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  “You say ‘Brandon.’ Brandon Ames?” asked the voice, no longer sleepy.

  Every muscle in Jessica’s body tensed, but she forced her voice to remain calm. “Yes, do you know him?”

  The speaker was silent for a moment. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Please—I promise you won’t get in any trouble. I’m not working with the police. I’m just a mother who—”

  “Sorry,” the voice said again. There was a metallic click and the speaker went dead.

  “Hello?” Jessica said.

  Nothing.

  “Hello?” she repeated.

  Still nothing.

  She pushed Amber’s button again. No response.

  Tears of anger and frustration blurred her vision. She rubbed impatiently at her eyes. She couldn’t just give up and go home. She had to get Amber to talk.

  The sound of footsteps startled her. She jerked her head around as a large man in a black leather jacket and baggy jeans walked past on the sidewalk. He glanced her way, then grinned and winked without breaking stride.

  Jessica decided to go back to her car.

  She got inside, locked the doors, and put the key in the ignition. But then she realized that she couldn’t leave. Not yet. She had to try one more time, in person. She had sensed—or hoped she sensed—indecision in Amber’s voice when they spoke over the intercom. Would Amber still be able to refuse her if they met in person? Jessica had to find out. At the very least, she would make Amber Yang look her in the eye and say no to her face.

  Amber might be watching from her apartment, so Jessica turned on the ignition and drove away. She took a right at the corner, and the apartment building disappeared from her rearview mirror. She took two more rights and then parked at the corner with a view of Amber’s building. The shadows were lengthening and her car was screened by several anemic trees, so she hoped Amber wouldn’t spot her.

  Darkness thickened around her, and she felt increasingly uneasy. She all-too-clearly remembered Sofia’s warning about being here after dark. She checked her mirrors every few seconds, scanning the shadowy sidewalks for danger. What little vehicle traffic there was on the street ceased, leaving it empty and somehow ominous.

  A man suddenly loomed around the corner on the passenger side of her car and lurched in front of her. She stifled a scream and turned the ignition, ready to put the car into drive and slam down the accelerator. The engine vroomed to life and her headlights came on, showing a startled homeless man holding a vodka bottle in one hand. He jumped out of her way and staggered across the street at a shambling run, dropping his bottle as he went. He picked it up, shouted a slurred curse at her, and stumbled off into the night.

  Jessica sighed and switched off the ignition again. What was she doing out here? She felt like a stalker—and maybe that’s what she was. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t just give up and go home, could she? She had to—

  A group of four slender young Asian women with teased hair appeared from the entrance of the apartment building, wearing skirts that were too short and heels that were too high. They reached the sidewalk and turned, walking away from Jessica at a fast clip, teetering expertly on their heels.

  Jessica started her car and drove after them. As she pulled even with the women, she slowed and rolled down her window. She swallowed hard and called out, “Amber!”

  One woman stopped and turned, her eyes and mouth wide with surprise. She had a pretty, delicate face, which would have been prettier with less makeup.

  “Amber, I’m pleading with you,” Jessica said, leaning out the window so Amber could see the despair and sincerity in her face. “Brandon is my only child. He’s the only family I have left since his father died. And he is innocent.”

  Amber recovered and started walking again, ignoring Jessica. The other girls kept walking and said nothing.

  Jessica rolled forward to keep pace with her. “I just need to know about Lincoln Thomas. That’s all. If you can’t talk to me, that’s okay. Just give me the name of someone else I can try. Please.”

  Amber kept her eyes resolutely ahead and her mouth shut. She turned another corner just as a bus pulled up on the cross street. The bus doors opened and she got on with the rest of the girls, shooting a quick glance at Jessica as she boarded.

  The bus pulled away from the curb and Jessica followed it. She could see Amber near the back of the bus, typing on her phone and occasionally glancing out the rear window.

  A slow mile and a half later, Amber and the other girls got off and started walking down the sidewalk toward a corner where several other girls and women in revealing clothes stood under a streetlight.

