Friday, May 28, 5:15am

Veronica

Soft strains of the piano reach Veronica as she goes into Delmancos'. The room is designed for romance, everything black or red velvet and nominally lit by wall sconces or table lights. In the corner Sam plays a gleaming baby grand, his back to her. He's wearing the same blue shirt he's always in, tucked into the waist of his black jeans.

Other patrons keep to themselves, not even looking up as she walks toward him. A waitress brushes by, so close Veronica should have knocked the drinks off her tray, but they pass through each other like fog.

Sam's voice doesn't falter as he picks up the maudlin tune:

I can taste salt water

And if I blink again

You'll be sinking in

So we'll learn to swim in the oceans you made

I'll hold ya and you'll think of him

And pretty soon you'll be floating away

Veronica sits next to him, though they face different directions. Sam stops singing as his fingers continue the melody.

"It didn't mean anything."

"You don't do meaningless."

She lays her head on his shoulder, letting the blue cotton of his shirt absorb the tear that runs from her eye. "How about, I didn't mean to?"

"Doesn't," he stops playing, his voice thick with hurt. "Doesn't matter. You can't cheat a dead man."

Swinging her legs around the bench so she can better talk to him, Veronica finds herself alone. "Sam?"

In front of her, the piano turns into one of those old-timely player ones, with the big spools. Keys plunk out a tune that's familiar, though she can't place it.

A text chime has Veronica sitting bolt upright in bed. Blazing bright in the dark room, the screen of her burner phone shows a text from an unknown sender—Brent Caster. Since he's the only one who has the number, she never put in his contact info.

Called in to work. Expect drop instructions soon.

She grabs her other phone and shoots a text to Matthew.

Need you in the next 24-48. Be sober?

An answer comes back in seconds. Boring…

In the quiet house, her movement's disturbed the dog. Keller pads in the room and puts her paws on the bed as her nose twitches, checking the air.

Veronica grabs the dog's head and kisses her on a rough patch between her eye slits, pushing the sad vestiges of the dream away. "This is it, baby girl. I can feel it."

As if her excitement is contagious, Keller whines and dances closer to Veronica before running down the hall and coming back with her ball.

Yeah, it's early, and yeah, Gai's asleep. But she's about to get answers. "Get it," Veronica whispers before chucking the ball.

Three minutes of the dog clattering on the wood floors and slamming into furniture brings a sleepy Gai to Veronica's door.

"What's going on?"

"I," Veronica grins, hugging Keller and ruffling her fur. "Am in a very good mood."

"Why?"

"That case I'm working on. I caught a break."

"What kind of break?"

"Rules, kid. You know I can't give details."

The eye roll Gai gives her brings Veronica down, if by only a notch or two. "I'm going back to bed," he yawns, retreating.

"Or, you could go surfing. Logan will be here in five."

All she gets is a door slam in response. For the hundredth time since Logan suggested the idea Veronica wonders if she's doing the right thing, allowing it.

She'd thought it through—she had. Gai would know Logan was serious about wanting to spend time together but wouldn't have to face him to ignore him. If Gai accepted Logan as a presence in his life, she could rely less on other people to help. Most compelling, Gai would have a dad. Not the one he wanted, maybe, but one who would love and protect him. If there are two things Logan excels at, it's love and protection.

Humming to herself as she grabs Sam's sweater from the kitchen, Veronica goes out the front, Keller at her heels. Logan's already waiting, his shiny SUV idling at the curb. He stands in front of it wearing board shorts and a t-shirt, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Sheet creases on his face and a huge yawn says he hasn't been up long.

It's all so familiar an old thrill shoots up her spine, replaced with a sick guilt. "Either I'm having the weirdest sense of deja vu," she says, thankful when she hits the right note of nonchalance, "or it's 2006, again."

"If it was, I'd be hungover." Logan nods at the house. "He coming?"

"Slammed his door when I suggested it. I'm taking that as a hard no."

"Well, I'm not one to give up."

Reminded of Logan's persistence when she got back with Duncan, Veronica nods and backs up. "You might have met your match."

"We'll see. Hey."

"Yeah?"

His smile is sweet and disarming. "Good morning."

It's impossible not to smile back. "Good morning."

