For now, Kane lags behind, but I have no doubt he’ll join me soon. A few minutes later, I’m already printing photos and the documents Lucas sent me when Kane proves me right. He enters Purgatory with two more steaming Bailey’s coffees in hand. He then does what he does, settling into one of the two leather chairs against the wall with his MacBook. And then he gets to work while I do the same. For me, that includes a lot of pacing, mumbling, and cursing, which is mostly kept to myself for a reason. For Kane, there is a lot of heavy-handed typing that I know equals frustration, as he’s got his own work to be frustrated over—at present, negotiations on a big oil drilling contract. That’s another thing people don’t get about my trust in Kane when they should. He really does run an oil empire of his own creation. A job that is demanding, and at times, all-consuming. The cartel is not present in his everyday life. He rejects them when he can, but not at the expense of bloodshed. At times, he’s played peacekeeper between rivals such as the mob, in a way his father did and his uncle has failed to do. I know this because only last month I lived through his tormented decision to step into a dispute and do so despite the exposure and risk to himself and even me. And with him involved, lives were saved.

Settling behind my desk, which won’t last long with my current state of unrest over this case, I stuff a strawberry into my mouth and then break open the bag of chocolate. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Junk food is allowed. Actually, it’s always allowed when I’m involved in a fresh homicide. Most people don’t know I’m pretty healthy the rest of the time. I run when the weather allows—it helps me think. I don’t order the whipped cream on my coffee and yes, I eat egg whites.

But fuck egg whites when someone has been murdered. Just like fuck egg whites at Thanksgiving.

I claim the center of the floor, where there are pillows for just this reason—my need to have space to work—eat my chocolate and start writing notecards. Everyone involved with the case gets a card on a pinboard on the wall: Emma Wells, the men in her life, including the mysterious Jamie. Officer North, Danica Day, Andrew, me, Kane, Pocher, and my father. When I put the card on the board with my father’s name, Kane eyes me and then sips his Bailey’s.

I lean back on the desk to stare at the pinboard I’m using for the case and cross my arms in front of me. Kane glances up at me and I say, “Pocher is having some charity event for my father. Apparently, we’re both invited.”