  Jessica pulled up to her again. “Amber, give me five minutes of your time and you’ll never see me again,” she said. “I just—”

  “What are you doing, lady?” an angry masculine voice demanded.

  Jessica turned to see a muscular, thirtyish man with dreadlocks approaching. He reached the curb and glared at her. “Leave that girl alone,” he said, jabbing a finger in Amber’s direction.

  Jessica’s heart pounded and she reached for her Mace, but she wasn’t going to leave yet. “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to her. My son is in jail for a murder he didn’t commit. She may know something about what happened. If she would just tell me what she knows—or even tell me who I can talk to—I’ll leave.”

  “Leave now!” He took a step closer, looking down menacingly. He was now only a few inches from her door, so close she could smell his sweat.

  “But my son—”

  “Now,” he repeated, his voice low and icy. He opened his jacket and reached inside, resting his hand on the butt of a gun in his waistband.

  Jessica’s thoughts froze as she stared at the gun. She realized she had no choice. Her resolve broke. Heart racing, she put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

  She looked back as she drove away. The dreadlocked man was watching her with hard eyes. The women were clustered well back from the street, observing warily. Amber was nowhere to be seen.

  By the time she reached the highway, the reality of what she had done began to sink in. Her hands shook so badly that she had to pull off and park in a 7-Eleven. She turned off the ignition and buried her face in her hands.

  CHAPTER 28

  Cole regarded the thickset, dreadlocked man sitting in one of his guest chairs. The man hunched forward and his eyes darted nervously around the room. Billy Chen sat beside him, leaning back out of the man’s peripheral vision and watching his discomfort with a hard-edged smile.

  “Derrick, what were you discussing with Jessica Ames?” Cole asked.

  The big man cocked his head. “Who?”

  “Don’t play games,” Billy said. “We saw her pull up and have a conversation with you last night. What did you talk about?”

  “Oh, the crazy lady. She was bothering one of my girls. I told her to knock it off.”

  Cole glanced at Billy, who gave a barely perceptible shrug.

  “Try again, Derrick,” Cole said.

  “Seriously, man, that’s all that happened,” Derrick said. His confusion seemed genuine. “Who is she?”

  “Which girl was she bothering?” Billy asked.

  “Amber.”

  “Is she one of the girls your boss bought from Lan Long?”

  “Yeah,” Derrick said warily. “So what?”

  “How exactly was she bothering Amber?” Cole asked.

  Derrick shrugged his large shoulders. “Don’t know exactly. Amber sent me some texts while she was on her way in, saying there was a crazy lady following her. So when Amber showed up and the lady was there, I told her to get lost. That’s it, man. I swear.”

  “Show me the texts,” Billy said, extending his hand.

  Derrick frowned, but he reached into his jeans, pulled out a phone, typed for a few seconds, and handed it to Billy.

  “Crazy lady following me in car,” Billy read. “Say son in jail for killing LT. That’s Lincoln T
homas, right, Derrick?”

  The big man held his palms up. “Could be, I guess.”

  “Why did this lady think Amber would know anything about Lincoln Thomas’s death?” Cole asked.

  “I don’t know,” Derrick said.

  “So go find out,” Billy said. “She’s your girl, right?”

  Derrick gave Billy a sullen look, but nodded.

  “Okay, thanks for coming in,” Cole said. “Billy, could you show him out?”

  Billy reappeared a couple of minutes later. “Think he was telling the truth?”

  “You mean about not knowing who Jessica Ames is or why she wanted to talk to this Amber?” Cole responded.

  Billy nodded as he flopped into one of Cole’s chairs. “I didn’t like it that he didn’t say anything about Linc until I read his texts.”

  “I didn’t either, though I’m not sure how much to read into that. Derrick isn’t an honest man, but he is a bad liar. I didn’t get the sense that he was lying to us.”