Stepping over the curb, Veronica waves Logan off as he climbs into his truck and leaves. Keller, who'd retreated to the sidewalk and is smelling the neighbor's bushes, comes at her call. The curtain in her front window moves slightly—enough to say Gai was watching.

It's not much, a miniscule show of interest, but it's a start. Add that to Brent Caster's text and starting her day joking around with Logan, everything inside her is bouncing. Chattering birds tell her the sun is on its way, pushing her energy up even further.

Today she'll forgo the treadmill and run outside. With any luck it'll race the minutes forward to Brent Caster's next text. The one with drop instructions for Jennifer Weston's lawyer's file.

9:30am

Veronica submits her thousandth, and last, report of the events on the ship. A favorite saying around the government offices is "if you haven't done it twice, it's not done." It's a serious underestimation in the Peturri case. Bad enough they started with a boatload of dead feds. But to end with another fed shot by a wayward ex-pat with whom she shares a child? The paperwork is enough to give her eyes carpal tunnel.

A small chuckle bubbles out of her. Did Logan ever not complicate things?

"Veronica?"

Resting her arms on top of Veronica's cubicle wall is Maristella Adams, Veronica's former boss in the Violent Crimes division. "Hey, Mari. What's up?"

"I haven't seen you smile like that in a while. Do I get to ask why?"

"Nothing big," Veronica shakes her head. "Just closed that case I picked up in South America."

"Then my timing is perfect. Come to my office?"

Veronica hesitates a beat, sure what's coming. "Right behind you."

She gives Mari a fifteen second head-start, taking the time to grab a notepad and pen. By the time Veronica gets to her office, Mari is sitting behind the desk. Crinkly eyes and shoulder length, wedge-cut gray hair create a soft appearance, but Veronica knows a ruthless streak bisects the woman's heart. One reason she adores her.

Mari crosses her arms on the desk and leans forward. "We haven't talked since I got back from my vacation. How's Gai doing?"

"Good, just graduated sixth grade."

"Wow, already?"

"Tell me about it."

"How's he handling the whole Logan thing?"

"Could be better. Could be worse. How was your trip? Kids okay?"

"Oh," Mari waves a hand, "Will's still got a stick up his ass. Loves being a CPA and dating another girl I hate. Kerry's back at her commune and is now part of a throuple, both of whom I like better than Will's girlfriend."

In all the years she's known Mari, Will has yet to date a girl she approves of. "What's wrong with this one?"

Mari rolls her eyes. "She insists on pronouncing some words with an English accent. Not speaking in an English accent, mind you, just pronouncing some words the English way. The twit gets up every morning," Mari affects an English accent, putting emphasis on words with a different British pronunciation, "on schedule, takes a vitamin, waters her herbs, and works from her mobile."

"Seriously?" Veronica snorts a laugh.

"Not even kidding. I'd have ground up some aluminum in her food if I thought it would hurt her. She grew up in Hoboken, for chrissake. Jersey. Spent one summer nannying in England, ten years ago."

"That's worse than Paleo-Stalin," Veronica says, referring to the girlfriend who not only didn't eat carbs, but shamed anyone who did. "So... nickname?"

"I'm far too grown up for name calling."

"Uh huh."

Veronica waits, not fooled by the fastidious desk-tidying Mari does to avoid her eyes. Finally, Mari throws up her hands. "The Arsehole. But Joe would roll over in his grave if he knew the girls Will dates."

Mention of Mari's husband sobers Veronica. Joe, also a fed, was killed on the job twenty-two years ago. Mari isn't bringing him up now just to make conversation.

"I'll cross my fingers Will dumps her before you become a grandmum." Veronica centers the notepad on her lap and poises the pen over it, ready. "What did you need from me, Mari?"

"It's time to reassess. You're not doing well in Cyber."

"My arrest rate says otherwise."

"Oh, please." Mari walks around until she's standing in front of Veronica, resting her backside on the desk. "That's because you're a Blue Coat. The techies do all the heavy lifting and you sweep in to make the arrests. I let you go there because it was all you could handle after Sam died."

"It was. And you told me I could have a year. It's only been nine months."

"I said you had up to a year. But Lawrence says you're distracted now and goofing off. Since you got back, he can't even reach you on your phone half the time. You've ignored every warning he's given you."

