.

"You have permission to be here, Mr. Guster?" the detective asked.

"It's a free country," Gus shot back.

Even in the tense moment, Shawn couldn't help but glance up to see Gus' frozen expression as he processed what he'd just said. In any other situation the disturbed shock would be hilarious.

"Maybe, but it's awfully convenient that you decided to shop at the one store the victim's wife works at…" Carp's voice turned condescending. "Why don't you give up and go home, kid. Everyone knows that contract is no good. Leave the police work to the grownups."

"The chief of police signed that contract, not you. We just wanted to check out some new clothes. Come on Shawn, it's time to–"

"You're impeding on a criminal investigation," Carp cut in. "You and your mutt need to back off before you're brought up on charges."

Gus' voice turned ice cold. "We're allowed to be here. And Shawn isn't–"

"You arguing with me, boy?"

The following tense silence filled with all of the curse words Gus wasn't allowed to say. Shawn inched closer; maybe the silent support would help? One wrong step and the contract was done for.

"No, I wasn't," Gus finally managed to say. "We were just leaving."

"You're leaving with me. Your handler needs to know where his freak show was poking around."

Carp walked back to his car, and Gus stayed where he was, his shoulders shaking from everything he was keeping himself from saying.

"It's ok," Shawn tried, knowing it was futile.

"It very much is not," Gus snapped back.

In a way, Shawn wished he could be as angry. Instead, he found himself just going through the motions as he said, "It'd be better to go with him."

Gus groaned, but he led the way to the car.

Carp sneered as Gus opened the door. "I just got this car detailed; I'm not letting it mess up the seats."

Gus' face darkened in rage and Shawn quickly said, "I can kneel, sir."

He had to prove that he'd done everything possible to be good.

Neither free person said a word as Shawn knelt in the space in front of the backseat. His cheeks warmed as Gus sat on the other side, just like Missy had all of those years ago.

Gus dropped his hand down, but instead of petting Shawn's head, he flashed his middle finger at the detective in the driver's seat.

Despite everything, Shawn couldn't help but smile at the gesture as the car started the journey to the precinct.

7. Don't be disrespectful

An ache pounded behind Lassiter's temples as he knocked on the chief's door. God, he needed a drink…

"Yeah, c'mon in."

"Sir," Lassiter said respectfully as he closed the door behind him. "We have a problem."

"Your consultant, I presume?"

He wasn't Lassiter's consultant. Lassiter wanted nothing to do with him. "I was given another complaint; Mr. Guster and his slave are waiting in a holding room now."

Chief Swanson let out a weary sigh. "What's this one about?"

"Detective Carp found Mr. Guster sniffing around a victim's wife. Apparently he was argumentative when he was questioned, and Carp brought them to the precinct. Carp also said the slave was being disrespectful when he didn't immediately kneel in the holding room's corner to be restrained…"

"I wish that man would dig that damn chip out of his shoulder," Swanson muttered. What the hell did that mean?

It didn't matter. Lassiter finished his report. "Mr. Guster reports that they were only looking for information from the spirits and they weren't impeding any investigations. He says he didn't argue and they were both compliant when they were brought in." Considering Lassiter had personally seen Shawn kneeling in the car without any protests from Guster… "It doesn't seem like they did anything to break the contract."

"I knew I'd be rufflin' some feathers with that contract, but I didn't think it'd be to the tune of a complaint per case…" Swanson held out an expectant hand. "I assume you've already filled out the paperwork?"

"Yes, sir." Lassiter handed over the pack of papers. He hesitated before asking, "Will you hold these complaints against Guster?"

The kid was a pain in Lassiter's ass, and it would make life so much easier to go back to how it had been… But Guster should only lose the contract when he or Shawn inevitably broke the rules themselves. They shouldn't lose it because other people were weaponizing the rules against them.

"What do you think?" Swanson asked. "You're the one havin' to deal with them. Are they worth the hassle?"

