He reached down and took her hand, squeezed it. Lucy was relieved. Sean had been silent for so long she’d wondered if she was overreacting or if he thought she should cut corners like this.

“I’m with you on this, Max,” Sean said. “There are oddities, as you say. And I’ll help you find them. But keep Lucy out of it.”

Max wanted to argue—Lucy could see it as clear as day. But the reporter had changed over the last year. Subtly, but Lucy could see her working to be more diplomatic and less confrontational. “I hope you’ll change your mind,” Max said, “but I understand.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said.

She turned to Sean. “I’m meeting with Jones tonight, then I’ll call you about meeting with Grant tomorrow.”

“If you get the meeting.”

Max raised her eyebrows. “You doubt me?”

Sean smiled. “Nope. I’ve already cleared my week. I’m all yours.”

“Thank you again for dinner. Jesse is a terrific kid, I’m glad I met him—and that the bumpy road is a little smoother.”

“He is, and thank you.”

Sean walked Max to the door and Lucy fetched herself some chocolate ice cream. She was feeling a little out of sorts—she always felt like she had to be 100 percent focused in any conversation with Max; it was draining. She could be both smart and infuriating, and while Lucy considered her a friend, she didn’t know if she could ever truly trust her.

But maybe that was her own biases against reporters in general, and Lucy’s overwhelming need for privacy. Max had hired both Dillon and Sean in their respective capacities, and Dillon even went on Max’s crime show, where she interviewed him about the Blair Donovan trial, one of her past investigations where Dillon served as an expert witness. Dillon had helped her in several of her investigations—as a criminal psychiatrist—and they’d become friends. It seemed odd to Lucy, but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Dillon admired strong, independent personalities—his wife, Kate, was as strong and independent as they came.

She was nearly done with her ice cream when Sean returned. He sat next to her and said, “Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not.”

He didn’t comment.

“Okay, a little. You could have told her I’m not in a position to do what she wants.”

“I did. But also agreed that she could try to convince you.”

“Do you think I should?” she asked. She wasn’t torn—she would bend rules as needed for justice, but in a situation like this she couldn’t imagine stomping all over SAPD on the small chance that a guy who confessed to murder might be innocent. It wasn’t even close to being a federal case.