"We had some miscommunications, that's all." And varying comments of the snide variety, but she never considered those official warnings.

"Veronica, it's more than that. Lawrence only let you go to South America because he thought it was a sign you were ready for more responsibility. Yes, you did a great job on the ship. But since then your performance has dropped off."

Veronica's eyes drop to her lap. She doesn't much care what Lawrence thinks of her, but she'd come to expect Mari's good opinion.

"You know how this works," Mari says. "You can't kick ass one day and slack off the next. It puts yourself and every other agent in the field with you at risk."

"Fine, I'll do better."

"It's gone beyond that. Lawrence is ready to take disciplinary action."

Veronica tries to get herself to care. Once a source of great pride for her, this job is background noise to Sam's case.

"Wow. I expected a bigger reaction."

"Lawrence can do what he wants."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that," Mari says. "Veronica, you were a trooper after Sam died. I gave you the transfer to Cyber because I knew how much strain his murder trial would put on you. But when that girl pled guilty, it seemed to punch you in the gut."

"I never expected the trial to change anything. Sam would still be gone."

"Yeah," Mari nods. "Except that you'd have the satisfaction of hearing all the facts in court. Of seeing that girl convicted. You live for those convictions, every time you get a collar. Each one charges you up for the next case, like a junkie who wants another high."

"She's still in prison. What does it matter?" Veronica glares at Mari, readying to defend her reasons should the other woman call her out for starting her own investigation. Very little gets by Mari.

"It matters because you're in crisis. Sam's murderer pleading guilty pulled the rug out from under you, and you're right back where you were when he was first killed. I convinced Lawrence to either do the write-up and transfer you back to me, or give you temporary leave provided you use the time to get counseling. The in-house psych is ready to sign off on it."

Red-hot fury spreads heat across Veronica's chest. "I don't need counseling."

"Then figure out what you do need. Before you ruin your career."

Not for the first time, Veronica considers quitting her job. Twin streaks of pride and stubbornness won't let her go out in disgrace. "You made your point. I'll do better."

"This isn't a negotiation, it's a gift. Either take the leave or stay and take the hit. You'll have to work twice as hard for a while, to make it up."

An idea blooms into a plan, and Veronica nods. "How long c—would I be out?"

Mari studies her a long moment. "That's up to your counselor. I have a list of approved ones."

Veronica takes the paper held out to her, already calculating how many extra hours this gives her to focus on Sam's case. Hours everyone else thinks she's at work. The thanks she owes Mari sticks in her throat. "How does this work?"

"Once you settle on a therapist, you tell Dr. Schaeffer. Everything you tell your guy will be confidential, but Schaeffer needs your guy to sign off before you can come back."

"Fine." Veronica nods and stands up. She's stopped halfway to the door, when Mari calls her name. "What?"

"Don't forget you have friends here. If you ever want to talk—"

Veronica waves the paper in her hand. "I know who to call." She turns and leaves the office before the words hit, not wanting to see if they hurt Mari. The two of them have spent years talking through cases together, pouring over evidence and passing theories back and forth. At this point she counts Mari as more friend than boss, so hopefully she'll understand. Eventually.

1:30pm

Gai

Mike dribbles the basketball too close to Gai's head, pissing him off. Gai slaps the ball away, sending it into the gutter. "Knock it off."

"Then don't lay in the middle of the court."

"It's not a court, it's a street."

Mike runs over, scoops up the ball, and makes a point of bouncing it just out of reach while he circles Gai. "Let's do something."

"I am doing something."

"Let's go to the park."

"You go."

Mike throws the ball so it hits Gai in the stomach. Hard. "Asshole." Gai kicks out and lands a good one right in Mike's shin.

"Ow! Lamer."

"What's your problem?"

"It's summer." Mike flops down on the asphalt. "We can go, like, anywhere now. Our moms gave us those maps, remember? And you just want to sit here."

"Yeah, I do." Because he can't shake the bad mood. Neither Steph nor Fish are around, Mom's doing who knows what, and the Logan dude apparently meant it when he said he'd come every day. Not that Gai wants to talk to Mike about any of it.

