Reed caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “You’d better not have been lying to me the other day about the courthouse.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You didn’t tell me you were working with a damn reporter.”

“You didn’t ask. You asked me specifically what I was doing at the courthouse, and I honestly told you I was escorting Mr. Grant and his sister out because Mr. Grant felt that there was a threat to their lives, which was proven true.”

“Semantics.”

“Ask better questions.”

Lucy intervened. “We followed Robert Clemson here from his house. We interviewed him again tonight, just a follow-up, and he was acting suspicious.”

“He fucking lied to me, and I don’t like liars,” Reed interjected.

Lucy said, “Clemson is fifty, six feet tall, wearing a white button-down shirt, no tie, and khakis. Glasses. He’d recognize us, so we can’t go in. We’re pretty sure he’s meeting someone. He left his house not ten minutes after we talked to him. Don’t engage, just tell us who he talks to, and if you can discreetly get a picture that would be great.”

“Discretion is my middle name, sweetheart.”

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Sean leaned over, kissed her, and climbed out of the truck.

Reed said, “How’d you two meet?”

“My brothers work with Sean.”

“Security.”

“Yeah. Runs in the family, I guess. I have a sister who’s a detective in San Diego, one of my brothers is a former cop married to an ADA, and my oldest brother is a forensic psychiatrist.”

“And you’re the lone federal agent.”

“Two of my sisters-in-law are agents, both SSAs, one at Quantico and one in Sacramento.”

“You’re all spread out. I have a brother and sister, local. Four nieces and nephews—two each. My parents live five miles from my house. I’m never leaving, and I threatened my siblings that if they leave I’m arresting them.”

“We’re close, but our careers have taken us in different directions.”

Lucy was feeling homesick again. She didn’t know why—she loved San Antonio. And it wasn’t that she wanted to move back to San Diego or to DC … she just wanted to see her family more than she did.

Like for Thanksgiving.

Sean immediately spotted Clemson alone in a booth in Russo’s bar. A small but classy restaurant was attached to the dark and intimate bar, which catered to couples or private business meetings. Sean sat at the bar where he could watch Clemson in the mirror.

“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked.

Sean glanced over to what they had on draft. He noted a decent selection of local microbrews represented and asked for Ranger Creek on tap.

He put ten bucks on the bar and kept Clemson in sight. He was drinking whiskey and had already drained his first glass.