“Peter wants me to gather evidence against Finn,” Serena said.

“Are you going to do it?”

“I think so.”

“You may be helping the man who’s really guilty.”

“I know.”

“But you can’t resist the chase?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Rikke has shut Finn down,” Stride said. “She’s hired a lawyer. You can’t talk to her.”

“I’ve got a different angle,” Serena said.

“Oh?”

“I want to go to North Dakota tomorrow. I want to find out about Finn’s childhood. Tish said something terrible happened to him there. I’d like to find out what. Maybe that’s the missing link.”

“Take Maggie with you,” Stride suggested. “I’d like to have someone official on the trip.”

“You mean five hours each way arguing with Maggie about the radio station? We’ll kill each other.”

Stride laughed. “So take a private plane. Stanhope can afford it.”

“True.”

“We better get some sleep,” he said.

“To hell with sleep.”

Serena got up lazily from the love seat. She brushed her black hair back away from her face. Holding onto Stride’s shoulders, she straddled him on the sofa, with her knees on either side of his legs and her breasts near his lips. His hands slid behind her and cupped her buttocks through her panties. She put her hands on his face, bent her neck forward, and kissed him.

“I dreamed that you caught me sleeping with Tish and you beat her to death. You murdering bastard.”

“Tell me more,” he said.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re a tease.”

“Do you find Tish attractive?” she asked him.

“Pretty, but not my type,” he said.

“Are you thinking about her or me right now?” she asked, pressing down with her hips.

“You.”

“Good answer.”

The phone rang.

“God hates me,” Serena said, rolling to her left and studying the caller ID screen on the receiver. “Private call.”

“Wrong number.”

“Ignore it?”

“No, better get it.”

She groaned and picked up the phone. “What?”

The male voice on the line was honey-smooth and deep as a foghorn. The caller asked for Stride. Serena punched the speakerphone button and held the phone to Jonny’s mouth as she climbed back on top of him and worked awkwardly on his clothes.

“Stride,” he said impatiently. “Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of a friend.”

“My friends don’t call at three in the morning,” Stride snapped.

“I’m sorry for the time.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you know a man named Hubert Jones?”

Stride looked at Serena, who stopped what she was doing long enough to shake her head. “No,” he said.

“He knows you.”

“Oh?”

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Have him call me at the office in the morning. My secretary can schedule an appointment.”

“You’ll need to be on the road by then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hubert Jones is flying into O’Hare Airport in Chicago at noon. From there, he has an afternoon flight to South Africa via London. He’ll be away in Johannesburg on an academic fellowship for nine months. If you want to talk to him, it has to be tomorrow. In Chicago.”