Mike pulls out his phone and, snorting, shows Gai the latest update on Fish's story. Of course, her dad missed graduation but showed up today, with no notice. Every post has been Fish standing in a long line at Disneyland while her dad and his girlfriend sit in the shade, on their phones. An hour ago she posted a pic with a finger over her mouth to say "shh" while sliding away from the line for Splash Mountain, and another standing next to a sign for Tom Sawyer's island. The latest is a screenshot of her phone with no text messages—meaning her dad never noticed she left the ride.

"How does her own dad not know she hates Disneyland?"

"Same way he doesn't know her birthday. He's an asshole." Gai's own phone buzzes with a text. He rolls over and jumps to his feet. "Cam and Steph are at the park."

"Where?"

"Playground, Sixth Ave."

Mike runs inside, yelling as he goes. "Ma! We're going to the park!" His voice fades as he goes deeper inside and Gai fidgets, dying to run.

Lydia sends them off with orders to check in when they make it to the playground, let her know if they go anywhere else, and be back by four. It doesn't take long to get to the entrance, but Balboa Park is huge, like its own little town. Natives and tourists are out in clumps, and Gai and Mike have to slow down to weave through them.

Gai spots Steph on the swings, her back to him. The skinny, faded jeans cut off just below the knees, deck shoes without socks, and oversized men's bowling shirt look good on her, and set his pulse on fast.

Leaving Mike behind, Gai rushes up and grabs hold of the swing, pulling back then pushing up to run underneath it. Steph shrieks a laugh and leans back, her hair flowing in a chocolate stream behind her.

He grabs the other swing so he's beside her. Putting their legs into it, both strive to get their swings high. Steph leans back, waits until the swing is at its highest point forward, and flies off.

Gai can't resist upping the challenge by doing a backflip off, like Uncle Dick taught him, and landing upright, five feet from her, before falling on his ass.

"Showoff," Steph says, but holds out a hand to help him up, and shrieks again when he pulls her down instead. Their laughter and limbs settle down until she's sitting right next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder and one calf thrown over his. Mike and Cam make fake laser-gun noises from their perch on top of the play structure roof.

"I didn't know you'd be around today," Gai says. Lame, because she obviously is around. And so close to him it's hard to think about anything else. Gai shakes his hand, dislodging his dad's watch so it falls down to rest on his wrist. He scoops up some bark and scatters it in the crease where their legs cross.

Steph brushes her lips with his own in a kiss he hasn't learned to expect yet. Her hand sweeps the bark off her thigh, touching his leg in the process and making his head buzz. "My dad got called into work. I knocked on your door."

"I stay at Mike's in the summer, while my mom and d—when my mom's working."

"Cool."

He looks away and tosses a leftover piece of bark in irritation. "Not cool. Boring."

"Nuh uh. My mom worked every summer and I couldn't go anywhere or answer the door. I always had to lie and say she was in the shower if someone called. That was boring."

"At least no one was bugging you. Mike is, like, totally annoying sometimes."

Steph squints over at Mike and Cam, hovering over Mike's phone. Unfortunately, Mike got speaker sneakers for graduation, and a Rae Sremmurd song pours out of the soles. "I can see that," she says, and they both laugh.

Her forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, staying there until, his heart slamming against his chest, Gai leans down and kisses her.

It lasts four seconds, maybe five, from her response to the small pressure he puts on her mouth to the small, parting peck she gives him. Even the way she lays her head on his shoulder, after, has his heart doing a happy boogey.

Gai experiments with the bark on his free side, making different shapes. Steph lets out a contented sigh and seems to melt against him. It feels both new and natural. They sit in bliss, with the sounds of Mike's music, kids playing around them in the park, and the feel of the warm sun on their faces. He can't imagine moving for a nuclear bomb.

And just when it's so, so good, Gai's mind wanders again to the Logan dude.

Surfing—like he'd sell his soul for that. Gai lives in San Diego for crap's sake; in a couple years he'll be totally off leash and can learn on his own. Who cares that the summer stretches ahead, with no bike rides with Dad, no camping trips or vacations planned. Mom said she'd be working extra so he's stuck at Mike's more. He could spend some time in Neptune, except that would mean leaving Steph. No way is that happening.

