Max sipped her wine from a table in the hotel bar with a view of the luxurious garden courtyard lit with thousands of tiny white lights, watching as Stanley Grant’s new attorney stopped at the entrance and looked for her. He appeared as young as he was, his neatly trimmed beard doing nothing to add age. Moderate height and weight, dark-blond hair, dressed in slacks and a button-down, but he’d lost the tie probably as soon as he left work.

She waited until he looked at her, then she raised her hand. He straightened his spine, then strode toward her.

“Ms. Revere?” He extended his hand. “I’m Oliver Jones.”

She motioned for him to take a seat. “You can call me Max.”

He cleared his throat as he sat across from her.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked.

“Uh, no, thank you.”

When the server approached, she waved him off, then took a sip from her half-empty glass. “Did you discuss my request for a meeting with Mr. Grant?”

“I told my client that it would be a bad idea to give an interview to the press. It isn’t in his best interests.”

“Yet he wants to meet with me.” She made the assumption, otherwise Jones wouldn’t have shown up.

“Which is why I’m here. He will talk to you, on one condition. He’s worried about his sister. He asked her to leave town yesterday, but she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t think there is a threat to her.”

Threat? What threat?

“You don’t sound like there’s a threat.”

“My client is worried about his sister. He believes you can convince her to leave town.”

“Why?” she asked calmly, sipping her wine, her heart beating rapidly. This was it. There was something here—a reason. A reason for the plea, a reason for the recant, a reason to talk to her. On record, she hoped, but she’d take what she could get.

“I don’t know,” Jones said.

She stared at him. He didn’t seem disingenuous, but she’d met many lawyers who smoothly lied. Most of the time she knew—her instincts were as good as or better than most cops’ when it came to lying—but sometimes lawyers were experts at deception.

Oliver Jones, young, idealistic, public defender. She didn’t think he had it in him to lie so convincingly—yet. Give him a few years.

She stared him in the eye. “You have absolutely no idea.”

“I can’t discuss my client’s case with you, Ms. Revere, you know that. For what it’s worth, since I first met with Mr. Grant this morning, he’s been extremely worried about his sister. When I relayed the information that you were here and wanted to meet with him—against my recommendation—this was his condition. He’ll talk to you if you can guarantee the safety of his sister.”