"I know." Courtney stood up now and patted Jack's shoulder. "And I'm being careful. I promise."

"Running around investigating this thing isn't being careful."

Gwen Stefani sang out from the kitchen counter, and Courtney welcomed the interruption. She crossed the tile floor and reached for her cell phone. It was Will's number.

"Hello?"

"What time do you need to be at work?"

She checked the clock on the microwave. "About an hour. Why?"

"I'm coming to get you."

Two weeks ago, she'd been a loner, and now she was surrounded by protective alpha males. "You don't need to do that. I can catch the bus."

"Give me forty minutes. And wait inside."

He clicked off, and Courtney dropped the phone back in her purse.

Jack, the clever detective, had picked up everything. "Hodges?"

"Yep."

He frowned. "You need to be careful with him. He's investigating you. You shouldn't trust him."

"Thanks so much for your concern." She couldn't say why his comments needled her, but they did. Jack had barely even met Will, just a brief exchange the other night.

"Nathan, you can trust," he continued. "He's a friend before he's a cop. Hodges is new. This is his first murder case, and he's probably trying to prove himself, so be cautious about what you tell him."

Courtney glanced at the clock, and Jack caught the hint.

"Lock up behind me." He snagged his keys off the counter and put his coffee mug in the sink. "And wait inside for your ride."

The surgically enhanced receptionist was on the phone when Will arrived at Bella Donna that afternoon, so he ignored her and showed himself to the back. Courtney stood at her work station, arranging brushes and combs in a drawer.

"Hi."

Her startled gaze met his in the mirror. "Hi."

"I need your help with something. You free?"

She turned around to face him and crossed her arms. "I've got a client at three."

"Can you cancel?"

"No."

"How about getting someone to cover for you?"

She watched him for a moment. Then she glanced at her watch and sighed. "Let me see what I can do."

She disappeared down a corridor, leaving Will standing in the middle of the salon while women in various stages of transformation watched him curiously. He turned his attention to Courtney's work space. It was clean. Immaculate, even-not so much as a wisp of hair on the floor. Hardly any personal touches, he noticed-just a photograph tucked into the bottom corner of the mirror. Will bent closer to study it. The picture showed Courtney and Fiona, both in sweaters and jeans, kneeling beside a snowman and grinning out at the camera.

"Ready."

He looked up. Courtney had her backpack slung over her shoulder and a shiny red purse clutched in her hand.

They left the frigid salon for the humid outdoors, and he darted his gaze around as he walked her to the Suburban. Courtney tossed her bags onto the floor and scooted in, then smoothed her skirt over her legs. Today she wore a white sundress and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The dress was very fifties housewife, but somehow those red high heels sent his mind in a different direction.

"I'm off for the day," she announced when he got behind the wheel. "Got my last two appointments covered."

"How'd you manage that?"

They exited the parking lot and she leaned over to play with the radio station. "I told them we had a date tonight, but you couldn't wait for me."

He looked at her.

"They think you're my hot new boyfriend." She sat back in the seat and glanced at him. "What? You expect me to tell them you're a homicide cop? That I'm under investigation? No, thanks."

He hung a left and maneuvered his way through the afternoon traffic. He glanced at her again, and she was grinning.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Why are you laughing?"

"It's just that my boss didn't believe me. She said you didn't look like my type. So I told her you were really good in bed."

Will gritted his teeth.

"She recommended some erotic massage oil, so if the mood strikes you-"

"Jesus, Courtney."

"I'm just kidding. God. You're so uptight. Where are we going anyway?"

"A car wash."

She glanced around. "Okay. And you need me why, exactly?"

"I want to show you something. Meantime, flip through these." Will reached into the back and pulled a manila file from the floor. Inside were several Xerox copies showing an array of mug shots and driver's license photos. Placed amid the pictures was the driver's license photo of the Zilker Park jogger and a mug shot of Alvin's former brother-in-law, who had a rap sheet.

"Are these suspects?" She flipped through the pages.

"I can't comment on that."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, what am I looking for?"

"Just tell me if you recognize anyone. Maybe someone from the Randolph Hotel. Or anywhere else. Just someone you've seen around."