The music gets louder. Mike's on the slide platform, lip synching to a song he doesn't even know the words to and dancing like a Chris Farley wanna-be. Gai groans. "Wanna find some sprinklers to run through?" he asks Steph, plotting the death of Mike's shoes.

2pm

Veronica

Veronica looks away as Matthew signs the for the room she's prepaid for the next month. As before, the motel lobby smells so distinctly of industrial cleaner and orange air freshener she can't push away the nostalgia.

The desk clerk takes the form from Matthew. He glances at Veronica's credit card and types for a moment, "It's nice to have you back. Your usual, room 256, is available—"

"No," Veronica snaps, then softens it. "A room that overlooks the pool, please."

The clerk nods. "Okay. What about 315?"

"Not unless you've fixed the water pressure on the third floor."

"Um," he clacks on the keyboard again. "How does 235 sound?"

"We'll need a microwave and fridge, and two keys."

"There's an extra charge for the appliances. We'll have them brought to the room.."

Veronica leads as she and Matthew go out, following the signs to the stairs. "No drugs, no booze, no friends in the room, got it? This is a place to work."

Matthew follows her in silence and she wonders if it's acquiesce or if he's ignoring her, then decides she doesn't care.

As requested, the room overlooks the courtyard pool, which shines a brilliant turquoise in the sun. Kids scream and splash, creating a ruckus that will carry right through the windows of the room. Her hands are full so Veronica waits while Matthew slides the key card in and pushes open the door.

He goes in first, throws his backpack on the floor by one of the queen beds, and holds out a key card to her. She puts down her bags and reaches out to grab the card, surprised when he pulls it back where she can't reach. He pulls a deep breath in through his nose and Veronica realizes he's on the edge of angry.

"So. Sam know about the lousy water pressure on the third floor?" Matthew turns the card in his fingers and narrows his eyes at her.

"What—"

"Sam. My brother. Your husband. He know about room 256? Which rooms overlook the pool?"

The pieces fall together and Veronica realizes that Matthew is asking if she cheated on Sam when he was alive. "Sam knew. This was our place."

Matthew eyebrows draw together, confused. Veronica clears her throat and looks away from him. "It wasn't easy to find alone time, with a kid and friendly neighbors always poking their head through the fence."

He grins, relaxed now, and hands her a key card. "Way to go, Sammy."

"Gross."

Veronica picks up the heavier bag and unpacks the laptop she bought on the way over. She ignores Matthew's channel surfing while she sets up the machine, completing all the tedious registrations. Thanks to the Prying Eyez account she maintained long after she had FBI resources available, her search doesn't take long.

Scrawling an address on the hotel stationary, she then heads to the door, grabbing up her messenger bag on the way. "There's an ice machine at the end of the walkway, vending machines on the first floor, and the pizza place across the street delivers. I'll stock supplies. Can I pick you up anything?"

"Some roll papers wouldn't come amiss."

She narrows her eyes at him and opens the door. "Behave."

The door cuts off Matthew's response mid-smartass. Instead of turning toward the stairs, she follows the walkway around to the backside of the hotel, away from the noise of the pool.

The path takes her by the higher-numbered rooms. Though she and Sam stayed in many over the years, they'd long decided on 256 as their favorite. It was far enough from the stairs and the pool that noise was minimal, and the ice machine only a short walk away.

Veronica traces the numbers on the door and allows the memories in. How many times had they stayed here? How many stolen afternoons, when their schedules meshed up, had they taken a few hours for themselves? The sex always had a delicious, clandestine flavor to it.

Besides, she has a thing for hotel rooms.

Feeling blue, Sam's text read the last time they came here. How's your afternoon look?

She'd smiled and cleared her day. Though the motel had changed ownership through the years, the blue-tiled roof remained. Blue became a code word, a way to say they wanted to connect that became part of her and Sam's private language.

The hour spent on that bed was heady, like always, with one exception. After their lovemaking, curled up in Sam's arms, she'd listened to his well-rehearsed and impassioned plea for their family's future. And agreed to think about it.

A moot plea since he died three weeks later.

Veronica drops her hand from the door and walks away, the address she'd written down adding a determined purpose to her step.

A generic beauty with a teeny bikini and white teeth smiles out of the window sign. Join now!, it reads. Only $14.95 a month!

