"Okay, you're right, it sounds boring. Why can't she do it herself?"

"She's my sister."

Will shook his head. He didn't have a sister. And if he had, he still wouldn't have gone with her to try on clothes.

He pulled up to a light and the car fell silent. He cleared his throat. "So...you going to Fiona's then? Or back to work?"

"Just take me to Fiona's," she said crisply. "I'll hang out with her."

"I keep coming back to the money," Devereaux said.

Will watched his partner across the conference table littered with Styrofoam cups and sandwiches. They had given up their Saturday to go over leads they'd developed. Will had just told the group about the Caldwell woman.

"Someone with bucks is behind this thing," Devereaux continued. "And Courtney Glass only has a couple thousand dollars to her name, so it's not her."

"Yeah, how do you know?" Webb asked. "Maybe it wasn't a paid hit. Maybe she went on a rampage and killed her ex along with his new girlfriend. She seems like the jealous type."

Will clenched his teeth, wondering once again why Webb couldn't let go of the jealous mistress angle.

Cernak turned to Will. "Courtney Glass have an alibi for the morning of the bike accident?"

Highly doubtful, as it had happened at the crack of dawn. "I'll check," he said.

"There are two sources of money in Alvin's universe," Devereaux stated. "His wife's family and his law practice."

Cernak frowned. "What was his last big case, again? That pharmaceutical thing?"

"Diet pills," Will said.

"But that was what, six months ago? What else you got?"

Will flopped open his file and looked at the information he'd gleaned from Alvin's paralegal. "He spent pretty much all of last year on the drug thing. The trial was in January. Since then, he's done some minor stuff here and there, but mostly he's been coasting."

"Hitting the links," Webb quipped, "and picking up bimbos."

Will kept his face carefully blank. "The woman who tried the case with him seems to be coasting, too. Same with the two founding partners. According to the paralegals, the only people doing any real work over there are the support staff and the associates."

Cernak scowled, and Will knew what he was probably thinking. It sounded more like bitching from disgruntled employees than evidence of criminal activity.

"I checked out the drug case," Will said, shuffling through a notepad. "It was a product-liability suit over some diet pills that allegedly killed a woman. She was an investment banker, mother of two. Her family sued and got sixty million, mostly punitive damages. Firm's chunk of that would have been twenty-four. But the plaintiff took a discounted settlement to sidestep the appeals process, so it ended up being fifty-one million total, twenty and change to the firm."

"Why the discount?" Webb asked.

"I don't know."

"Appeals take forever," Cernak put in. "The family was probably sick of waiting around, wanted less money sooner. Happens all the time."

"Or maybe there was some weakness in their case," Devereaux said, "something that made them think they'd lose on appeal. If you go through with an appeal, there's the chance of reversal, right? That's a lot of money at stake."

Everyone looked nonplussed by the theory, but Will resolved to check into it.

"What about something tax-related?" Devereaux suggested, looking at Will. "You turn up any red flags with the IRS, either for Alvin or the firm?"

Will shook his head. "Nothing."

Webb snorted. "Yeah, that's 'cause half the guys over there practice tax law. If they're doing anything illegal, the feds'll be the last to know about it."

"Okay, so back to the Weenie Queenie." Devereaux tipped back in his chair. "Say she wanted to off her husband and his girlfriends. She's got plenty of money to do it, and probably some people who could help her. Daddy still runs the business, right?"

"Right," Will confirmed.

"So maybe he hired some thugs to help get rid of his daughter's problem." Devereaux looked at Webb. "You check out those bank accounts?"

"Nothing unusual," he said.

Will pushed away the remnants of his soggy Italian sub and glanced at Cernak. The lieutenant seemed to live on takeout food and coffee, and he looked it-a mere heartbeat away from a triple bypass. The media attention this case was getting probably wasn't helping matters. Plus-and this might be the biggest stressor of all-Devereaux had learned that the chief of police played golf with Alvin's father-in-law. Obviously, the family was anxious for a breakthrough, and Cernak probably wanted nothing more than to make an arrest and toss this case over to the D.A.

"What about your professor? That guy Pembry?" Webb asked Devereaux. "He know Alvin or his wife?"

"Can't find a social connection," Devereaux said. "Although I did find an article about Alvin sitting in the guy's study. It was a profile from a few months back. He'd torn it out of a magazine."

"How about Rachel Alvin's brother?" Cernak asked Devereaux. "You were checking him out?"

"Still am," Devereaux said. "But that money withdrawal didn't amount to anything. Turns out she used it to put a down payment on a car for her kid. But I think we should keep following the funds. This thing must be costing someone some money."

Webb sighed. "I'll hit the law firm again, see if I get anything new."

"I'll keep looking into the shooter angle," Will said, deciding it was time to check back in with the vice squad. They were supposed to be asking around with their CIs about the possibility of a hired gun.

"Check back with Courtney Glass, too." Cernak ordered Will. "See what she knows about Alvin's business dealings."

"I already asked her," Will said.