And there was the rub. Lassiter reluctantly answered, "The information the visions have provided have helped close every case we've hired him for."

Swanson grunted in agreement and slid the paperwork into a rapidly growing folder. "And that's why I picked you as his handler. You're a straight shooter even when you wish the bullets would curve."

It was a confused pride that Lassiter felt, but pride nonetheless. He fought the urge to pat his gun to let it know he didn't hold its straight trajectories against it.

"Let Mr. Guster know he and his slave are free to go. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." The headache wasn't gone when Lassiter left the office, but it was just slightly less aggravating.

8. Standing and sitting are allowed

Gus looked at the ceiling, the floor, the drawers lining the wall… Everywhere that wasn't the corpse laying right in front of him.

"I've been hearing bout you two, and I am so glad to finally meet you," the plump older lady said on the other side of the autopsy drawer.

"Mmhmm," Gus answered faintly. The coroner could have been his grandma in an alternate life; maybe he could just pretend she was standing next to an oven…

An oven that had been stabbed seven times in the back.

"Ooh, but where are my manners? I'm Nancy, and this here is Larry." Nancy patted the corpse on the shoulder like he was an old friend. "He's been telling me all about these holes in his back. Wanna see?"

"Uh…" Gus took a step back as Shawn took a step forward. He didn't actually need to see, right?

"I'm afraid the poor dear had a go of it. See the tearing? That ain't from a kitchen knife; least not one that's been proper cared for."

"Too small for a kitchen knife," Shawn said offhandedly. He immediately tensed and added, "Sorry, ma'am."

Gus tensed with him. With the way things had been going, it was better to assume anyone in the precinct was against them until proven otherwise.

"Then you ain't been in the right kitchens. Not everything has to be a butcher's cleaver," Nancy corrected.

Gus found himself relaxing at her lack of outrage. That was a good sign.

Nancy pulled out a penlight and clicked it on. The small flashlight slipped through her fingers, bouncing off of the corpse and clattering loudly against the autopsy table.

"Ooh, sorry, dear," the coroner kindly apologized to the dead man as she retrieved the light.

It probably said something that Gus was still counting it as a win that Nancy was treating Shawn with the same respect she treated a corpse.

Nancy continued her show and tell. "With how dull the knife was, I'm thinking it'd be more of a letter opener. But that's not the good part." Nancy shone the penlight into one of the stab wounds. "See that here?"

Shawn peered closer. "Yes, ma'am."

What were they seeing? Gus' feet took a half step forward before he stopped them. His curiosity didn't need sated that badly.

"Every stab has burns like that, though this is the worst. I sure don't know no kitchen that keeps this strong of an acid–"

"Nancy!" a detective barged through the door. "I need the rundown on the Jane Doe brought in last night. She's…" He pulled up short as he took in the other people in the autopsy room. His face darkened in an ugly look. "What the hell is it doing here?"

Damnit. Just when things were going well for once. Rage settled over Gus as he stepped in front of Shawn. "Lasster told us to–"

"I don't care what that brown-noser said. Just because you did a couple of magic tricks for the chief doesn't mean it gets to forget its place. It needs to be in a corner to let the real people do their jobs."

"He's doing exactly what our contract lets him do," Gus gritted out. "If you don't like that, then you can complain to the chief."

"What I don't like is–" The detective was cut off by a plastic container being waved in his face.

"Have a cookie, dear. I made them this morning. They're nice and chilled!"

Gus' rage took a backseat to confusion as he looked between the container, the refrigerated drawers in the wall, and the lack of a refrigerator anywhere else in the room. "...Where were you storing those?"

Nancy's only answer was a smile.

9. Visions are allowed to be slightly disruptive.

"Sir, slaves are not allowed in here!"

Shawn barely heard Lassiter's barked, "Police business," as he slipped past the restaurant host and jogged into the fancy dining area. The sounds and smells tried to resonate with his memories, but he couldn't lose focus now.

"Where is she?" Gus asked, his eyes darting around the room.

