Brandon stepped into the dim lobby and looked around as Leigh tapped a code into the security system by the door. The only light came from the glow of a computer on the receptionist’s desk. Last time he’d been in here, it had been a hive of activity. Now, the place was much quieter, but he picked up the faint sound of someone clacking away on a keyboard.

He turned to look at her. “You’re working late again, I take it?”

“Yes, but not alone.”

She turned and led him down the corridor, and he noticed she was barefoot again. For someone who obviously spent a lot of money on shoes, she seemed eager to get rid of them at the end of the day.

He followed her to her office and stopped short inside the doorway. The coffee table was completely buried with files and legal pads.

“You cleaned,” he said.

She gave him a curious look. “No, I didn’t.”

“I smell bleach.”

“Oh, that.” She waved a hand. “I wiped down the surfaces. All that fingerprint powder was creeping me out.” She gestured to the big leather armchair. “Sit down. Have you had dinner? We’ve got a pizza coming.”

We, meaning whoever else was here tonight.

“I’m good,” he said, taking a seat.

Actually, he was starving. But sharing another meal in her office was probably a bad idea, even with one of her colleagues working down the hall. Brandon didn’t trust himself.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said.

“Why?”

She sank onto the sofa right beside the armchair, and he noticed the excitement in her eyes. “I’ve had a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough.”

“About Vanessa.” She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the sofa arm. “You remember Tiffany? Vanessa’s coworker at Pura Vida?”

Brandon just looked at her.

“Tiffany Watson. She said you and Antonio talked to her.”

“No, I know who she is. I’m just wondering why you’re still going around interviewing Vanessa’s friends after I specifically told you—”

“She came to me, all right?” She huffed a breath. “This is a big lead. Do you want it or not?”

Good question. He definitely wanted and needed a “big” lead, or even a medium one, but he doubted he was about to get anything close.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got another POI for you.”

“POI?”

“Person of interest? Isn’t that what you call people when you don’t want to label them a suspect?”

He felt a dart of frustration. “Who is it?”

“Mason Lloyd.”

He frowned. “Who is that?”

“He’s a doctor at the clinic where she works. Or so he says. I haven’t vetted him yet.”

“Are you saying you think he’s a quack?”