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with your background your testimony isn’t admissible into Internal Affairs hearings except as a courtesy. Even then, I won’t put you on the stand because the two of you are dating. You have no credibility, and there are three citizens with excellent credibility against you. It’s a train wreck waiting to happen, and I’m not going to play that game. I’d suggest you shut up about now and be grateful you aren’t being brought up on your own charges.”
    â€œCh-charges?” Cherabino asked, for the first time losing her cool confidence.
    â€œThis department has a zero-tolerance policy for police brutality, and the witnesses say you crossed that line many times over. Your hand-to-hand training—especially the judo—means you have the skills, and you did punch out the rookie last year. And on the anniversary, with the media already involved . . .” He sighed. “Cherabino, you’re one of my best officers, but I can’t play favorites, and I can’t assume your innocence, not under these circumstances. I have my own career to worry about. I can’t be seen to tolerate excessive violence from you or anyone else. Not at all after the Bennett incident, and especially not on its anniversary.” Bennett had gone to every media outlet he could find, and his battered body had played very well on the national news. I’d seen something about that in the paper yesterday.
    I swallowed. We were really in trouble, weren’t we?
    â€œSir?” Cherabino said, hurt emanating from her in sad waves.
    Branen flipped on the lights and sirens and changed lanes nearly on top of another car, which moved out of the way with a bob of the antigravity engine.
    I swallowed my stomach as we fell another five feet in the air, just in time to join the ground traffic below. I could see where Cherabino had gotten her driving skills.
    â€œSir?” Cherabino repeated. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
    â€œThe hearing will determine that, not me,” Branen said. “Considering what Internal Affairs already has on the docket, this one is getting fast-tracked. You’ll face both issues together—the trip to Fiske’s house a few months ago and this incident—and you’ll do it this week. I’d suggest your lawyer and you have a long, hard conversation. If your job survives the process, I’ll be stepping up my supervision. You might have the highest close rate in the department, Cherabino, but you are not above the rules. Not for a bad kill. Not for police brutality. Not now.” The last was said with such certainty that she reared back like she’d been hit. He was sure she’d done this, and his disgust at the fact was obvious even to her.
    She’d never said she was above the rules, her mind leaked into mine. She was overcome with shame that Branen, the supervisor who’d believed in her and been there for her during her husband’s funeral and after, would think she’d beaten a guy to death. That anyone would believe that of her . . .
    I don’t believe it,
I said quietly, with the flavor of my mind so she’d know it was me.
    Shock and horror. Then: “Stay out of my head,” she spat out loud, and her mind became a wall against me.
    They left me on the main floor of the police department, Branen telling me to go home.
    â€œShe really didn’t do anything wrong. And I was there too. Why aren’t I being accused of anything?”
    Branen stared me down. “Ward, you have to understand. I have three witnesses saying she was involved, and none for you. You got lucky. Right now the less I see you, the better; you understand?” He was worried about possible murder charges, about the family suing the department. He would do everything in his power to keep those two things from happening, but he had only so much control.
    The police brutality charges—those he believed. Isabella