Sean knew professional bodyguards he trusted, at least until they could rule out Marie as a target.

He watched as the ambulance left, gave his statement again to the investigators, then called a tow company to pick up his jeep.

While waiting for a private taxi to take him to pick up a rental car, he looked at Marie’s phone.

Stan had called two people, neither of whom was in Marie’s contact list. As the ambulance rushed Stan off to the hospital, Sean searched the owners of those numbers on his own phone.

The first was to Mitch Corta, Stan’s partner.

The second was to an unregistered number, likely a burner phone. Virtually impossible to trace.

Did one of those people set up the assassination attempt? Or was it his new lawyer, Oliver Jones?

Or someone in the courthouse?

Sean had his work cut out for him. He called Max. She was going to have to watch her back, because if the shooter believed Stan had told her something that might be dangerous to them, Max could be at risk, too.

But in his gut, he suspected Stanley Grant was going to take his secrets to his grave, and that the only way he and Max would be able to find out who shot Stan was to solve Victoria Mills’s murder.

Chapter Fourteen

Max had been trying to meet with Detective Jennifer Reed for the last two hours. She talked to the PIO, who was friendly but gave her absolutely nothing about the Victoria Mills homicide that Max hadn’t already obtained through the PIO’s official statement. But when Sean called her about the shooting at the courthouse only minutes after it happened, Max knew exactly what Reed would be doing.

Max left the police station and walked around to the side exit, where there was no public parking but no guard to stop her, either. She’d researched the senior detective before she left New York, had her official photo to go by—medium height, short straight black hair, brown skin, brown eyes. She had a decent record in the department but no major standout cases and volunteered during her off time at a youth center run by a church. Cops notoriously avoided social media, but once she had her name and photo Max was able to dig up a few things about her.

Within ten minutes of Max staking out her spot—not caring much if one of the many cameras caught her waiting—Detective Reed exited with a male cop substantially younger than she.

Reed saw her and swore out loud. She said something to the young detective, then turned to Max.

“You’re trespassing.”

“The sign says no public parking, not no public allowed,” Max said. “Two minutes.”

“No comment.”

“You’re heading to the courthouse to follow up on Stanley Grant’s shooting—does this mean you believe he’s innocent or guilty and working with someone else?”