A familiar hair pin caught Shawn's eye, and a hand with a silver cufflink lifted a champaign glass at the same table. He sprinted forward as Gus frantically tried to keep up. The glass reached the man's lips, the poisoned drink splashed towards its victim, and Shawn reached out, knocking it out of the man's hand right before disaster could strike.

Glass shattered on the floor, a collective gasp rose up around them, and Shawn's face exploded in pain as the man backhanded him with a snarl.

"How dare–"

"Nightshade, hemlock, cyanide!" Shawn yelled over him, quickly moving his hand from his throbbing cheek to his temple. "Black widows on the prowl…" He snapped his eyes over to the woman with her perfectly pinned hair. "Every rose has its thorn."

The man's arm pulled back, ready to lash out again, but Lassiter's voice stopped him. "SBPD, stand down."

"I demand this slave be arrested!" the man snapped out, his face red with rage.

"That slave just saved your life," Lassiter said, his voice emotionless.

It seemed as good of a time as any to continue. Shawn spoke to the woman. "Your husband was the smartest person you knew, but talent only gets you so far. All of these schmucks, born with a silver spoon in their mouth, taking it all for granted. They get all of the promotions, all of the bonuses, all of the favors. What did it leave your husband with?"

The woman didn't answer, watching him with cold eyes as she took a sip from her own champaign. It didn't matter to her if she was caught. That could be dangerous.

Her victim still didn't get it as he huffed and complained, "What is the meaning of this? You're going to let it just say these things?"

The officer behind Lassiter agreed under his breath. "Apparently we let it do whatever the hell it wants…"

"Mr. Reynolds," Lassiter said, as though he hadn't heard either complaint. "Are you acquainted with a Mr. David Willson?"

The man stared at Lassiter in befuddlement but still answered, "He worked in my company. Left a few months ago…"

"He didn't leave, you imbecile," the woman finally spoke up. "He had a heart attack. From all of the work that you gave him!"

It was now or never. Shawn added fuel to the fire. "He wasn't the only one. A whole string of men, feasting on the hard work of your husband. Having parties while he worked late nights and weekends. Never seeing the cost as they bragged about pulling themselves up by their gold-plated bootstraps." He'd seen plenty of their types to know who she was targeting. "They took his life. And now you have to take theirs."

"Want to know the worst part?" the woman asked Shawn like they were equals. "The three men before this idiot. Not a single one could even begin to understand why I held them responsible. They died confused, still expecting the 'pretty little face' to save them."

"Cassandra!" the man gasped, looking scandalized.

Cassandra just rolled her eyes and held out her wrists. "Please, dear god, get me away from these parasites."

"Cassandra Reynolds, you are under arrest…"

Gus stepped closer to Shawn, offering a subtle fist bump of celebration as the rich man they'd saved moaned about his lot in life.

10. Only the handler and master will handle discipline

"Cell Block Tango, Chicago. Everyone knows the arsenic line."

"Nerds. Nerds know the arsenic line. The poison in Princess Bride is way better."

"No one even remembers the name of that poison."

"Iocane powder."

"That doesn't count."

Lassiter groaned under his breath as he finished the paperwork logging their consultant's contributions to the latest case. Why his desk had been deemed a safe place for arguing was beyond him. He should have just had Guster sign the blank document before he filled it out. Damn morals…

"Romeo and Juliet?"

"That's worse than the musical. You're going backwards."

At least the argument was quiet… But it was still at Lassiter's desk. Exactly where he didn't want it. Surely he hadn't been this annoying when he was a teenager.

A southern twang caught Lassiter's attention, and he automatically sat up straighter. Who was the chief talking to? He usually stayed in his office…

"... solve rates have been up and we got several initiatives for crime reduction in the works. I know ya got the election next year. A bit more fundin' could really make a world of difference…"

The mayor was here? The boss' boss… Lassiter's mind went wild with possibilities. If he could make a good impression, not only would it impress his current boss but it might even open up doors in the future.