The lobby is empty at two o'clock in the afternoon, lacking even a chipper staff member behind the desk. A skin-prep poster on the wall sounds more like dating than tanning advice: Shower, shave, and exfoliate the day before! Don't forget that lip balm! Check your prescriptions!

Veronica hits the bell on the counter and waits, hearing a rustle coming from a back room. Her phone vibrates, alerting her to a text from Matthew: good coffee, salads, Fujis, shower stuff. One Bourbon, one scotch, one beer. Twix. Lots of Twix.

Before Veronica can respond, an Asian woman in her young forties comes out of the back room. "Hi! So sorry. We're unloading some inventory and didn't hear you come in. Would you like to hear about our specials?"

"No, thanks. I'm looking for the manager, Tracy."

"That's me," the woman says, the question in her eyes a contrast to her pert smile. "What can I help you with?"

Veronica sticks her hand out. "My name is Veronica. Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you about a robbery that took place about nine months ago, when you worked at Lin's Grocery."

The smile falls and Tracy backs away. "If you're a reporter, I already—,"

"I'm not. My husband was one of the police officers that responded when you hit the alarm. His name was Sam Zare."

Although Tracy's hands shake, she holds onto the mug so hard her knuckles are white. Veronica ignores her own mug, ordered more to secure a table at the busy cafe next to the tanning salon than to fulfill a need for caffeine. She lays a notebook on the table and uncaps her pen. Her phone sits face down so Tracy can't see it's recording.

"I didn't see him," Tracy says. "Your husband. He didn't come into the store."

"I know. I've read the police report."

"There's a tape, too. We had a security camera."

"I saw it."

"I don't—it's hard to talk about that day."

Veronica gives what she hopes is a sympathetic smile. "I understand. I've had a gun pointed at me before. Scariest feeling in the world."

Tracy nods and rips open the honey packet to add to her tea. "I couldn't go back there, after. Mrs. Lin's a sweetheart. She gave me time off, told me to come back when I was ready. But every time I walked through that door, I saw it all over again." She stirs her tea, blending the honey in. "It wasn't just the gun. The girl that held me up? She was so scared, and that scared me worse than anything."

"What do you mean, scared?"

"She shook all over—even her voice. I worried the gun would go off by accident, or she'd drop it. The way she held it—my mom's side of the family considers the 2nd amendment the rule of the land. My uncle took me and my brothers shooting a lot growing up. I can tell you, the girl looked like she'd never touched a gun in her life."

Both where the gun came from and where it went remain unanswered. Ballistics was a dead end. Veronica pushes away the thought and leans forward. "Tracy, I read the statement you gave the police the day of the robbery but I was hoping you'd go through it again. I'm sorry if it's hard—."

"No. I," Tracy looks away from Veronica and swallows. "I've run it through my head so many times, it doesn't matter."

Tracy closes her eyes, and takes and releases a heavy breath before starting. "I'm working the register. It's after the morning rush so the store's almost empty. This woman comes up from the back, points a handgun at me, and tells me to empty the register into a bag. My mind blanks so I didn't get the register open on the first try. She waves the gun around and tells me to do it again. I grab a small paper bag, the ones we use for glass bottles, and stuff the money in there. She grabs it from me, whispers 'Sorry' and takes off out the door.

I didn't know my bagger had hit the silent alarm until, about a minute later, this old man comes through the door with a gun. I think it's another robber until he flashes his badge and asks if everyone is okay—I'm crying too hard to answer. A couple minutes later we hear a gunshot."

Veronica flinches. Even knowing it's coming doesn't help. She grasps a detail to steady herself. "She said 'sorry' to you?"

"Yes. I mean, that's what it sounded like."

"That wasn't in the original police report."

"It wasn't?" Tracy frowns. "But I told the officer. Didn't I?"

Veronica has not only the transcript of Tracy's police interview but also the audio recording. Tracy was scattered, emotional, and recalled the gun in more vivid detail than she did Jennifer Weston's face. It's a common problem with eyewitness testimony involving a weapon.

"Maybe he forgot to write it down. Or, sometimes, our minds play with significant events long after they're over. It might be a detail that surfaced later." Or one she made up. "Had you ever seen Jennifer Weston in the store before?"

