Shit. She was going to cave into impulse again. She could feel it.

He leaned forward in the chair. "Courtney?"

"He'd set up a previous meeting. At the Randolph Hotel."

"When?" Will's gaze sharpened.

"A couple weeks ago. July twenty-fifth."

"And you blew him off?"

"I told him I'd be there, and then I didn't show."

"And this was all through e-mail?"

"Yeah at first. After I skipped the meeting, he sent me a couple text messages."

"Why didn't you go?"

She bit her lip, feeling childish now. "I never intended to go. I was just screwing with him."

"Screwing with him?"

"You know, getting him all psyched up. So I could disappoint him."

His eyebrows tipped up.

"I guess you could say I have a vengeful streak."

The smallest trace of amusement flickered across his face, then disappeared. "So why'd you go to Zilker if you didn't really want to see him?"

She sighed. "His messages got more insistent. And then that last one just freaked me out."

"Why?"

"He said he planned to leave his wife. For me." She remembered how she'd felt, reading it. Her whole body had gone cold. "I just couldn't stand it. I agreed to see him so I could talk him out of it. The whole thing was nuts. I hadn't even laid eyes on him in six months."

Will leaned back in the chair, absorbing everything she'd said.

"Guess you really hit the mother lode, huh? Coming in for a haircut?"

He just watched her.

She looked away from him. "You caught me in a weak moment. I've had a really crappy week. I can barely sleep-"

"You need to be careful. You threw a wrench in someone's plan, you know."

She couldn't look at him. "I know."

He stood, and she cleared her throat, trying to clear away the lump. She needed him to leave now.

"Courtney."

She looked up at him, and the concern in his eyes brought the lump back. She'd never been one to lean on a man-that was her mother's specialty. But Will made her just want to lean into him and feel protected.

"I'm going to need access to your computer. One way or another."

She turned away from him and pulled open a drawer. She wrote up a bill, trying to compose herself.

"Here." She thrust it at him, and enjoyed his look of shock when he got a glimpse of the number.

"Fifty bucks?"

"I gave you the GI Joe discount. Feel free to tip me if you liked the service." This was better. She could do banter.

He shook his head slightly, then reached for his wallet.

"Don't pay me. Pay Jasmine."

He paused and stared at her a minute.

"I'll be back for that computer."

"I know."

"Be careful," he said firmly.

"I will."

The Randolph was a small but upscale hotel nestled on the north shore of Town Lake. Given its proximity to the business district and the capitol, Will expected a mix of executives, lawmakers, and other muckety-mucks, which was pretty much what he found when he tossed his keys to the valet and pushed through the Randolph's beveled-glass doors.

The hotel was decorated in the style Will thought of as Texas Bucks. A giant chandelier made of deer antlers hung in the lobby above an expensive-looking rug. On the west side of the lobby was a huge limestone fireplace with oversize leather furniture arranged in front of it. A couple of guys dressed in golf clothes lounged there, reading the Sunday sports section.

Will headed directly for the reception counter on the lobby's east side. A staffer there-female, mid-twenties-chatted with an older man while another hotel staffer-male, mid-thirties-checked in a nicely dressed woman.

Will picked the female clerk and pretended to be fooling with his cell phone until her counter opened up.

"May I help you, sir?"

He approached her counter and tried to seem friendly. "I'm with the Austin police," he said, and watched her brow furrow. "I need to find out if a particular person was registered here a few weeks ago."

"Is there something wrong?"

Will smiled. "Yes, but I doubt it has to do with your hotel. I just need to check on a name. For the night of July twenty-fifth."

She continued to look worried. "I should probably get my manager."

Will glanced at his watch. "I'm in kind of a hurry. You think you could just look it up for me?"

She bit her lip. "Who did you say you are?"

He fixed a reassuring smile on his face and pulled out his ID. "William Hodges. APD."

"And who is it you're looking for?"

He wasn't really looking for a dead guy, but he leaned closer. "John David Alvin. Or David Alvin. Either one."

Her pink-painted fingernails clacked over the keys as she pulled something up on her computer. "That was a Saturday. I was working that night, but I don't remember Mr. Alvin."