Beatrice Moore, a.k.a. Beatrice Morris, was still missing in action. Her account of events in Zilker Park contradicted the jogger's, so someone was lying. As for Alvin's former brother-in-law, he'd done two years for aggravated burglary not so long ago. The guy had had a drug problem, but was supposedly clean now, according to his parole officer. His physical description didn't completely match the jogger's description or the description given by Pembry's neighbor, but it didn't rule him out either. Will wanted to see if Courtney recognized him.

But she skimmed right over his mug shot without comment. She reached the bottom of the stack and found the copy of Fiona's drawing.

"My sister drew this." She held it up, pointing to the initials at the edge of the picture, alongside the date stamp.

"That's right."

"Who is it?"

"We don't know. He look familiar to you?"

She gazed down at the sketch and shook her head. "Not at all."

Will turned into the lot of a fast-food restaurant adjacent to Bubbles Hand Car Wash and Detailing. He slipped into a space facing the service bays, where the brother of Alvin's ex-wife stood making notes on a clipboard. He wore wraparound sunglasses, but maybe his build or his mannerisms would strike a chord with Courtney. Will pulled some mini-binoculars off of the backseat and handed them to her.

"Okay, see those three guys manning the entrance bays? Look at them closely. Tell me if you recognize anyone."

She took the binoculars and turned to look at the men. "Which one?" she asked, adjusting the lenses.

"Just tell me if any of them look familiar. You remember one of them from the Zilker that day? Maybe you've seen someone at the Randolph or lurking around?"

Will waited.

"Well, the middle one. He's wearing sunglasses, but..."

"Yeah?"

"He looks like one of those pictures you just showed me."

"Okay. But have you seen him anywhere else? Watch the way he moves. Look at his body."

She handed back the binoculars. "It's not him."

"You're sure."

"Totally. He's too tall."

Will studied her face. She seemed certain. And he should probably take her word for it. Years of interviews had taught him that the most accurate judges of height were taller-than-average single women. They could nail a man's height in an instant because they made a habit of noticing.

But even if Courtney didn't recognize this guy as her attacker, the man might still be involved. Maybe he'd been hired by Rachel Alvin to drive the car, and someone else carried out the actual hit. Nathan planned to follow up on this lead tomorrow by bringing the guy in.

"You think someone hired that man to kill David?" she asked.

"I can't comment on that."

But that was exactly what he thought. Alvin's ex-wife had been pestering Wilkers & Riley on a daily basis since Alvin's death. And she'd made a large withdrawal from a stock account just weeks before the murder.

It would have fit together nicely, except for the other possible victims. Even if she'd wanted her ex-husband dead, why would Rachel Alvin have Courtney killed, too? And what was the connection between Alvin's murder and Pembry's disappearance? And-if Courtney's theory had merit-the death of Eve Caldwell?

This investigation was a bitch. His first homicide case, and it was a goddamn mess.

Will backed out of the space and left the parking lot.

"Thanks for your help," he said.

"Yeah, right. This was a waste of time."

He blew out a sigh.

"You know, you look tired. And your color's bad."

His color?

"Your eyes are bloodshot, too." She seemed genuinely concerned. "I've got the afternoon off now. Want to go hang out somewhere? We could walk on the lake or something."

"I can't."

"What about later? You could use a night off."

Not with her, he couldn't.

He glanced over. He'd never met a woman so confident with men. She was practically asking him out, and he felt flattered. And tempted.

But he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Why didn't she get that?

Maybe she did, and she didn't care. She wanted to lure him in, manipulate him into seeing the case from a different perspective.

Shit, he was thinking like Webb now. This wasn't some femme fatale, this was Courtney. He knew she wasn't capable of murder. But he didn't have proof. And she was still a suspect.

She gazed at him expectantly.

"I can't," he said.

She glanced away.

"Now's not a good time-"

"Forget it. I understand." She kept her face turned away from him. "Anyway, I've got to meet up with Fiona later. She's having a dress fitting."

"She needs you at her dress fitting?"

"It's her wedding dress. I told her I'd go."

"Sounds fun," he lied.

She shot him a look.