"Not that I remembered."

"A tall, blonde teenager wouldn't have stood out at Lin's?"

Tracy shakes her head. "Asian cooking's gone mainstream so Lin's gets all walks of customers."

Veronica nods, remembering the chestnut flour she bought to make the Chicken of the Gods recipe. SDPD had gone through the two weeks of backlogged security tapes and didn't find Jennifer in any of them. "What about the take? Nine-hundred thirty-seven dollars isn't a lot, but seems like more cash than a small grocery would take in by ten-thirty in the morning."

"Not at Lin's. A lot of customers shop every day and come in early to get the freshest stuff—the produce guy comes at six and the fish guy by seven."

"Yeah, but cash? Most people don't use it anymore."

"Unless you're trying to live here without making a paper trail." Tracy gives a grim smile, "Current politics aren't so friendly to the undocumented, whether they're from Mexico or Asia."

Tracy's background check had revealed that, while she was born here, her father didn't get his resident card until Tracy was sixteen. Veronica nods. "Ah."

"Ah."

Veronica looks over her notes, though it's unnecessary. "Is there anything else?"

Tracy nods her head and looks down into her tea. "I'm still scared. Every time that bell goes off at work I jump, wondering what's waiting for me. I took this job because you never hear of people holding up a tanning salon."

"Okay…?" Veronica can tell she's leading somewhere.

"I want to know why." Tracy raises her head and squares a look at Veronica. "I think it would help, if I could make sense of it. With those stories you can usually figure out why they did it—drug addicts or repeat offenders. Not college students with scholarships and moms and little sisters."

"I want to know why, too. That's why I'm here."

"I just wish it made sense. The way she apologized to me, and how scared she was. Like robbing Lin's was the last thing she wanted to be doing. I've heard stories where people get blackmailed into committing crimes. What if it was something like that?"

Veronica sweeps her phone, notebook, and pen off the table and drops them into her bag. She slaps a ten on the table and stands up to leave. "It's a theory. Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else, let me know."

"Wait, but I don't have your—," Tracy's voice cuts off as the cafe's door closes behind Veronica.

Furious, Veronica yanks open her car door and throws her bag inside. She starts the engine and puts it in reverse, hitting the brake before she plows into a car backing up behind her. It's a mile down the road before Veronica realizes she forgot to put on her seatbelt and she's driving ten miles over the speed limit. She eases off the accelerator and snaps the belt into place, forcing slow breaths to calm herself.

So Tracy Li made up a bullshit theory to make herself feel better. Big deal. Tracy's emotional, trying to turn Jennifer Weston into a victim so what happened to her is less frightening. It's not the first time she's seen that rationale at work.

Veronica calculates her strategy for the rest of the day. Spending time with Gai is appealing, except she'll have to lie again to explain why her workday is cut short. Same with anyone else in her life. Sneaking home to work Sam's file invites questions, since Gai could be anywhere from their house, at Mike's, or just up the street at Fish or Cam's.

She has to copy the case file so she can work from either home or the hotel. Too much risk to put it online, plus she thinks better when she can rearrange the information and spread it out to see. For Matthew to help she needs to get the supplies and make a crime board, too. While he may have burned out a billion brain cells, he isn't stupid. With luck it'll also help to give him a focus.

The organization hamster in her brain runs the wheel, making a list:

Buy white board and three-in-one for the hotel room. Ink. Paper. Pens. Tape.

Groceries. Paper plates, utensils.

Copy the file and image everything—Dropbox?

Pick up law office file from Brent Caster. Tonight? Tomorrow?

Review everything with Matthew

She turns the car toward a nearby shopping center that has both a grocery store and an Office Depot, the list growing longer with every mile.

A/N - This past year has been nothing short of insane, but in every moment of it Haunted lived in my mind, poking and prodding for me to keep going. Thank you all for continuing to stick with this story. Your gentle nudges have made me smile countless times.

A/N - NEVERTOTHETHIRD! I cannot believe we actually spanned continents with this friendship! Every one of those days in Madrid makes me smile, almost as much as the memory of that shrimp scampi. Life is long, my dear friend, and I can't wait to find out where we meet next. I can't thank you enough for the thoughtful email you sent me with this chapter-it was exactly what I needed.