I nodded.

"If your killer turns out to be Jack Averly, just a loser dope dealer, it'll stay manageable. But if it turns out to be Ian Powers...you've got yourself one gigantic cluster fuck."

I let the information sink in. Eric's story was chilling, but I appreciated his telling me. Forewarned is forearmed as they say, though I had no idea what I could do about it if Ian's people decided to set me up. "Thanks, Eric."

"Keep me in the loop. I'll do what I can to manage Vanderhorn."

"Will do."

Eric left, and for the first time, I stopped to consider whether I was really up for the kind of nasty ride he'd described. I was still pondering the question when my cell phone played Bailey's ringtone.

"Daniel's done with the computer. He gave us the all clear."

"Great-" I sat up, and my heart gave a heavy thud as I suddenly realized I'd forgotten something. "Bailey, what about prints? Did you call-"

"I got Ben, the criminalist who did Brian's car at the airport, to dust it before Daniel got here. We've got some nice prints all over that thing. And Daniel wore gloves, just in case."

I sagged with relief. "Thanks, Bailey." I took a second to breathe. "Did Daniel tell you whether there was anything that looked good for us?"

"Unfortunately, he said he didn't see anything to get excited about."

Damn. All that for nothing. "Okay, then let's give it to our computer whizbangs in my office. Maybe Ian's got some information hidden or encrypted or...something."

"I'll bring it over."

"So now we're just waiting for Dorian and Gelfer."

"I checked. They won't have anything until tomorrow. And I think Dorian blocked my number."

I was silent as I tried to figure out what else we could do besides wait. Bailey read my silence.

"There's nothing we can do right now," Bailey said.

I looked at my desk. I estimated it'd take me only an hour to clear it off. Then what would I do? Pace in my hotel room? Even I didn't think that would help anything. "I'll call Toni." We'd been playing phone tag for a while.

But first I called the head deputy of our computer crimes section, Cliff Meisner. He agreed to take a whack at the laptop but warned, "People have gotten pretty sophisticated about hiding information, so it'll take some time."

Translation: I had to wait. Again. And I wasn't getting any better at it.

41.

Bailey returned with our round of martinis. We all clinked and sipped. A cold martini on a warm summer night. My besties, Bailey and Toni, and the lights of the city spread out around us like a glittering swath of sequined lace.

"I probably should've called Graden," I said, taking in the nighttime view of downtown L.A. from the corner of the rooftop bar at Perch.

"Really, Rache," Toni said. "'Should' makes it sound like you'd be doing it out of guilt. That ain't right."

"'Toine's right," Bailey said. She pronounced it "Twan." "Just because you have a night off doesn't mean you owe it to him. And besides, you're wiped out, edgy, and pissy. You wouldn't be able to play nice tonight. So you did him a favor."

I couldn't argue with one word of it.

"And you'll notice I'm not with Drew either."

"So I'm the only one who's normal around here?" Toni asked.

"Relatively speaking," I said. "Though given present company, that isn't saying much."

Toni waved off the remark. "How'd it go with Judge Moss?"

"How did you know?" Bailey asked.

"Black lawyer grapevine. So how'd it go?"

"She was awesome." I filled Toni in on the latest developments.

Toni gave us a smug smile. "Told you she was good. And it doesn't matter that she wouldn't give you the GPS. Powers can't afford to run anyway."

"Exactly," I replied. "But I never did get to see what kind of car he had. Did you?" I asked Bailey.

"You mean cars, plural. A gold two-seater custom Bentley, a black Ferrari, and a white Rolls-Royce."

I tried to picture Ian Powers in the Rolls. "White Rolls-Royce? Somehow that doesn't fit."

"It's the girlfriend's car."

"The Neiman Marcus brunette?" I asked.

Bailey nodded.

"No wife, no children?"

"Neither," Bailey said.

I remembered noticing the absence of family photos. There'd just been a smattering of pictures of his girlfriend.

Toni gave us an update on her double homicide case, which seemed to be going well. All in all, it was as relaxing an evening as it could be, under the circumstances. I made myself go to bed before midnight, hoping that the morning would bring us some answers.

