Something else was going on.

“No doubt about it,” Tera had whispered, drinking her Frap. “But you’ve made your play. Now just let it be.”

How could she, though, when everything felt so . . . wrong?

Tera shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, agitated. She ordered a calming herbal tea, but it didn’t calm her. Eventually she closed her eyes and deferred to the lining of her stomach, where a vestige of her daddy remained. He told her—in harmony with her intuition, which was often the case—that if there was a truth, she wasn’t going to find it by scrutinizing a blip on her cell phone. She needed to strap her investigative boots on and go to work.

With that, Tera left Starbucks, got into her car, and took the Foothill Freeway out of the city. She didn’t know if this instinctive course of action would amount to anything, but it felt right.

At 4:40, she left Los Angeles County, which put her an hour behind Johan.

She arrived in Nueva Vida after sunset. A dry throat of a town, musky and pale. Most of the life seemed centered on a trailer park, where a huge fire blazed and residents sat around it on crates and folding chairs. A few children chased each other with burning sticks. Norteño boomed.

Tera pulled up outside Jane’s Family Restaurant, not looking for anything in particular, just throwing her cop radar out there and seeing if anything bounced back. Nothing did. Following Luke’s route, she headed northwest out of town, and arrived at Stray Bullets five minutes later.

It was a lively, neon-decked establishment, loud enough to hear from half a mile away. Tera stowed her Beretta in the glove compartment and got out of the car. It was like stepping into 1988. Vixen blasted from the club’s exterior speakers. A group of old rockers dressed in jean jackets and tight black pants clustered on the veranda, their long hair made big with product. For a beat, Tera felt like she was sixteen years old again, dressed in her Mötley Crüe tee, sneaking out of the house to party with her friends at the Steel Attic in Carver City.

It had been a day of grim emotions—anger chief among them. Tera hadn’t smiled often, but she did then.

She let her hair down and went inside.

It was busy but not packed. There was a band setting up onstage—long hair and jean jackets, just like the rockers outside. The booths were full but there were vacancies at the bar. Tera grabbed a stool, ordered a drink, then checked her phone.