"Yeah, well, ask again. She was sleeping with the guy; she probably knows a hell of a lot more about him than we ever will."

Courtney glanced impatiently through the salon's front window. Will was late. Very. If she hadn't been wearing four-inch heels, she would have hoofed it to the bus stop by now.

"Are you sure I don't have any messages?"

Jasmine looked up from her game of computer solitaire. "Nobody since that cancellation at two."

Courtney checked her phone for the tenth time. Then she waltzed over to the mirror. She'd actually taken the trouble to freshen up for this man, and he couldn't even get here on time. And this chauffeur thing was his idea, not hers. She undid an extra button on her blouse, just to spite him.

"Here he is," Jasmine said.

Courtney looked through the window as Will's hulking Suburban pulled up to the curb. The mere sight of it made her smile, but she quickly erased the expression and pushed through the salon's front doors. Will met her halfway up the sidewalk and gave her a stern look that said she should have waited inside.

The passenger door squealed like a pig when he jerked it open.

"How old is this thing?" she asked.

"Eighteen years."

"God, it's a piece." She glanced around the interior, secretly liking the rust spots on the floor beneath her feet.

"Your ride has an armadillo painted on the side of it."

She smiled up at him. "Yes, but at least it comes on time."

He slammed the door with another squeal, and she watched him walk around to the driver's side. He wore tan cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and work boots today, and Courtney got the distinct impression she was about to be ambushed.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"What makes you think we're going somewhere?"

"You're not in your detective costume. Where'd you hide your gun?"

"You'll never know." The side of his mouth curled up, and Courtney felt a rush of warmth. He was teasing her. She wanted to kiss him.

"So where are we going?" she repeated.

"Baseball game."

"Baseball?"

He cleared his throat. "I got tickets to the Round Rock Express. They're a Triple-A team-"

"I know who the Express are. You're asking me to a game with you? Like, on a date?" She couldn't help smiling, especially when he looked uneasy with the label.

"You sounded like you were tired of your sister's place, so I thought maybe you needed a night out." He shrugged. "I know I could use one."

Her smile widened. A baseball game. For the first time in weeks, she had something fun to do with her evening. And for the first time in months, that something included a man.

She let her gaze drift over him again, admiring his ripped body in that T-shirt. She knew he could see her doing it, even though his eyes were on the road.

"I like the commando look," she said. "It suits you better than the business clothes. Any chance you'll swing me by my house to throw on some jeans?"

He glanced at her. "You're wearing jeans."

"These are dressy jeans."

"Dressy jeans?" He looked afraid of her jeans now.

"They're too tight to be comfortable and they cost a fortune. And this shirt is satin. Not exactly baseball game attire."

"Game starts in twenty minutes. We're already going to miss the first inning."

Courtney sighed and gazed out at the road. She supposed she could make do. At least she'd be off her feet. She nestled her head back against the cheap upholstery and felt the tension in her shoulders start to dissolve. She was going to a baseball game. She was going on a date.

And most surprising of all, she was going with a cop.

CHAPTER 11.

The ballpark smelled like funnel cakes and hot dogs. Will glanced around at all the families and young couples, but he didn't see any women besides Courtney wearing dress-up jeans.

"You want a drink?" He put his hand on the small of her back and steered her through the mob. They passed food vendors, margarita machines, and about a hundred beer stands.

"Let's claim some seats first. I take it we're in general admission?"

"Behind home plate."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding!"

"Someone at work hooked me up."

"Oh my God!" She seized his arm. "We'll be able to see the pitches!"

He smiled to himself as they waded through people. She had some tomboy mixed in with the glamour girl, apparently. She quickened her pace until they got to Section 119.

"This way," he said, leading her down a few steps to their row. They were pretty high up, but they had a great view of the diamond. Courtney spotted their empty seats and squeezed her denim-clad butt past a row of spectators.

"This is amazing." She plunked herself down and beamed up at him. "I can't believe we're behind the plate."

Will settled next to her, not too put out by the fact that they had to squeeze together a little. He was more relaxed now that he wasn't at work. And Courtney seemed more like a casual girlfriend than a suspect in his investigation.

The investigation he'd brought her here to talk about. He felt a stab of guilt. It was manipulative, inviting her out like this just to pump her for information. But people opened up more when they were comfortable. And a ballpark was about the most comfortable place Will could think of.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You're frowning." She patted his knee. "Loosen up. You're off the clock. When was the last time you took a day off, anyway?"

He hadn't had a day off since he'd started. Hell, he'd barely had a full night's sleep. He'd come into this job determined to hit the ground running.

"Let me buy you a beer." She stood up and flagged a vendor. "Since you got the tickets."

Will watched the beer guy maim a few dozen people's feet in his rush to get to Courtney. Grumbles rippled through the rows behind them as he stood there, making change for Courtney's twenty and stealing glimpses down her shirt.

She sat down and handed him a cup full of foamy beer. "Cheers," she said. "I haven't been to a ball game in years."