The waitress sets the extra pot pie on the table and Kane and I order iced tea. When she departs, I continue. “I keep going back to a text Emma sent Jamie. One more time for the history books, she’d said. That sounds like a game to me, and I’m not sure it’s related to sex.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Lucas interjects. “One more time for the history books is a part of a game called ‘Banking the Billionaire.’ It was meant to teach people how to invest. It took off and went nuts. It’s crazy popular. ‘One more time for the history books’ references one last financial score before you get out of the game, at least that set of the game.”

Emma Wells was playing a game.

And someone wanted me to find out, or they would have taken Emma’s phone.

Someone wants me to play, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I grab the pad of paper and pen next to Lucas. Quickly, eager for answers, I jot down names to include the chef, Emma herself, her deceased husband, her fiancé, and of course, the real Naomi Wells. I slide it back in front of him. “Are they part of the game?”

“Everyone uses a code name assigned by the game system,” he replies. “I’ll have to search IP addresses and phone numbers.”

“Who owns the game?” Andrew asks.

“Unknown,” he says, “and every time you try to track the servers, they show up in another part of the world. But that said, I haven’t tried to find out myself. I’ve just heard the chatter on random forums. There are rumors it’s used for nefarious communication of various types, but I can’t confirm that.”

“Try,” I say. “I’ll get you a payday from the FBI and credit. That will help you find some level of immunity for your other activities we both know you didn’t stop.”

At this point, I’m already pulling up the photos I took of Emma’s text messages. I write down her and Jamie’s numbers. “That’s the victim’s phone number,” I point to the first number. “And this,” I add, pointing to the second, “is someone named Jamie she was texting with about one more time for the history books. Jamie’s phone number is a throwaway. Show us what you can do.”

He smirks and gives a small incline of his head toward Andrew. Andrew finishes off his pot pie. “I won’t arrest you until after Christmas. And since I’m told you’re an FBI asset, maybe not until after the New Year.”