As it turned out, all the morning brought was an early harbinger of trouble. It came in the form of a call on my private cell phone. I'd left for work early, hoping to beat the worst of the heat. I also figured that since my mind was so wrapped around the case, I might as well obsess in my office. I was about a block from the courthouse when my cell phone played the default ringtone. Sure that it was either Dorian or Numan, I answered without looking at the number. Instead, a man with a real British accent-so I knew it wasn't that poser-lawyer, Beldon-said, "Hello, Ms. Knight?"

Maybe I was disarmed by the accent, or just too distracted to think quickly enough to deny it, but I admitted it was.

"This is Andrew Chatham from the National Inquisitor, and I'm calling about the Hayley Antonovich case."

The National Inquisitor? How in the hell did he get my private cell phone number?

"I don't know how you got this number, but I'm not at liberty to discuss the case."

"But my sources indicate that you may very well have suspects in custody shortly, one of whom is a very highly placed individual in the industry."

How could this guy know that already? I quickly tried to imagine who the leak was, but there had been so many people in Ian's house-and that didn't even take into account nosy neighbors who might've seen all the police cars. I'd probably never know.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Chatham-"

"Do call me Andrew, please. I expect we'll be in touch quite a lot in the coming weeks and months. No sense standing on ceremony, is there?"

"Andrew, please don't take this personally, but I have no intention of being in touch. Do have a nice day."

I ended the call. We hadn't even made an arrest and it was already starting. But the more shocking part was that the first call had been from a tabloid, not the mainstream press. I'd heard rumors that the major newspapers had taken so many financial hits, they couldn't compete with the "pay for play" jockeys in the tabloid world. That phone call might be proof that the rumor was true. But more important, this was an early shot across the bow, warning me that if we did arrest Ian Powers, I'd be in for the three-ring circus from hell. I tromped heavily up the stairs to the courthouse as though I were being led to the guillotine. All I could do was hope that the day would pick up from there.

I stopped at the snack bar on the thirteenth floor to get a bagel and coffee. I'd been in a hurry to get to work and hadn't wanted to wait for room service. Poor, poor me, having to "wait" for room service. I admit that sometimes I even make myself gag. I was on my way to the elevator, bagel in hand, when I bumped into Daniel Rose.

"Hey, Rachel! I'd ask what you're up to, except I already know."

"Dan, thank you so much. I can't tell you what a relief it was to get you as Special Master."

He looked gorgeous, which was par for the course. In shirtsleeves, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, he looked like an ad for Armani-except more intellectual, with his thick black hair that had just the right amount of gray at the sides and wire-rimmed glasses. And what cologne was he wearing? He smelled great.

"The chance to help out a friend...and the allure of getting the inside scoop on a hot case. It's a tough combination to resist."

His eyes were as warm as his smile, and as always, my heart lifted at the sight. But in the next moment I caught myself. I was with Graden now. And although nothing had happened between Daniel and me, it seemed only fair that I should let him know. I began to speak but was cut off by a highly caffeinated and excited Melia, who'd just burst out of the elevator.

"Rachel! I'm so glad I found you. You've had a million calls! I've got all the messages for you. And Eric needs to see you ASAP. Vanderhorn wants a meeting-"

"Okay, Melia. Calm down. I'm on my way."

Daniel shook his head sympathetically. "Duty calls. Let me know if you need me...for anything."

There was no mistaking the double entendre with the look that accompanied that line. I wish I could say it didn't faze me. The truth was, a jolt of electricity shot all the way from my head to my toes. The ding of an elevator saved me from having to come up with a real answer.

42.

"Don't go there, Rachel," Eric said. "You'll never figure out who leaked. The only thing we can do now is push them off with a 'no comment' until we have a move to make. In the meantime, Vanderhorn wants you to give him some background on the case-"

"When?"

"This afternoon-around two thirty."

"Good. I might have answers from Dorian by then, and if they're the right ones, Bailey's going to make an arrest."

