Myron tried to slow down the swirl in his head. The tattoo had been in the online post—so how did Kitty know about it? Why did she put it in her post? And, of course, wouldn’t Lex know about the same tattoo being on both his wife and his music partner?

Add it up. The words ‘Not His.’ A symbol that adorned the upper thighs of both Suzze and Gabriel Wire. No wonder that post had rocked Lex.

“Where’s Lex?” Myron asked.

Muse folded her arms across her chest. “Are you really going to hold out on me?”

“It’s probably nothing. Is he with the baby?”

She frowned, waited.

“Plus I can’t say anything,” Myron said. “At least not right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m an attorney, Muse. I work for both Lex and Suzze.”

“You’re an agent.”

“I’m also an attorney.”

“Oh no. You’re not going to pull out your Harvard JD on me. Not now. Not after I let you come in here and see the body.”

“My hands are tied, Muse. I need to speak with my client.”

“Your client?” Muse got up in his face and pointed at Suzze’s corpse. “Go right ahead, but I’m not sure she’ll hear you.”

“Don’t be cute. Where’s Lex?”

“You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“You were the one who suggested I may be looking at a homicide here,” Muse said. “So answer this for me: If indeed Suzze was murdered, who’s my prime suspect?”

Myron didn’t say anything. Muse cupped her hand around her ear. “I can’t hear you, big boy. Come on, you know the answer because in these cases it’s always the same: the husband. The husband is always the prime suspect. So what then, Myron? What if one of your clients killed another?”

Myron took one more glance down at Suzze. Dead. He felt so numb, as though his blood had stopped flowing. Suzze, dead. It was beyond his comprehension. He wanted to collapse now and pound on the floor and cry. He left the room and followed the signs for the nursery. Muse followed him.

“What were you saying about a Facebook post?” she asked.

“Not now, Muse.”

He followed the arrow left. The nursery was on the left. He turned and looked through the window. There was a line of six newborns in those rolling acrylic cribs, all wearing a baby beanie and swaddled in a white blanket with pink and aqua stripes. The newborns were lined up as if for inspection. They’d all been immediately catalogued with an index card, either blue or pink, with name and time of birth.