“He doesn’t have it in him to kill two kids. I don’t know if he could kill anyone, his personality is more fun-loving peacemaker, but most people can kill under the right motivation. But an entire family? I don’t see it. Yet— I’m sure he knows more than he told me, or the police, and that’s why he was shot. I’ll be at Sean and Lucy’s in an hour if I drive really slow.”

Ben snorted.

“I’ll stop and get dinner, so you’ll have ninety minutes.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m going to send you a list of names. They were all friends in college, and my gut tells me that Mitch Corta knows for a fact that Stan didn’t kill Victoria—which tells me that he knows who did. Or suspects.”

“Isn’t this why you hired Sean Rogan? He’s not cheap.”

She ignored the comment. “I need a connection, something tangible so I can get Rogan to convince Lucy that we need to work together. Rogan doesn’t want to take sides, but I know—especially after the shooting today—that he’s not going to back down. He’s as curious as I am, and now it’s personal. But I need to push him over the line. Without the information the FBI has, I can’t solve this case, and I don’t want to follow Lucy and her partner all day tomorrow if I don’t have to.”

She would. She’d done it before—followed a detective while they investigated a case she was interested in. But she had a feeling Lucy would know, and Max didn’t want to jeopardize her friendship with Sean or Lucy’s brother. In the past, Max would do anything to find the truth. Now she realized some friendships weren’t worth losing.

“I’ll call you in an hour,” Ben said, resigned.

“I owe you.”

“You always owe me.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lucy had had a really long day. Between nearly being run off the road in Kerrville and spending hours going over stacks of financial records and police reports, all she wanted was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and bed.

Jesse came up to her as she was rinsing dishes. “I can finish that.”

“I’m almost done, but thank you. Are you already done with your homework?”

“Yeah, but I’m kinda beat, too. Coach is killing us at practice because we lost on Saturday.”

“Go to bed early.”

“It’s not even nine.”

“They say teenagers don’t get enough sleep.”

“I’m going to play video games. Bandit,” Jesse said, and the golden retriever got up from his bed in the corner—Sean had put a dog bed in nearly every room in the house—and followed Jesse out of the kitchen, his tail wagging frantically.

Sean came over and grinned. “Nothing wrong with video games with the dog.”