He ended up at the restaurant five minutes before they were supposed to meet, but Hayes was already inside, waiting at a booth with vinyl seats, a plastic-topped table. Fake bamboo screens separated tables. The restaurant smelled of jasmine, tea, ginger, and curry and from the kitchen came the sound of rattling pans and voices speaking in some Asian tongue.

Hayes looked up from his small, steaming cup of tea. He didn’t bother smiling, just nodded as Bentz slid onto the bench across from him and slid his cane beneath his feet. They were nearly the only people in the restaurant, which had just opened for the day.

Hayes eyed the cane. “You feelin’ okay?”

Bentz lifted a shoulder and kept his face impassive as the waitress, a petite Asian woman with a friendly smile and long black hair wound onto her head, brought another cup of tea and two plastic menus. Hayes ordered without looking at what was offered. Sensing the other man’s intensity, Bentz said, “I’ll have the same.”

As soon as the waitress left, Bentz eyed a somber-faced Hayes. His gut clenched. “Something happened.”

“Where were you last night?”

“What?”

Hayes didn’t respond. Just waited. Dark eyes assessing, lines showing near the corners of his mouth and around his eyes. His big hands rotated the tiny porcelain cup around and around, steam rising in fragrant swirls.

“I was here in L.A. Culver City, to be exact. At the motel.” What the hell was going on here?

“Anyone able to confirm that?”

“What?” Bentz asked, not liking where this conversation was leading. He waited as a busboy delivered soy sauce to their table, then said, “I don’t know, but I got in around…seven maybe, or eight? I didn’t check with the desk.” He stopped short and eyed the man he’d counted on as a friend. “What the hell happened, Hayes?”

“You know Shana McIntyre, right?”

“Jennifer’s friend. Yeah. You know I do.”

“You visited her?”

“A few days ago. What? She complain that I was harassing her?”

Hayes shook his head. “It’s more serious than that, Bentz. Shana McIntyre was killed last night.”

Bentz was stunned. He tried to soak it all in as the waitress returned with steaming platters of spicy vegetables, meat, and rice. She placed them on the table, then smiled expectantly. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked as if from a distance.

Shana was dead? But he’d just seen her…

“We’re fine,” Hayes said.

Bentz sat back, having lost his appetite. A feeling of doom settled like lead in his gut. He couldn’t believe it. As the waitress disappeared, clicking off on high heels to another booth, Bentz pushed his platter aside and lowered his voice. “Wait a second.” He was still trying to wrap his mind around what Hayes was saying. “Killed?”

“Murdered.” Dark eyes drilled into him. Silent questions—accusations—in their dark depths.