They clicked off, and Leigh glanced around. The office felt chilly, which usually meant the cleaning crew had messed with the thermostat.

She walked down the corridor and stepped into her office, switching on the light with her elbow. It was as messy as she’d left it, right down to the pastry bag on her desk from this morning. She dumped her stack of files on the coffee table, along with her purse and phone.

“Crap,” she muttered, surveying the pile of work she had to do.

She was days behind on her trial prep. This was what she got for playing detective when she should have been combing through depositions. She was in for a long night, which called for caffeine.

As Leigh headed for the kitchen, her phone chimed. She doubled back to grab it, and her stomach did a little dance as she saw the familiar number on the screen.

“Hey,” she said.

“It’s Brandon Reynolds.”

“I know.”

“Are you at home?” he asked, and the deep sound of his voice sent a ripple of warmth through her.

“Nope. Working late.” She went into the kitchen and switched on the light. “Why? What’s up?”

“I need the name of the landlord who sent the letter to Vanessa.”

“It wasn’t a landlord.” She spun the coffee carousel and grabbed a double-shot espresso.

“I thought you said—”

“The letter was from a law firm purporting to represent the landlord. And it was bogus, by the way. I followed up with the firm, and they knew nothing about it.”

“They never heard of the case?”

“Right. It was a phony letter.” Leigh popped in the coffee pod and then waited as the machine whirred and gurgled. “Hello?”

“So, you’re saying she wasn’t having a problem with her landlord?”

“I’m looking into that. All I know is the law firm was never hired by him, so either he phonied up a letter to put pressure on Vanessa or somebody else did.”

“Who?”

“Good question. Maybe the landlord, maybe someone else.” She opened the fridge in search of flavored creamer. No such luck.

“You think someone drummed up the threat of a lawsuit to hassle her?”

“Quite possibly. I see it all the time. Harassment, harassment, harassment—that’s the goal. Turn a woman’s life upside down in any and every way possible.”

She grabbed the mug of black coffee and took a sip, scalding her lip.

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Not you.” She switched off the machine. “Like I said, I haven’t finished looking into it yet. I was going to track down the landlord tomorrow and—”

“Don’t. Give me his name, and I’ll do it.”

“But—”

“No buts, Leigh. What you just told me makes this relevant to the investigation.”

She pursed her lips, annoyed by his tone, but also annoyed because she knew he was right.

“I’ll text you his contact info.”

Brandon didn’t respond.