Pearson whipped something from his pocket. I flinched.

“Jesus,” he said. “It’s just a lighter.”

He held the flame for me. My hands shook, but finally I pulled in a long tug, suppressing a cough.

“I like the evening here,” Pearson said, leaning back, taking another puff. “I try to get outside to see it. So I can forget the parts of L.A. that I don’t like.”

“I like both,” I said. “The evening and L.A.” The nicotine hit my adrenaline panic, swirled in my skull. My mind swam. “You think Hal’s show will go over well?” I asked.

“Well enough,” said Pearson. “It’s his best work in a while.”

“Because of you.”

“Because of Hal.”

Ask him, I thought. I was almost free now. The house had not held me.

“You sound like you would do anything for him,” I said.

“Do I?” said Pearson, his voice going hollow.

I waited. The little lawn before us had darkened to silk, and I couldn’t quite see Pearson’s face, just the red glow of his embers.

“You talking about Brenae?” he said.

“Actually, yes.” I ignored the spike of fear down my spine. “You’re the one who wiped the files from her laptop.”

He didn’t move.

“You never watched them,” I said. “You just did what Hal asked. No questions. You knew she was dead, and you were shredding her work.”

“Do you always go by Mary?” Pearson said. “Your license says Maggie.”

He loomed beside me, rigid as stone. The air from the wine cellar felt cold on my spine.

“I never liked Maggie,” I said. “Why were you looking at my license?”

“I was curious,” said Pearson. “The private investigator. The new gallerina. All on the same day. All the questions your guy asked me.” He stamped out his cigarette. “You both find what you need?”

His face drew closer to mine, his brows low, his lips pressed. This time he wasn’t about to kiss me.

I took another tug on my smoke and blew it out, hoping Pearson would step back. He didn’t. “Not enough,” I said. “I want to hear your version. All of it.”

I met his livid gaze and didn’t wince.