“Just breathe, babe. Breathe.” She forced herself to do as he suggested and felt the panic begin to settle. “You’re a badass lawyer, and don’t you forget it. Hope could not be in better hands. So breathe. And focus. And rely on those killer legal instincts and kick some butt like you would for any other client, okay? And when I get there, I can drive you around or knock on doors or make photocopies at the Staples store. Anything you need. I’m yours.”

She swallowed and tried to shake the noise from her head. He was right. She could do this. And she did need his help. Jocelyn Hodge had located Lopez’s pickup in downtown Montauk. If Lindsay could find just one person willing to say they’d seen him after he was at the Stansfields’ house that Saturday night, she’d be able to work with that. “Okay. Let me know when you’re close.”

“Of course. I’m always going to be there for you.” She could tell that he appreciated the feeling of being needed. “I love you, Lindsay.”

“You too. I’ll see you soon.”

When she hung up, the search results for Richard Mullaney had finished loading. First on the screen was a Wikipedia entry.

Richard Mullaney

Richard “Hitch” Mullaney III was a noted attorney and philanthropist. A native of Detroit, Michigan, he earned a BA from the University of Michigan and a JD from Harvard Law School. He was shot to death in the driveway outside his home in Wichita, Kansas, leaving behind a wife, Melanie Locke, and ten-year-old daughter.

She didn’t need to click the hyperlink beneath Melanie Locke’s name. Even if she hadn’t read the woman’s book, the coverage of her Senate campaign was inescapable. Lindsay did not like where this was going. One of Alex Lopez’s last cell phone calls had been to LockeHome’s headquarters. There was only one reason why Decker would have asked Hope about Richard Mullaney.

She scrolled down for the details of Mullaney’s murder. Mullaney, his wife, and their daughter had driven to their horse ranch in the Flint Hills for a long weekend. Richard realized that in the shuffle to pack for the trip, he had left his briefcase at the family home in Wichita. According to Melanie, he made the seventy-minute drive back to town alone. A neighbor called police when she heard what sounded like firecrackers, but possibly gunshots, outside. Responding officers found Richard dead in his driveway in front of the family Range Rover. The sliding back door to the house was open. The single bullet that hit Richard in the stomach was from a .357, the same caliber as the gun that Richard typically kept in his home office and for which he had a lawful carrying permit. The weapon was never found, and no arrest was ever made.