"I'm afraid we can't comment on that," Hodges said, stepping up.

Nathan watched jaws tighten and arms fold over chests. For a couple of guys who used jury consultants on a regular basis to interpret body language, they needed a refresher course.

"And just what is it you want with us?" Riley asked.

Hodges pulled a notepad out of his pocket and shuffled through it. "This won't take long. It's just a formality, really. I need to ask about cars."

The men exchanged looks.

"What kind of vehicle do you drive?" Hodges held his pen poised above his notepad. "Mr. Wilkers?"

"A BMW 550. Black."

Hodges scribbled. "And the license plate on that? You know it offhand?"

Wilkers recited some numbers and looked annoyed.

"And your wife, sir? Oh, wait. Sorry, you're not married. Is that your only vehicle?"

"Yes."

"And Mr. Riley, what about you?"

"A silver Lotus Elise," he said tightly. "I believe you've seen it."

Hodges scrawled something in his pad. "And the tag?"

"G-H-F-395."

"And your wife's car?"

Riley was getting ticked now. Everyone knew all this information was available on a computer at the police station.

"A white Lexus. I don't know the plate off the top of my head, but I can have my secretary look it up."

"Thanks, that'd be great. Either of you fellas own a Cadillac?" He turned to Wilkers.

"No."

"No," Riley said, and sighed.

"You sure? I mean the SUV, not the sedan. It would be an Escalade."

"No," Riley said.

"Mr. Wilkers?"

"No."

Hodges sighed and jotted down a few more things. "Okeydokey. That should do it."

He stood up, and both men looked surprised. Nathan stood, too, repressing a smile. Hodges had them off balance.

"That's it?" Wilkers asked warily.

"That's it." Hodges reached for the door and pulled it open. Nathan exited first and walked a few steps down the hallway to an open doorway. A young woman sat at the desk inside the office, tapping away on her computer keyboard. It was the blond litigator, Lindsey Kahn. Nathan remembered her from the funeral.

"Oh, just one more thing, Mr. Wilkers. You own shares in an oil company?"

"What? No."

"You sure? Maybe it's not an oil company, exactly, but a limited partnership that owns mineral rights on some land in east Texas. TW Enterprises?"

Nathan kept his eyes on the woman and his back to Wilkers as he waited to hear his response.

"Yes. I own a share of the company, if that's what you mean."

"And does it own a Cadillac? A black Escalade?"

The attorney's fingers paused on the keyboard. Her nail polish matched her tailored red suit, and Nathan could practically feel the tension coming off of her.

"TW Enterprises owns lots of things in lots of places. I'd have to check."

"That'd be great, thanks. You ready?"

Nathan turned and saw his partner walking toward the exit. He smiled at the two lawyers. "Thanks for your time, fellas. We'll see ourselves out."

Will had nailed it. Jim Wilkers was hiding something, and he'd just moved to the top of Will's suspect list. Feeling like he'd finally made some headway in this case, he bypassed the elevator and took the steps up to his department two at a time.

"Hodges!"

He stopped short at Cernak's office.

His boss stood behind his desk, hanging up the phone. "I been looking for you." He plopped into his chair. "Close the door."

Will stepped inside and pulled the door shut. The lieutenant always looked unhappy, but this morning his expression was set to extra grim. Will noticed the newspaper on the desk opened to a front-page story about another homicide last night.

"Take a seat." Cernak picked up a file from beneath the newspaper. "Have a look at this."

Will took the file. His phone buzzed, and he jerked it out of his pocket. Courtney. Shit. He turned it off and shoved it back into his pants.

The file contained a stack of paperwork from LAPD, and Will's gut tightened as he skimmed through the pages.

"Girl's got a rap sheet," Cernak said. "DUI, possession, public indecency. There's a juvie record, too, but it's sealed."

Will slid the file back across the desk. Skinny dipping and smoking pot on a public beach didn't make someone a murderer. But he didn't want to rush to Courtney's defense.

"You're spending a lot of time with our lead suspect," Cernak stated.

"You told me to question her."

"And did you get anything, or did you get distracted? I need to know where your head is, Hodges, because I'm this close to arresting her." He held up two fingers a half inch apart. "I don't need any headaches from the D.A.'s office if it turns out she was sleeping with one of my cops."