Sounded like she knew the guy. Maybe the Randolph was one of his frequent rendezvous spots. Maybe he'd spent the night here with Courtney. The thought put a sour taste in Will's mouth.

"I show he was here," she said.

The computer sat in the corner of the reception counter, arranged at a diagonal. Will couldn't read the screen because of the glare.

"It looks like he checked out early, though. That same night."

Alvin had checked in. And then left.

Or someone had checked in under his name.

"You say you were working that night?" Will shifted his position so he could better glimpse the screen.

She looked up. "That's right. I always work Saturdays."

"Can you tell me which room he was booked in?"

She chewed her lip. She darted her gaze to his ID, which was still on the counter. "Four-twenty-six."

Will nodded. "And can you tell whether he self-parked or used the valet?"

"He always uses the valet," she said without looking.

Alvin was a regular. The valet would probably know him, especially if he over-or undertipped.

"And do you remember anything unusual happening that night?"

"Unusual?"

"Maybe a noise complaint? A person who skipped the bill, something like that?"

Her fingers flew over the keys. "I don't remember anything like that. I've got nothing in the log."

Will glanced around the lobby. He noticed the dimly lit bar just off the elevator bank: the lariat lounge. An easel stood beside the entrance there. Will couldn't read the sign, but he guessed it advertised a singer or maybe a pianist.

"We did have another early checkout on that floor."

His attention snapped back to the clerk. "What was that?"

"Another early checkout. You said anything 'unusual,' and that's sort of unusual for us. The guest checked out about ten-thirty. Just after Mr. Alvin."

"What room was the guest booked in?"

"That would be four-forty-one."

"And what name was on the reservation?"

Will held his breath, praying for cooperation. He could get a warrant for this, but it would be a lot simpler if she volunteered the information.

"Beatrice Morris."

Beatrice Morris. Will's pulse spiked. "Are you sure it's Morris and not Moore?" It was all he could do not to hurdle the counter and see for himself.

"It says Morris."

Still, Beatrice was an odd name. And what were the chances of coming across a Beatrice Moore and a Beatrice Morris in the same investigation? Pretty damn low.

The clerk cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. "If you need anything further, I really am going to have to go get my manager."

"Please do that," Will said. "I'm definitely going to need something further."

The sun was setting on another triple-digit weekend when Courtney stepped off the 10/20 and strode down the sidewalk like a woman born in high heels. Will watched her from his booth inside the doughnut shop. He liked her shoes today. He liked all her shoes, but these were particularly hot. They had skinny heels and black ties around the ankles, and Will took a second to appreciate her legs before he pitched his coffee cup into the trash and left the store.

He followed her for half a block, expecting her to hang a left on Oak Trail, but she kept going. She jaywalked across a street and passed a shadowed alleyway before ducking in the exit door of a small-chain grocery store.

Will followed.

He'd intended to approach her right off the bat, but now he adjusted his strategy. You could learn a lot about someone from her shopping habits. Did she buy for herself or for company? How much did she drink? Did she purchase prescriptions or OTC drugs? Did she use cash or credit?

She snagged a red basket from the floor beside a fruit bin and grabbed a bunch of bananas. Then she zigzagged through the produce section, oblivious to the young stock boy checking out her ass. After snatching up a few items in dairy, she turned down the bread aisle.

Will tailed her through the store, becoming more an noyed with every step. He wasn't hiding. He wasn't even making an effort to hang back, yet she seemed to have no idea she was being followed. She paused in the skin-care aisle and spent an excruciatingly long time picking out face soap before heading for the register. She smiled at the cashier and grabbed a king-size Snickers off the candy shelf before swiping her credit card. Then she scooped up her three plastic bags and strode out.

Will followed closely, not making the slightest effort to conceal himself or the sound of his footsteps. Movement flickered in his peripheral vision as a lanky man with a frizzy gray beard loped across the street, moving straight for Courtney. Will's hand was on his holster until she stopped and smiled at the guy. They exchanged a few words as she dug through one of her bags and handed him the Snickers. He took it and shuffled off.

She resumed her course, and Will closed the gap between them in a few long strides.

"Hey!"

She whirled around. Her face went from frightened to irate in an instant. "Damn it, you scared me!"

"You always walk around alone at night?"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing?"

"I need to talk to you."

"How long have you been following me?"