"You know, I read a book with poisoned nail polish…"

"How would that even work?"

The insane argument continued without any sign of slowing down as a man with a jawline that promised promotions came into view. Lassiter couldn't mess this up; everything had to be perfect.

"Something about snake venom? You know, cyanide teeth are always a classic."

The two idiots were too caught up in their own little world and were going to ruin everything! Lassiter did what he had to as the mayor drew closer.

"I wonder if those guys just never eat popcorn. Imagine getting a kernel–"

A buzz cut off the conversation as Shawn let out a quiet gasp. Lassiter released the button of the remote and stood up in the blessed silence that followed. Just in time.

"This is Officer Carlton Lassiter, one of the members of the team that handled that recent string of poisonings. Lassiter, meet Mayor Davis."

"A pleasure, sir," Lassiter answered respectfully as he shook the offered hand. The offered hand that could one day make him chief…

"I'm glad to meet one of the men keeping our streets safer," the mayor answered.

Chief Swanson glanced over at the desk and beckoned Guster over. "Lassiter is also in charge of our newest consultant, Burton Guster."

Guster stepped forward with a smile that looked nothing like his usual expression. "A pleasure to meet you, Mayor."

Everything was going perfectly. Even Shawn was standing at attention, actually acting how he was supposed to.

The chief continued, "Mr. Guster is the one who broke open the case and saved Mr. Reynolds."

"It was actually Shawn," Guster corrected. Because of course he did…

"The psychic slave." The mayor peered closer. "I was skeptical when Bill told me about him, especially with your age. But I can't deny the results... I don't suppose you could order him to have a vision?"

"We're not on a case right now, so the spirits are quiet," Guster said, not at all sounding like he'd made it up on the spot.

"Shame. Well, keep up the good work. You too, Officer Lassiter."

"Thank you, sir."

Lassiter beamed as the mayor walked away knowing his name. He couldn't wait to tell Victoria about this.

"What the hell was that?" Guster asked, ruining the moment.

"That was a meet and greet with the mayor."

"No, before. Why did you hurt Shawn?"

Why couldn't he ever just accept things for what they were? "It's not my fault you two were too busy bickering like a married couple to see the chief was coming."

Guster glared with an intensity that would melt iron. "Saying 'shut up' would have taken just as much time."

"I had to make sure he listened."

"By shocking him?"

"I'm allowed to."

"What rule was he breaking?"

The question brought Lassiter up short. They both knew he could list at least two of the rules in the contract as well as the unofficial agreement between them. But he'd also be lying through his teeth if he tried to claim that was what he'd been thinking about when he'd reached for the remote.

Guster scoffed in the resulting silence. "That's what I thought. All of that talk about slaves deserving to be safe if they followed the rules, and you were willing to ignore all of it just to earn some brownie points. I guess you're not that different from the rest of them after all."

"I never claimed to be," Lassiter snapped back, ignoring the sharp twinge in his gut. He didn't like them; he didn't want them here. If this got them away from him, then good.

Guster signed his name at the bottom of the half-finished report. "We're leaving. Before you decide to shock him just for existing again."

A strange urge to apologize tried to take Lassiter over. He squashed it back down; he hadn't done anything wrong. "I'll contact you when the chief has another case."

"Yup." Guster stalked away from him, his quiet slave following like a shadow.

Leaving Lassiter standing off balanced at his desk. He'd been justified in using the remote. But he also didn't have an easy rebuttal to Guster's complaint. Shawn hadn't been breaking any rules, and Lassiter hadn't tried any verbal commands before activating the collar.

It didn't matter. He was just off balanced because the report wasn't finished. And because he'd shaken the mayor's hand. The only slave rules he needed to worry about were the ones that Shawn or Guster would eventually break.

Then they'd finally be out of his hair and things could go back to normal and he wouldn't have to have a fight every time he treated a slave the way a slave was supposed to be treated.

It was just a matter of time…