My heart pounds.

“Yeah, and Diane still works there. But that’s not the interesting part.”

“What might that be?”

The energy in the room has altered. The blood vessel in his temple pulses like the beating heart of a frog. It’s rapid. He’s got to feel it.

Yes, in fact, he does. He wipes the back of his hand over that very spot.

“Says you sought some legal advice, Adam.”

I watch him very closely.

Adam doesn’t play dumb. He’s smarter than that. No. Maybe devious is the word. My brother used to tell me that Adam should join the drama club and give up the basketball court.

“I was at my wit’s end, Lee,” he says. “Didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how I’d make it.”

“But as you said, you have Katrina,” I say. “I thought she was a great support.”

He pretends to brighten a little. It’s phony, but I give an empathetic smile in return.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d be lost without her.”

You’re lost now, I think.

I weigh my options. I’m not afraid of this man. I could be direct and confront him, or I could try to extract from him what I want to know. But I’m not stupid. I know the risks of such a confrontation.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say.

He points down the hall. “First door on the left.”

I find my way down the hall. I lower the toilet seat as though I’m about to use it. I turn on the water. While I stand there, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Without makeup I am a blank canvas. Freckles bridge my nose. My eyes are full of sadness, and I almost make myself cry. I see someone who was blinded by a traumatic event, so blinded that when the truth was right next to her, she couldn’t see it. I can see it all now. I can see the woman that I was meant to be, and I’m not letting this SOB get away.

I can’t have Adam hear me make a call, so I text Montrose.

I’m at Adam’s. He’s Sophie’s killer. Call SPD and get them over here ASAP.

I press “Send” and flush. I stay riveted to my phone until I see the dots moving up and down.

Montrose: Roger that. Be safe.

When I return to the living room, I notice that Adam has moved his phone. I bet he sent a message of his own. I decide to be direct.

“Aubrey isn’t your daughter, is she?” I ask.

He holds my gaze for a very long time. It’s clear that he’s weighing his options too.

“I saw Connor today at prison,” I go on. “He had a lot to say.”