Jack is sitting at the far end of the dock, his back to me, legs hanging over the edge. Leaving my flip-flops at the stairs, I cross the sand and am about to step onto the wood planks when time pauses. Jack, the dock, the breeze in his hair, the low near-night light, the sea—nostalgia hits me hard. When he and I were a thing, I never felt alone. If life was about taking sides, he was always on mine. I may be stronger now, may be my own woman, but I feel a wanting that I haven’t felt in years. Yes, it’s physical. Of course, it’s physical. When they talk about chemical attraction, Jack Sabathian is it for me. Beyond that, though, the wanting I feel now is emotional.

But not to be explored here. This meeting is about business.

To drive that point home, I leave a fair space between us when I sit. “What happened?”

He flicks me a glance. Enough of twilight remains to shadow the grooves between his eyes. “Nick White quit. He called to say he couldn’t work for me—conflict of interest, and all. He also said he’s being watched by our men in blue.”

“Watched?”

“Questioned. They think it’s suspicious that all of a sudden Lily is here, he’s here, you’re here. They know Tom’s mind is failing. They think something’s going on, and they want to be in on it.”

“Like, reopening the investigation?” I ask in alarm.

“If warranted,” Jack says.

“Whatever would warrant it? Whatever is new?”

“You tell me.”

“Absolutely nothing. I haven’t found any sign of a gun—and, okay, I’m sure he has one if you saw it,” I add, because Jack wouldn’t imagine something like that, “but if he used a gun on your mother, would he have kept it all this time? Really? He was bullheaded, not stupid. He knew the penalty for murder, so even if he shot your mother, he would have ditched the gun. If he has one now, it’s new. Maybe he bought it to protect himself. Maybe he imagines that a defendant he once sentenced to jail is out now and hell-bent on revenge. He rambles. He talks about old cases. He carries on about John Doe, like he’s reliving his time on the bench.” I search Jack’s face. He isn’t disagreeing with anything I’ve said. “Has Nick learned something?”

“That he’s willing to share?” he asks dryly. “Only that it’s about family money.”

“It?”