  “Neither did I,” Billy said, picking up Cole’s letter opener and fiddling with it absently. “And those texts backed up his story about Ames harassing one of his girls. Maybe he had the girl send those to him so we could find them. But if that’s not what happened . . .”

  Cole nodded, following Billy’s train of thought. “If that’s not what happened, what in the world is Jessica Ames doing?”

  CHAPTER 29

  February

  Before today, Jessica had only been to the Daniels house when there was some sort of evening event going on. The wide parking area had held the crowd of vehicles, expertly packed in by a valet service. But now it was empty except for Nate’s Tesla. The house itself was even more stunning in the daylight than it had been at night, but it seemed . . . forlorn, somehow.

  Nate was waiting by his car, busy with his phone. He looked up as she pulled into the driveway. He flashed a broad smile, then turned back to his phone again, thumbs flying as nimbly as a teenager’s.

  She parked next to his car and got out.

  “Thanks for coming out, Jess,” he said, still bent over his phone. “Please pardon my rudeness while I finish this email. I should have had better judgment than to schedule this during business hours.”

  “It’s a Saturday morning, Nate.”

  “Yes, exactly,” he said. “Sundays are my day off. Mostly off, anyway. My apologies.” He tapped his phone with a flourish and dropped it into his pocket. “There. I just hit ‘Send.’”

  Sarah must have been a tolerant woman. Jessica had mostly seen the Danielses at church or when they got together for dinner, so she hadn’t realized just how much Nate worked. Or had he not been so busy in those days?

  “Where would you like to start?” she asked.

  “I am in your hands,” he replied. “Where do you recommend?”

  “Well, we can start with the foyer and move on from there.”

  They walked through the house, discussing ways to improve its marketability. Jessica enjoyed it. It filled her mind, and that was welcome in itself. If her thoughts had nothing concrete to anchor them, they inevitably drifted to Brandon and despair.

  Her mind had been stuck in a particularly bleak rut since her failed attempt to interview Amber Yang two days ago. She had told Nate and Sofia that Amber wasn’t willing to talk, but she hadn’t shared the details. She doubted they would approve of what she had done. And in truth, she wasn’t entirely sure she approved herself. Maybe she had let her mama-bear instincts get the better of her. And all she had accomplished was to completely alienate Amber and make a pimp threaten her. Maybe it would be better if she just gave up—but how could she give up on Brandon? She had to do whatever she could to help—and what exactly was that? Find more potential witnesses to stalk? Then she would start thinking about her encounter with Amber again. And then her thoughts would repeat the same useless, fretting loop.

  It was nice to spend a little while thinking about something completely different. Something fun. And it helped to have Nate there. His presence lightened her mood. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it over the last couple of years. He was funny and urbane, telling little anecdotes about various spots or items—like the one about how he had lost a decorating battle in the living room. He claimed he still couldn’t understand why Sarah wouldn’t let him display a samurai sword—especially one given to him by a client—over the fireplace. But there was an undertone of sadness to his banter, and she could tell that he was forcing himself to be a good host.

  The longer she spent in the house, the stronger the feeling of forlornness grew. It wasn’t just Nate, it was this place. After about fifteen minutes, she realized what it was: the house didn’t feel lived in. Only their coats hung in the spacious foyer closet. No magazines, newspapers, or half-read books lay on the tables or counters. She had the feeling that she was in a model house professionally decorated for a photo shoot. When she opened the fridge and found it empty and spotlessly clean, she turned to Nate. “How long has it been since you actually lived here?”

  He looked into the antiseptic fridge for a few seconds, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve had the place in the city for a few years, and I guess I spend most of my time there.”

  “How much time do you spend here?”

  “Not much. I’m out here every once in a while to check on the place or because something needs to be done.”

  “Why didn’t you sell it earlier? It must be worth at least three or four million.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve meant to, but I never seem to get around to it. There’s always something urgent going on at work or some little thing out here that needs to get fixed first. And it would take time and work to find a realtor and get the place listed. So it’s been easier to just hold on to it.”

