“Relax, Ben. I’m not stupid. I went to the hospital first. Nobody followed me here. Who is it?”

Ben scowled. “His name’s Carlos Martinez. I shared a cell with his brother, Santiago, in prison.”

The world tilted around me. “Santiago Martinez?”

“Yeah.”

Santiago Martinez was the murder investigation Nate was working on. Ben had been in prison with Santiago. That’s why Nate had been asking me about my brother. He was investigating Ben for murder.

I stepped away from my brother. Fear trickled ice-cold down my spine. I didn’t know this man anymore. What had I gotten myself into?

Nate’s words replayed in my head.

If he knows you’re the one who turned him in, you could be in danger.

“Are you close with Santiago?” I strained to keep my voice neutral.

“I told you, we shared a cell. After we got out, we worked together. But he and Vi never really got along. Vi was pretty suspicious of people, and Santiago was a cagey fucker.”

Ben sat on the bottom step and rubbed a hand through his hair. He looked sad and drained. The loss of his girlfriend, the mother of his child, was wearing on him. He didn’t look like a man capable of murder, but what did I know?

“A few weeks ago, she told me she thought he was sharing information with the feds,” Ben said. “I didn’t believe her. I told her there was no way he’d do that to me. She was pissed, and we had a huge fight about it. And then he turned up dead, and a few days later so did she.” Ben blinked hard, that twitchy blink, and lifted his shoulders. “I think Vi killed Santiago, but who killed her?”

“Maybe Carlos?” Gabe suggested. I glanced at him leaning against the damp stairs, but his face was completely blank.

“Maybe,” Ben said. “He thinks I had something to do with Santiago.”

“You need to lie low,” I warned. “Stay away from him for a while.”

“Thanks, Mom. I know.”

“That girl in your van with the patches of lighter skin on her face and hands,” I said. “Does she work for Carlos too?”

“No. She was working for both of us. I wouldn’t have allowed it if I’d known. But Bea—Beatrice Flores—she only works for me now.”

“She came into my clinic this morning and recognized me. She knows I’m the doctor writing the prescriptions.”

Ben plucked at his eyebrows and frowned. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

“If she tells anybody—”

Ben got to his feet. “I’ll talk to her. She came up as a drug mule last year. Swallowed fifty balloons of coke. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to do that again.”

I let it go for now, but I didn’t believe that she’d stay quiet.