"In that case, sir, I should be reassigned." Will's tongue felt thick as he said the words.

"You're sleeping with her?" Cernak looked genuinely surprised now, and Will realized he'd overstated what he knew.

But it didn't matter. The gist of it was right; Will had lost his objectivity when it came to Courtney.

"No." Will cleared his throat. "But you could say I have a conflict of interest. Sir."

Cernak leaned back in his chair and watched him skeptically. "Okay. I appreciate your honesty." He nodded at the door. "You're off the case, then. And you're free to go."

Go? He was getting axed? Will stood up, numbly, and for the first time he realized how much he wanted this job. He'd spent years getting here, and now he'd blown it.

"Go back to your other cases," Cernak said sharply. "We got no shortage of shit for you to do around here. But watch your step, Hodges. You're walking on thin ice."

Courtney spotted Will at the mall entrance, holding the door for a woman with a stroller. She saw him notice her and felt a swell of satisfaction when his gaze went straight to her legs.

But then he saw her packages and scowled.

He stopped in front of her and planted his hands on his hips. "You called me away from work for shopping?"

She tipped her head to the side and looked at him. "What's with you?"

Shaking his head, he took the Macy's bags containing Fiona and Jack's wedding present, plus a new pair of sandals that had been on sale. He headed back out the door. Courtney followed him, getting annoyed as he outpaced her across the parking lot. He reached the Suburban and tossed her bags in the backseat.

"Careful! That stuff's breakable."

"You want someone who cares, hire a chauffeur."

She halted, stung, and watched him slide behind the wheel. Two nights ago, she'd been in his lap, and now he was treating her like crap.

Why had he even come here?

Maybe he was just responding to the bait. She'd left two messages on his voice mail this afternoon, and she'd been purposely vague: I thought of something about the shooter.

Courtney shrugged off the hurt and went around to the passenger's side. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but don't take it out on me."

He shot backward out of the space, and she braced a hand on the dashboard.

"So, you got me here," he said. "Talk. Meter's running."

She secured the seat belt over her black tank dress and crossed her legs. "Well, it was something I noticed yesterday. I was doing highlights for this client who really likes to chat."

He sighed, and she felt her temper welling up. "Hey, you want this or not? I don't have to help you guys."

"What's the lead?" he asked irritably.

Okay, so he'd had a bad morning. It was Monday; she could give him some leeway. She took a deep breath and decided to start over.

"This client has a thick accent. Very Boston. And it jogged my memory. It made me think of the guy's voice."

He sent her a sideways glance. "You're saying the shooter's got a Boston accent."

"I think so. Or maybe somewhere near there. Northeast, for sure. He didn't say a whole lot, but the accent was distinctive. I remember now."

He stared straight ahead, and she watched his jaw twitch.

"It's not a bad lead," he said. "I'll tell Webb."

"Webb?"

"He's in charge of your case now."

Panic shot through her. "But what about you?"

"I've been reassigned."

"But-"

"Drop it, Courtney." He glared at her. He hadn't just had a bad morning; he was angry at her. This was a recent development.

It had happened since the baseball game. Since their kiss on the porch.

Courtney looked out the window, and the fear took hold. Nathan was on her side, but he wasn't on her case officially. Will was on her side, but he'd been reassigned now. That left Webb and Cernak to determine her future. And if they believed she was the killer, they weren't going to be out there looking for someone else.

But someone else might be looking for her.

Her stomach churned. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed it down. What was she going to do?

"Where to?" Will asked. His voice sounded softer now, and he must have known what she was thinking about.

"Just take me to Fiona's."

He drove silently to her sister's house, maneuvering through rush-hour traffic without so much as a four-letter word. He pulled up to the curb and parked.

"Thanks for the lead," he said without looking at her. "I'll pass it along."

She watched him for a moment. He wasn't telling her something. Big surprise. But she could tell that whatever it was had him very stressed out.

"Will...are you all right?"

He flicked a glance at her. "Fine."

But he wasn't.

She wanted to invite him in. Or even better, she wanted him to ask her to dinner so they could talk about everything. But his tension level was ratcheted up to eleven, and it was pretty clear he wanted to be alone.