"Then it'd probably be better to get you in to see him sooner." We exchanged a look. Vanderhorn needed more time than most to absorb information. Asking him to catch the facts of a case on the fly was like asking a dog to catch a medicine ball. "Let me find out if he can move something." Eric told Melia to place the call. One minute later she buzzed him, and he picked up the phone. Eric explained the situation to Vanderhorn's secretary. Another minute later he said, "Fine," and hung up.

"He'll see us in an hour. Stop by here and we'll go together." I nodded and stood up. "And try not to look like that when we go."

"Like what?"

He ignored me. "See you in an hour."

I did know what I looked like: pissed and annoyed. I think Vanderhorn makes a horse's ass look smart and I didn't want to help him look any better for the camera. On the other hand, he was the one who'd have to field most of the questions if we filed the case. If he looked bad, we looked bad. Talk about your paradox.

I forced myself to concentrate on the work I hadn't been able to finish the day before, but couldn't stop looking at my phones, waiting for one of them to ring and hoping it would be Dorian. You know the old saying about watching water to see if it boils. So finally, with twenty minutes to go before our meeting with Vanderputz, I gave up and reviewed the reports. I'd need to dumb it all down into sound bites, so I spent the remaining time thinking of simple ways to summarize the case.

At the appointed time Eric and I arrived at the anteroom outside Vanderhorn's office, where his secretary, Francine Jefferson, sat. She was in her sixties but she didn't look a day over forty. Smart, no-nonsense, and with a peppery sense of humor. No one understood how she put up with Vanderhorn. My theory was that she'd taken him on because she loved a challenge. Now she looked at me over the top of her reading glasses.

"You jumped into it this time." She shook her head. "I don't like saying I told you so-"

"Yes you do, Francine. You love it."

"A little bit. And I know you're not going to listen, but I'm going to say this anyway: Get out now, while you still can, because this case is going to be a bona fide nightmare."

The buzzer on her desk sounded, telling us that Vanderhorn was ready to receive.

She shook her head at me. "You know what that means."

The district attorney has the primo spot on the eighteenth floor, even though it isn't a corner office. Spacious and tastefully furnished with a leather couch, several swivel chairs, and a large cherrywood desk that had nothing on it but framed photos of himself and his lovely, shockingly age-appropriate wife and teenage daughters, it had an expansive one hundred eightydegree view of the city. A pricey-looking telescope stood on a tripod in the corner, and I wondered whether Vanderhorn was a peeper. The happy thought of him getting busted for it was interrupted by the man in question.

"Have a seat, everybody."

Vanderhorn looked like someone who should command respect. At six foot three, he was imposing but not freakish, and his thick shock of white hair, strong features, square jaw, and brown eyes with just the right amount of creasing to look experienced but not old photographed alarmingly well. And did I mention that he had a year-round tan? Now, he leaned way back in his massive leather chair and steepled his hands in front of his chest.

"I understand there's a possibility that you might be asking to file charges against Ian Powers," he said, lifting one eyebrow and then the other as he looked from me to Eric. Boomer, a golden retriever that belonged to a childhood friend of mine, used to waggle his eyebrows just like that. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and nodded. "Tell me about the case," he said.

I did, in as few words and in words with as few syllables as possible. "Right now, I'm waiting for the test results of the bloodstain on Brian Maher's trunk, the hair removed from Jack Averly's Mustang, and any prints that may have been lifted. I've also given Ian's laptop to Cliff Meisner to check out."

Vanderhorn frowned, and for a moment I thought he was about to ask something intelligent, like whether there might be any privileged material on the laptop that could cause problems in court.

"Well, I'm not sure you'll have enough even if those...items match up to Ian Powers. What's your theory?"

Oh, jeez. I took a deep breath to keep from saying something I'd enjoy but regret, and dived in. "The Mustang has already been determined to have soil and plant debris on it that are unique to Boney Mountain, where Brian's body was found. The same debris was found on Brian's Toyota and on Hayley's body."

"So maybe that proves they were all up there, but how do you prove it was at the same time?"

"With the remaining evidence. If the hair in Averly's car is Ian's, and if there are prints in Averly's car that come back to Ian, and if there is any evidence that ties Ian to Brian's Toyota, then we'll have tied both dead kids to Ian and to Jack Averly and his car."