"Eventually, yeah," she said, her fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass. "They gave me a few days to deal with the whole legs thing before they hit me with the rest." She leaned forward, propping her head up with her hand. "I don't know what was worse. What they told me or the looks of disappointment on people's faces when they did it." That had been the worst. People she'd known and worked with for years telling her that as soon as she was healed up she was going to have to go to jail. That she wasn't a cop anymore. Just a killer.