We were both hungry, so we got a table and ordered appetizers immediately—a dozen clams on the shell and an heirloom-tomato salad to share. Jamilla eats like an athlete at a training table, and I kind of like that.

“What’s new on the murder case?” she asked after we’d polished off the tomatoes and clams. “Is it true she’s been sending e-mails since the first murder?”

I blinked at her in surprise. The L.A. Times had been purposely vague about when the e-mails had begun. “Where’d you hear that? What did you hear?”

“Word gets around, Alex. One of those B-level security things the public doesn’t necessarily know about, but everyone else does. It got up to San Francisco.”

“What else have you heard? B-level stuff,” I said.

“I hear this lead detective Jeanne Galletta’s a hot ticket. Work-wise, I mean.”

“She’s no Jamilla Hughes, but yeah, she’s pretty good at her job.”

Jamilla shrugged off the compliment. She had my number all right. She looked pretty in the candlelight, to my eyes anyway. Now this was a good idea: dinner with Jam at a fine restaurant, my cell phone turned off.

We chose a bottle of Pinot Noir from Oregon, a favorite of hers, and I lifted my glass once it was poured. “Things have been complicated lately, Jam. I appreciate your being there for me. And here for me, too.”

Jamilla took a sip of wine; then she put a hand on my wrist. “Alex, there’s something I need to say. It’s kind of important. Just listen. Okay?”

I stared across the table into her eyes and didn’t know if I liked what I saw. My stomach was starting to drop. “Sure,” I said.

“Let me ask you this,” she said, her eyes drifting away from mine. “In your mind, how exclusive are we?”

Ouch. There it was.

“Well, I haven’t been with anyone since we’ve been seeing each other,” I said. “That’s just me, though, Jamilla. You meet someone? I guess you have.”

She let out a breath, then nodded. That’s the way she was, straight up and truthful. I appreciated it. Mostly.

“Are you seeing him?” I asked. My body was starting to tense all over. In the beginning of our relationship, I had expected something like this, but not now. Maybe I’d just gotten complacent. Or too trusting. That was a recurring problem I had.

Jamilla winced a little, thinking about her answer. “I guess that I am, Alex.”

“How’d you meet him?” I asked, then stopped myself. “Wait, Jam. You don’t have to answer that.”

She seemed to want to though. “Johnny’s a lawyer. Prosecution, of course. I met him on one of my cases. Alex, I’ve only seen him twice. Socially, that is.”