  She nodded. “It was hard for me too—selling the house I shared with Tim.”

  He sighed. “To be honest, that’s part of it.” He turned and swept his hand in a broad arc. “Sarah is part of this place. We designed it together. We decorated it together. We lived here together.” He paused, his eyes staring into space, seeing things she couldn’t. He shook his head slightly, and a sad smile curved his lips. “It was the happiest time of my life. And every time I come here, the memories are . . . so strong.” His voice roughened slightly and his eyes glistened.

  “I miss her too. She was a wonderful woman.”

  “Yes, she was,” he said softly.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “You never really get over losing a spouse, do you? The wound heals, but the scar is always tender.”

  He took a deep breath and smiled. “So I need to learn not to poke it, I guess.”

  Before she could respond, his phone rang. He looked down at the number and his brow furrowed in surprise. When he looked up, he was all business again. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this. Just a few minutes.” He hurried off into the living room, talking in a low voice.

  She left him to his work and wandered through the house, giving him his privacy. Ten minutes later, she heard him still talking on his cell phone. She consciously didn’t pay attention to his conversation—until she heard him say “Brandon.” She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but . . .

  She walked into the living room, intentionally making enough noise to announce her presence. Nate was facing out the window, but turned as she entered and glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “I need to go now, but thank you for calling. We will absolutely want to arrange a witness interview. Let me talk with my colleagues, and we’ll be in touch in the near future.” He paused, listening. “Thanks, you too. Goodbye.”

  He turned off his phone and looked at Jessica. “That was a potential witness in Brandon’s case.”

  Jessica’s heart leaped. “Who was it? What did they say?”

  “It was a woman named Jade Li. She’s a professional escort, and she says she has information that may be useful to us. We didn’t get into specifics, but it sounds like she may know who
would have had a motive to kill Linc Thomas and the ability to do so. She agreed to a witness interview.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Ever since Brandon’s arrest, his plight had been like a block of ice weighing on her heart. That block just melted a little. “The first break in the case.”

  “Well, I hope so,” he said, dropping the phone into his pocket as he spoke. “We won’t know until we talk to her and check out what she has to say.” His face wore the look of sober skepticism she suspected he always used when delivering good-but-not-definitive news to clients.

  “Oh, come on, Nate,” Jessica said. Her soul felt like it was full of champagne. Which gave her an idea. “Let’s go over to Wente and have a glass of champagne to celebrate. My treat.”

  Nate still didn’t look as ebullient as she felt, but his face wore a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Champagne with you? How could I turn that down?”

  CHAPTER 30

  Brandon was in the yard doing push-ups, partially for exercise and partially to keep warm. The air was a chilly fifty degrees, and a light rain—really a wet wind—was falling.

  Not many inmates were in the yard today. The Los Reyes members were there because they had a rigid set of rules about staying in shape. The Tigres were there because Los Reyes were there. Brandon was there because he had grown up being outside and the weather didn’t bother him much. And Mo was there because Brandon was there. But the weather did bother Mo, who huddled against the wall, trying—and failing—to get some protection from the rain.

  Brandon considered telling Mo he could go inside. Tony Cruz had been transferred last week, so Los Reyes had a new shot caller who had no personal vendetta against Brandon. Also, Brandon hadn’t noticed anyone watching recently. But he didn’t understand jailhouse dynamics well enough to be sure he was out of danger.

  In any event, Brandon had more important things to worry about. Sofia had told him that next week she and Nate were meeting with the DNA expert they had hired, who would be presenting his preliminary findings to them. She hadn’t said that this meeting could decide Brandon’s fate, but she had implied it. If they couldn’t undermine the prosecution’s DNA evidence enough to create a reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors, they would lose. To have any hope of winning, they needed strong testimony from their own DNA expert. So what their expert had to say would be critical. In fact, it could be the whole ball game.